#lothal

Here we have:

Tooka-like flowers

Green Daises

a Poppy (also Tooka-like)

Moon “Bells”

Purple tiny ones

may I present: the culmination of many late nights and niche source deep dives!

rebels - family reunion...and farewell

ahsoka - toil and trouble

Thanks for the tag @corellianhounds 💛 I had some encouraging comments on Parallel Lines (the one about Din’s early bounty hunting days) and it spurred me on to write the next chapter. In just a few days, I managed to jot down 3k words and I’ve been dying to share a bit of it 😁

Capitol City had two parts to it.

The old, traditional part: clusters of buildings—business and residential, often one and the same—squatting low to the earth, crafted from warm stone, carved into sturdy structures with gently curving sides and flat roofs.

And the new Imperial part: stark-white and grey buildings, rising high and spreading out, blocking the sun.

From the sky, the two parts emulsified, or, rather: the Imperial buildings, being the overwhelming majority, overshadowed what was there first, to the point no one could see a distinction. But from the ground, one couldn’t ignore the discrepancy.

As Din trekked into the city, Tomeo and Xi’an beside him, he didn’t focus on or philosophize about Lothal and her slow, inevitable consumption, but Ran’s words from the night before echoed somewhere in the back of his aching head, sounding more and more like fact.

They’re gonna wring this world dry before anyone even catches a clue. You watch; it’ll be a few years, if not a few months.

It wasn’t for Din to comment on, he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to have an opinion on this, but, walking through the heart of town, he couldn’t help but think Ran was wrong about at least one thing.

The people very much had a clue what was going on.

Today especially, with the Star Destroyer hanging overhead like a stubborn storm cloud, the people moved with caution and care. Eyes shifted, ever watching for where not to step, where not to go; they flit, snagged on the somewhat conspicuous trio of hunters, then quickly averted, afraid even that small glimpse of curiosity could bring an unpleasant consequence.

But beneath the fear thrummed a different pulse.

Revulsion.

Their world was slipping away right between their fingers and it was not by choice of the masses. Someone else sold and surrendered their world and they had no say.

Din didn’t know the particulars but he didn’t have to: four years as a bounty hunter took him to enough worlds where this same song played out, each on a different verse, each headed for the same chorus.

Lothal wasn’t yet in the terminal phase, but he found his stomach twisting… and he could only half blame it on the concussion.

Just as he would the physical symptom, he ignored it.

Lothali Farmer