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It was warm. Isamar was sure of that. Everything warm and soft, and her clothes weren't even damp. She smiled at that, finding comfort in the fuzzy senses which blinded her fear.

Her vision was blurred from prolonged rest, yet she could still feel a presence beside her. They felt warm, comfortable even, though they were not resting like she had been. Isamar was not alarmed by them or their presence that sat so near to her, rather she was put at ease by them.

Whoever it was had something warm that they cupped in their hands. If she tried hard enough, she could smell something almost sweet in the air, familiar and soothing. It smelled like tea, something that Isamar often brewed herself during the quiet hours of the evening.

"You're quite determined, aren't you?"

Isamar stretched out, her stiff joints popping as she squirmed in the plush of what she assumed to be a bed. She sat upright, blinking rapidly to clear the image of the alien person. To both her horror and relief, it was Obi-wan.

The man bore an expression of light amusement and scarcely veiled concern. He did not appear furious or angry in any way, but Isamar wondered if that was because he was hiding it. Yet he merely sipped at his tea, regarding her gently.

Isamar wanted some of that tea.

As though reading her thoughts, Obi-wan picked up a cup from a small table beside him and carefully handed it to her.

She smiled at him, quick and small as she took the cup in her hands. It didn't appear to be anything she was familiar with, and while it smelled good, Isamar quietly sighed at the lack of milk. So instead of drinking it, she just awkwardly stared into the cup.

Obi-wan did not seem discouraged by this, and kept sipping from his own cup. He did not say anything and Isamar was thankful for that. The silence was more comforting than any words that could be said.

When the door slid open, Isamar did not jump or jolt, and when a polished gold droid walked in, she blinked. Then she beamed. Protocol droids didn't seem to differ between worlds, and that was comfort to her.

"I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations."

Isamar completely lit up. "You can translate?"

"Of course I can! I am fluent in over six million forms of communication!" The droid chirped almost haughtily.

Isamar blinked at it for a moment, then carefully placed her cup of tea on her lap. Swiftly and flawlessly from years of practice, she signed to it in the language of the silent, 'Can you ask him if he has any milk?'

C-3PO appeared affronted, mildly insulted that it had to translate such a domestic question. Nevertheless, it turned to Obi-wan and garbled in that bizarre language the man spoke.

A smile broke out across Obi-wan's bearded face, and he picked up a small jug from the table, offering it to her. Isamar took it curiously, inspecting it carefully. To her surprise, the contents of the jug was blue, even if it smelled like milk.

Satisfied with her findings, Isamar poured as much of it into the tea as she could. Today was a weak tea day — she didn't get to decide these things — and she couldn't bear to have it any stronger than it was. And given that she had never had either of the components that made the tea, well, tea, she was terrified of the potential flavour.

With utmost caution, Isamar sipped her beverage, ready to spit it back out the moment it touched her tongue. Shockingly, it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever had, but she still wrinkled her nose at it. It was definitely something herbal, and really should not have been mixed with milk, but Isamar wallowed in the homey comfort it supplied.

"As I was saying," Obi-wan placed down his cup of tea as he started to speak, clearly having allowed her as much time as he dared to ease into her surroundings. "You really are quite determined to stay with us, aren't you?"

Isamar listened intently as C-3PO roughly translated for her. She flushed at his words and pursed her lips.

"Do you mind telling me why?"

The words did not come easily, any explanation dying in her throat as Isamar attempted to rationalise her persistence. She wanted to say that the people who commanded those battle droids needed to be taken, that she would fight in a war she was not a part of. But that was not an acceptable answer in her eyes.

"On Keppar, I lost the people I loved most. I'm running to something new, to taste freedom in the stars." Isamar breathed, looking up from the steaming tea in her hands. "You're fascinating, too. You and Anakin. You're both like me. Yet not at all. Your auras are clouded emotions, yet you bury away that part of yourself."

Obi-wan paused to drink his tea. After a long moment, he placed it back down and met her eyes with an emotion she could not describe. "I think you know that's not an appropriate reason."

"What do you want me to say?" Isamar snapped at him. "That I want revenge? That I hope to find my long since vanished father? I'm fifteen, I've lost my family, not my sanity. I just want a new start."

He gave her a levelled look, full of concern and genuine kindness. It was jarring — Isamar had been expecting harsh judgement rather than gentle care. "Is that all?"

"So far? Yes." She ground her teeth together as she leaned back against the wall. Slowly gnawing on her lip, Isamar silently observed Obi-wan's reaction, which turned out to be incredibly boring as all he did was pick up his tea. "That's it? No 'you must go back to Keppar' or 'you're under arrest for stowing away'?"

