“Obi-Wan?” Sifo-Dyas sounded so genuinely blindsided that she nearly regretted the decision she had already made.
“Obi-Wan is clearly adrift. He needs a purpose. It will be good for him to go.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“Let me tell you a little something about Padawans,” Lene smiled ruefully. “Without being given meaningful work to do, they will find some of their own, often to our sorrow.”
After decades of practice, she did not think of it. Not the Hand of Skrye closing around that slim, breakable teenage wrist. Lene blinked away the cold dread of memory and found grown-up Sifo-Dyas turning from the sea to face her, complaints already brimming over on his lips.
“And what about me?”
“Don’t worry,” she patted his cheek. “You’re still my favorite Padawan.”
“I’m your only one.” Sifo-Dyas pointed out without any hint of his usual humor. “And what meaningful work should I be doing here while you’re off taking Obi-Wan Kenobi on spirit quests?”
Lene didn’t answer, only looked at him with frank appraisal.
He gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, like he could not possibly understand what she was implying. “What?”
“Must I spell out everything? Some people… light candles?” Lene suggested lightly. “Play soft music?”
She watched his eyes widen in outrage, pretend or not. “You’re meddling!"
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