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The best place to start when looking to make the most of your evening? Especially when your date just ditched you and threw all your plans to the birds? Food. Comfort food, to be exact. Mendaci Carnival had no shortage of that. Food was the pervading smell, and it pulled Samara first one way...

If you asked the residents of Murkwell why the Mendaci Carnival was the best attraction to ever hit the planet, you weren't likely to hear the same answer twice. It had something to offer everyone. Bright lights, thrill rides, and never before seen sights—even for the older crowd who had been...

The tension that had taken shape and pressed against the teenagers ever since Samara had entered the room began to ebb. Each breath she took came a little easier to her now, and a lazy, lopsided smile formed on her lips. It was genuine, even if her eyes lacked their usual spark. "I guess that...

A firm, terracotta colored throw pillow fringed with tassels had been propped up against the back of the wooden chair. It didn't make the hand-crafted chair any more comfortable, but it did give Samara something to play with. A distraction, twisting the frayed, discolored threads around her...

Ruzaan was sitting upright on the bed, propped up against a stack of white bolster pillows—the synthetic kind that smelled like they'd been doused in disinfectant one too many times. Bland and characterless, that never let you forget exactly where you are and why you're there. The same pillows...

Two days. It was enough to drive Samara up the wroshyr wood walls of the med clinic, even under the best of circumstances, and this was anything but. She'd been poked and prodded and questioned more times than she could count, until her ears rung and her head spun with a lightheaded sensation...

Green plasma bolts cut through the gloom and lit the shadowlands. Samara could finally see the path in front of her, every step punctuated by the sound of blaster fire. One bolt after another struck the arachnid that had given chase, and the Chalactan could hear its wounded cries, diminishing in...

"Lovely, innit?" the cyclops flashed a wicked grin the Padawan's way, dangling the bag in front of their faces, the same way a caretaker might bait and goad a chained beast. Teenagers. Wild animals. They were all the same to him. Samara's "partner in crime" had opted to remain silent...

"Honest to a fault I see," the Chalactan said, all smiles as she turned her face upwards toward the other Padawan, who just barely edged her out in height. It sounded like an eye-catching bio on a Ember profile, but it was undoubtedly an exaggeration. If he was a total screw up, he wouldn't have...

Their knight in shining armor didn't turn out to be a knight at all. He carried no sword and wore no panoply of hauberk. In fact, he wasn't wearing anything at all. Unless bandoliers count as clothing, and—in Samara's book—they don't. It was slung around his waist, pulled tight like a utility...

Drumschapel was one of the last remaining hamlets on the urbanized world of Paqualis III. By and large, it was secluded from the rest of the planet and the populace of the larger cities, nestled in the valley floor of a dale that had once been carved by a wide, fast-flowing river. That river had...

Samara had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from snapping at the other Padawan. Again. She inched away from him instead, crossing her arms as she tried to ignore the caustic elbow he jabbed into her side, only sparing him one brief glance that clearly spelled out, Don't touch me again...

"There's nothing there," the Chalactan started to say, an automatic response without any real thought or precaution put into it. They'd been stumbling through the forest for at least half an hour now and had not come across intelligent life—animal or otherwise. Not to mention the fact that...

Beechwood Manor sat high on a hill overlooking the nearby village of Drumschapel. It was attractive, the type of house that every passerby couldn't help but stop, look up at from the dry-weather road that wound through the valley, and admire. Stone spires stretched from the apex of its roof...

Culture? Was that really what he thought culture was? Having an encyclopedia of diseases, disorders, and maladies memorized? Sheesh. Vandirak really needed to get a life. If the two Padawans hadn't been off to such a bad start, she probably would have offered to take him to see a concert or...

The gunship passed them by. It was nothing short of a miracle. Perhaps nature did watch over them, just as she'd been taught as a little girl. Even here in the depths of Kashyyyk, where the light never shone and the darkness smothered all hope. Samara's hand, hovering inches above the training...

Where are you? The translation did little to ease Samara's mind regarding the identity of the Wookiee on the other end of the transmission, nor did it help the Padawans to make a decision. It was better than nothing, than not being able to understand what the Wookiee said, but just barely...

"Then why didn't you just say you have low blood sugar like a normal person?" Samara questioned, her tone dripping with sarcasm she didn't attempt to veil and her expression pinched. The Chalactan looked away after that, crossing her arms and leaning up against the brick wall of the cobbler's...

That was... way too much information. Far more than Samara ever needed or certainly wanted to know about her fellow Padawan. Wasn't that something he ought to have kept to himself? In spite of the shell-shocked expression she wore, eyebrows furrowed, she couldn't stop the question that fell from...

"Do we have to?" the Chalactan asked, tone comparable to a bad-tempered toddler that didn't want to do as her mother told. The question was redundant and did not require an answer. Samara knew they couldn't stay here until day broke. Whatever daylight was in the Shadowlands. Marked by cuts and...