Obi-wan looked at her strangely.

"You were expecting something different?"

"Why wouldn't I? It's not like I have experience to compare this to." Isamar settled deeper into the blankets and drank her tea with a vague grimace.

An itch travels up Isamar's spine as the silence stretches, which she attempts to fix by loosening the collar of her shirt.

"You seemed so determined to help me," she eventually said. "Even though I had attacked you. Despite being unable to understand me, and after I shattered all the glass, you were still trying to help."

Obi-wan waited patiently for her to finish.

"Why?" Her voice was quiet, a hushed whisper. "After what I did, why did you help?"

"You were scared and overwhelmed. I could see that much."

Feeling sour at his calm demeanor, Isamar twisted her wrists, speaking with a soft voice. "I tried to kill you and yet you helped. But you also cared and then you left me. You didn't even give a farewell."

The man looked apologetic, but pensive, as though he didn't quite understand what he had done. "Is that why you snuck aboard? To get a farewell? Or did you truly intend to hide away until we landed planetside?"

"What do you think? I can certainly say that farewell was not on my mind when I swam across a river!" Isamar snapped, before rubbing the bridge of her nose. Too much was happening for her short fuse to handle, and it was beginning to show. "Apologies. I didn't mean for my temper to arise like that. It was my intention, Obi-wan, to stow away until your ship docked elsewhere. Beyond that, I'm afraid I did not plan for. So what now? I get arrested for illegally boarding a ship and get sent back? Or is that something I happen to be imagining?"

"No, I do not think so," Obi-wan disagreed, shaking his head lightly. "But I do not understand your insistence of a farewell."

Instead of replying, Isamar raised her cup to her lips and drained it of tea. She stayed silent, as she stared at the empty contents of the cup, swirling around what few droplets were left. "It does not matter," she decided, not glancing over at either man or droid. "It is in the past."

To her relief, he dropped the subject. There was only so much she could handle at a time, and explaining the finer details of Reean culture was not something she had the patience for.

"For now, if you are feeling up for it, I could show you around?"

Isamar frowned at him, but placed her cup on the table before carefully pulling her legs from the blankets. "Will you be joining us?"

Obi-wan expressed his confusion by raising a single, ginger brow, but Isamar was not paying him any attention that moment. She was instead looking at the golden protocol droid that had translated every word of their discussion.

"I was not referring to Obi-wan, C-3PO." Isamar attempted a smile as the droid was forced to pause to process her question. "I ask because I'm sure you have things to do."

"Why, of course!"

"Shall we be going then? I would very much like to be on my feet again." Isamar shifted so that her feet — oh look at that, she no longer had any shoes on — were lightly brushing the floor. "Then again, I would like my shoes back."

"I believe I can fix that."

Isamar hummed quietly, watching Obi-wan stand from his seat and pull something from under the chair. In his hands was a pair of mudstained, but clean, shoes. Her shoes, to be precise.

She accepted them from him with a soft noise of thanks, and immediately dropped them on the floor. With a hand on the bed, she slipped them on, and ever so carefully stood upright. Her eyes widened as her hand flew to her hip — a familiar weight was missing from where her belt should have been.

"Where is my sabre?!" Isamar cried, partly in panic and partly in outrage. "You took my sabre, where is it?!"

Obi-wan raised his hands in a calming motion. "Nobody has taken anything. It was removed so it would not be damaged while the medics were ensuring that you didn't have hypothermia."

He unclipped a sabre from his belt and handed it to her, making her swallow the words on her tongue. The aged gold sheen was just as undeniable as the dueling curve, this was her sabre and it was without a scratch.

"Thank you," she murmured, quiet and apologetic over her uncalled for behaviour. Without a word, she examined the hilt, running her fingers over the body and rims. The cross guard was undamaged and the rims of it actually looked as though they had been polished. Isamar could not remember the last time anyone in her family had polished the sabre.

Obi-wan stood nearby as she wobbled slightly, ready to intervene if Isamar lost balance. He had no need to worry, however, as she recovered quickly and stepped with confidence in her stride. How he remained so calm during her violently swinging attention and emotions, she would never know.

Something struck her then, and Isamar found herself feeling awkward. "Whose room is this?"

"Mine," Obi-wan looked amused. "It seemed suitable."

Isamar felt slightly less awkward but was not soothed at all by the knowledge. Unable to regain her pride, she waved a hand towards the door and bowed sarcastically at the man. "Age before beauty."

Obi-wan stopped short and stared at her with a mixture of amusement and conflict. Eventually he appeared to decide that whatever it was he thought was not worth the effort, and proceeded to open the door by pressing a panel. When he stepped through, he left a flustered Isamar behind him.

