open [...] but life is tiring, my feet are feeling sore

[lessa]

✯ — honestly, it's just me, brainlessly, so silly, always hoping for good to be

The first time Lessa had lost a leg had been in her early moons.  She'd been a kit still, at least two or three moons away from apprentice-hood.  Clumsy and inattentively as she was - and sometimes still is - she'd fallen prey to a rather painful contraption.  A trap, left in the forest for unsuspecting creatures.  It'd been one of the first times she had truly tapped into her bond with her father, before she blanked out from the shock and loss of blood.

They hadn't been able to save her leg.

It did not really bother her.  For moons after, Lessa learned to walk with only three, going as far as traveling to different groups on a constant basis.  It was not a huge problem.  Then one day, within a hill-residing group, her grandfather had presented a fix.  Her right hind leg was replaced with a prosthetic.  She could still remember the way Han and Vader had argued with each other that day, the former rather affronted with the idea his work needed to be inspected.  Sometimes, the memory still made her smile.  Now, all she could think of was that both were gone.  She'd left her grandfather behind, and Vader, or rather Anakin, had been dead, last she'd seen.

The other three legs had been sliced off.  It'd been rather fast.  It'd ended the fight too.  Leaving her friend to carry her home, or to her other home that is, saying goodbye to another.  Those legs had been replaced too, but they were her father's work.  He had disappeared just before she left.  No goodbyes.  No reason.  Just gone away.

When she left, she had brought the bare minimum she thought she'd need.  Her medkit.  The armor Ramses had so kindly crafted her.  More than once, she had looked listlessly for her ukulele, but hadn't found it.  Such an old gift, from an old friend; she knew it would've weighed her down more, especially when she had not known how long she'd be traveling, but it hurt all the same.  Sometimes, Lessa considered asking Calum to make the journey back, but after how long they'd been traveling; hard to say how long it would take him, and saying goodbye, even only temporarily, to the most constant companion she had was not an option quite yet.  It made her chest constrict everytime the idea occurred, though she knew he already realized it was bothering her.  The mischievous bird was not blind.

She brought very few tools; nestled in a pocket of her medkit.  Just some things she could use for a little maintenance, and not much else.  It was probably enough, but even if it was, the marten seemed to lack the enthusiasm for tinkering.  Instead, she placed the prosthetic beside her bed and wandered outside on wobbling, uneven steps.  Lessa knew she'd be better off fixing it immediately, but she found a place in the grass to lay down and decided to stay there for the moment, her head inclined upward towards the clouds.

She wished her grandfather was here, or her father.  Her brother.  She wished Alex was here, making shapes out of the clouds and laughing about crazy adventures.  She wished Anubis was here, with a strong shoulder to lean on, and music to listen to.  She wished Poe was here, the childhood best friend who'd always been there for her when everyone disappeared.  But that most of that was wishful thinking, and quite a bit of homesickness.
[div style="text-align: right; text-transform: lowercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 2px cornflowerblue; font-size: 12px;"]— lessa ren solo ✯

#psychosocial.