#niru13

Vys'kydir stalked through the halls, resisting the urge to flex his fingers to work some feeling back into the painfully numb digits.  Their armor was meant to regulate temperature, but only to a point, and never for such a prolonged period.  To do so ran the risk of compromising much more pertinent functions—like targeting systems and comms.

And, right now, he was sure they'd all prefer to suffer the painful ache of winter's ruthless grasp than be caught alone and defenseless before a squad of Stormtroopers.

A soft grunt escaped him, crushing the ever simmering frustration beneath his heel as he approached the makeshift command center.  She didn't need to see him like this.  Not now.

The soft blue glow of a holomap filled the small space, the smooth stone walls almost glistening in the faint light.  Ayala stood at the head of the console, fully ensconced within her midnight blue beskar'gam as she stared at a map of the desolate forest that sat a few dozen feet above their heads.  She was quiet, seemingly lost in thought as she planned the next offensive—though the rigidity in her shoulders and the slight tremor of her lekku gave her away.

His mighty and fierce alor, the future head of Clan Ger'Mana, was crying.

Vys'kydir stood in the doorway, patient.  Awaiting the order for him to enter as his heart silently splintered.  But she remained unaware of his presence, her hands tightening into fists where they laid upon the console's metallic surface.  To intrude now felt akin to insubordination, felt wrong in a way he couldn't put into words, but he forced himself over the threshold, announcing his presence with a cough.

Ayala immediately straightened, her attention snapping toward him.  Even with her buy'ce in place, that T-shaped visor could do little to disguise her dismay.

His heart broke just a little more.

"Ma'am," he said evenly, a respectful nod following the greeting.  "You summoned me?"

She was quiet for a beat, breathing deeply as she drew herself to her full height.  Vys'kydir pretended not to notice how her shoulders still sagged.  "Yes," she said, her voice hoarse.  "I wanted your opinion."

Vys'kydir approached her then, coming to stand at her side as she keyed in a few commands on the console. The holomap shifted, the forest falling away to reveal the high cliffs that laid some twenty klicks from here. A small cluster of glowing red dots appeared at their base, like blood spilled upon fresh snow.

"The Imperials have set up a temporary settlement," she began, the timbre of authority returning to her voice.  "I'd say there's a platoon stationed there, maybe two. But a settlement means supplies, and I can't even pretend to not be tempted by it."

Vys'kydir studied the holomap, his eyes fixed on that scarlet mass at its center.  The winters here were rough, something that Clan Ger'Mana had long since learned to endure with patience and fortitude—but the Imperials hadn't expected them to fight back so fiercely.  They hadn't expected to be fighting on the ground for more than a day or two.

As it stood now, they were up to day nine.

And if there was one thing a fighting army needed, it was supplies—food, water, blankets, ammunition.  Supplies that the Imperials could easily send down to their freezing troops from the Star Destroyer looming overhead.

Supplies that Clan Ger’Mana was running frighteningly short on.

Vys'kydir hummed in acknowledgement after a moment, his head tilted slightly as his gaze shifted to her. "Could be a trap."

"Could very well be," Ayala said sharply, with more than a little contempt.  "But I don't know what else to do.  They've already bombed our generators on the surface, and the ones underground are working far beyond their normal capacity.  They could give out any day now."  A harsh sigh escaped her, and she stooped forward to place her hands atop the console once more.  "We're running out of options, Vys."

A frown pulled at his lips, hidden beneath his own buy'ce.  Despair clouded her words, but more than that, he recognized that catch in her voice for what it was: exhaustion.

“Alor,” he said carefully, “we should send a few scouts to the cliffs before we commit to a raid.  Caed could lead a small squad and gather more intel.”

She shook her head.  “I should be the one to lead it.  I can’t ask any more of him.  Or of you.”

“You can and you should,” he insisted.  “You look fit to drop, and should you collapse mid-assault, I can’t say we’d be any better off against the Imps.  Even if we did manage to snatch a few rations on the way out.”

A thick silence fell over them, one in which Ayala simply stared at the holomap.

“What would you have me do?” She sounded tired. Lost. The confidence and surety he knew so well all but bled from her.

“I would have you rest.” It was almost a relief to say the words, though his chest ached to see her so pained. “Caed can lead a scouting party to the cliffs.  And I'll tell Saya to take inventory.  See exactly how much we might need to make it through another few days.”

Ayala simply nodded, her shoulders slumped.  Defeated.  Vys’kydir reached out to her then, leaning forward to press his helmet to hers.

“K'atinii bal k'edeemi, alor,” he said gruffly, her hand clasped within his.

She returned the gesture, her grip strong and solid.