Stumbling to keep pace, Isamar forgot that she still wore a splint, and caught it on the door as she left. She didn't fall but she did swear horribly before lifting herself free.

"Would you like a hand?"

Biting her tongue to keep from telling him to do something unpleasant, she shook her head. It hurt but not so much that she was unable to walk.

Obi-wan smiled gently as she came into stride with him. He did not comment on how flushed her cheeks were, nor the way she frantically attempted to keep herself from slowing him down. All he did was slow his pace, and in that action alone, he gained Isamar's respect.

"How big is this ship?" Isamar asked after a moment's silence, her eyes widening with each new corridor they passed. "The only ships I've seen that compare are cargo freighters."

"I don't believe I've ever asked that," Obi-wan mused. "If you ask the crew, I am certain they could tell you."

She nodded absently, still in awe of the sheer size of the vessel. Isamar didn't notice as Obi-wan slowed even more to accommodate her curious wanderings. Nor did she catch how his eyes glanced down to the sabre in her hands.

"How did you acquire that lightsabre? It's practically a relic."

Isamar paused briefly to face the man. His gaze held curiosity of his own, and deep interest in something he had never seen. There was no accusation in his tone, and for that, Isamar spared him a smile.

"It came from an ancestor of mine," she admitted, lifting the hilt so they could both admire it with ease. "I'm not surprised that you call it a relic, given how ancient it is. My family passes it down from mother to daughter when they come of age."

She grew quiet.

"My mother never got the chance to give it to me."

Almost hesitantly, Obi-wan placed a hand on her shoulder, and Isamar instinctively drew closer to him for comfort. It still hurt so much, and while Obi-wan seemed to understand, he would never truly know what it was like for her.

"What does your sabre look like?" Isamar wanted very much to move away from the pain that tormented her.

Obi-wan accepted the change of topic without hesitation, and unclipped his own sabre from his belt. He was careful when he ignited it, but Isamar was not wary of his blue blade, instead focused on the way it fit in his hand.

While in awe, Isamar ignited her own sabre with a 'snap-hiss' of the locking mechanism. To show off, she spun it with ease in her hand, practice keeping her from wounding herself on the blazing crossguard. The pink contrasted sharply with the man's blue, and briefly, Isamar wondered if that meant anything.

Dramatically, she lightly tossed the sabre in the air while it spun, deactivating it before it could back down. It returned to her hand without much effort, and she smiled with amusement at its loyalty. Turns out, however, Obi-wan was not one for dramatics like her, as he merely flicked the switch and clipped it back on to his belt.

"Shall we continue?" Obi-wan offered her, waving a hand forward.

With an amused huff, Isamar waved him forward. Absently, she spun her sabre in her hand, silently fidgeting with it as she followed the man through the hallways.

The place was odd to her. The halls were warm but the walls felt chilled. It bloomed with comfort and promise, but the light was snuffed out with horrors and war. It contradicted itself at every turn, and Isamar had to build another wall around her mental shields to keep from feeling it all.

Just as she walked past one hallway, Isamar was struck by the realisation that she was no longer following behind Obi-wan, too caught up in shielding to notice his change in direction. Whether Obi-wan noticed her sudden reappearance or not, she was unable to tell, but she was glad that he said nothing. She much preferred her pride remain intact.

Isamar's eyes were drawn to a bustle of conversation in one of the rooms as Obi-wan led her past, in the middle of explaining that this particular hall was for the training rooms. Several of the people in there paused to presumably greet Obi-wan, but as they turned, Isamar stopped short. They all shared the same face. Their hair and armour was different, but they all had the same features.

"Why do you look the same?" She was asking herself more so than anyone else, her words edged with broken horror and confusion.

"We're clones," one of them shrugged, as though it wasn't the most horrific news Isamar had ever heard. "We may look the same but we're nothing alike, kid."

"Clones." Isamar set her jaw, hiding away the disgust and horror behind a porcelain mask of impartialness. "Okay. Okay, I can understand that."

In reality, she really couldn't. Cloning was illegal for ethical reasons in the Reean system, and having an entire army of them for war was... far less than ethical. Privately, she wondered how long they had been in this fight, doubting that they had ever had childhoods.

"So who's the kid?" A bald clone with a goatee asked Obi-wan, drawing her attention back to the group.

"This is Isamar," Obi-wan motioned toward her with a hand, and Isamar stiffened slightly. "She's our stowaway."

"I oppose that," Isamar snapped her fingers to interrupt. "I'm not stowing away currently, so surely I can't be your stowaway."

A few of the clones chuckled at that, which left her feeling better, if only mildly.

"Alright. Our guest, then," Obi-wan corrected himself, and Isamar didn't hold back a smile.

"Well, can our guest hold her own?"

The question was a teasing remark, but Isamar couldn't help the way her eyes narrowed at the clone. Her change in expression didn't go unnoticed and there were a few chatters and smiles as she cocked her head at him. Everyone could see the burning flame of determination swirling in her bright blue eyes.

"I can hold more than just my own, thank you muchly," she snarked, grinning wolfishly. "Why, would you like to see for yourself?"

"While that would be most entertaining, might I remind you that you are still healing?" Obi-wan outstretched a hand to block her from stepping forward. "From what I recall, your bones are still quite fragile, even after bacta treatment."

Isamar blinked at him, ignoring the amused looks and commotion from the group of clones. "Bacta-treatment? What's that?"

"One of our methods of healing," a clone interjected, his armour streaked with yellow. "Works wonders in a flash."

"Hold on," she waved her hands, stopping anyone speaking before she could. She pointed at Obi-wan with a frown. "You said my bones are fragile, not broken. Right? Did that bacta stuff already fix that?"

"Essentially, yes." Obi-wan nodded. "However, I believe our medics would protest against any activity that isn't walking."

"But if I'm healed, why the hell do I still have to wear the splint?" Isamar's attention was rapidly narrowing around the very cumbersome block of metal she was wearing around her leg.

"Healing," he corrected, earning a glowering glare from the girl. "I am not a medic, Isamar. I can't tell you that."

"Blast me," Isamar cursed. "All I wanted was a friendly spar."

"Friendly or otherwise, I would not recommend it."

The collection of clones made several sounds of agreement, even if many of them were smiling. Isamar glared up at them all, expressing her distaste of their taking sides. If anything, it only made them grin more.

"Don't worry, kid, you'll get more than one chance," someone she couldn't see encouraged her. "If you're willing."

"Don't worry," Isamar grinned cockily, "I am."

"You'll fit right in, kid," that same clone with the goatee grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

Strangely, Isamar agreed with him, even if she was not planning on joining the war effort.

"General," a new-yet-familiar voice interjected into the chatter of the room, bringing silence within seconds.

Isamar ignored the tingle running down her spine in favour of turning to face the newcomer. His armour was striped with yellow, the shoulder pad jutting out and coloured the same sunshine-yellow shade as the rest of his attire. The expression he bore, Isamar could only describe as one she saw on seasoned veterans determined to follow the book to a near fault. But most of all, he looked tired, and for that, Isamar gave him her sympathies — Davaid had often been run off his feet during duty and returned home only to continue working.

"Ah, Commander Cody," Obi-wan greeted the man, and Isamar glared at C-3PO for not translating for her.

"General Kenobi," Cody — C-3PO was starting to catch up again — regarded the man with respect. "I have yet to get your report. When will I be expecting it?"

"My apologies, Commander. I was just attending to our newcomer. You may have it by oh-fourteen-hours." Obi-wan crossed his arms over his chest. "I do have a comm, you know."

"You weren't answering it, sir."

Isamar poked her head out from behind Obi-wan to better view the Commander, which earned her several snickers from the nearby gaggle and a glance from the clone Commander. She grinned at him and waved, though it did not seem as though he knew how to react to it.

As the two, Isamar and the Commander, proceeded to stare each other down, Obi-wan patted down his pockets in search of his comms unit. When he did not find what he was looking for, he began physically sifting through his pockets.

"Well, I'm afraid I must have placed it down somewhere," Obi-wan eventually admits, returning his attention to the Commander, breaking his stare-off with Isamar.

"You mean you lost it." Cody's voice was firm, but amused. "How many things have you lost recently?"

As Obi-wan's expression turned sheepish, Isamar hid her grin with a hand, trying not to laugh at the man's predicament. Fortunately, she appeared to not be the only one amused by their interaction, with the gleaming eyes of the group of clones sparkling with withheld chuckles.

"While this was fun," Isamar coughed softly into her fist, still smiling, "I believe you were giving a tour?"

Cody gave Obi-wan a look, and if anything, Obi-wan looked even more sheepish. He brushed it off quickly, but not fast enough for Isamar to not notice. She raised a brow at him, and he ignored it.

"I was indeed," Obi-wan agreed, pointedly ignoring Cody now. "Presuming you would still like to see the rest of the ship?"

"Kriff, yeah!" Isamar cheered, grinning as he led her back into the hallway.

"Then we shall be on our way. Good day."

Isamar had to force herself not to hook her arm with his, as though he were a close friend.

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