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Yaniko sneaked a side-long glance at her Padawan as he followed a pace or two behind her up the steep mountain path on one of Ridel III’s many wilderness retreats. The planet was a popular place among Jedi, not only because it was close enough to Coruscant for Masters to take their students for a short training session on outdoor survival, but also because it offered many challenges for those who liked keeping fit through hiking, swimming, or mountain climbing.
She had thought--hoped--that spending a few days in a relaxed, informal setting would help matters, especially since this particular setting was ideal for venting all that youthful energy. It was well into the afternoon of their first day, and she already felt on the verge of collapse after spending the day hiking briskly along trails on a small but scenic mountain range; she was calling on the last dregs of her strength, bolstered by the support of the Force to keep herself going when all she really wanted to do was set up camp back at that gorgeous waterfall they had passed what felt like a million hours previously.
Meanwhile, his expression was one of utter complacency--which told her right there something was wrong. Complacency and this young man did NOT go together. She had sensed a restlessness in him when they met which told her he would spend a lifetime pursuing whatever personal mission his soul took hold of. Peace, he might have. But complacency? Never. He would never be satisfied with being merely content.
So for him to show what amounted to resigned acceptance now meant that he was probably miserable--again.
Was he not happy here? Surrounded by all the space he could need or want to run around in?
Yaniko felt a muscle twitch in her cheek as she clenched her teeth. Was there no pleasing the boy? She had thought he would’ve been thrilled when she had led him proudly to the foot of the mountain, presenting the rugged terrain they would be conquering with a grand sweep of her arm. It was, she had thought, something that would get his youthful blood stirring.
Instead, he had slowly lifted his eyes to the top of the mountain, his expression that of one who faced impending doom rather than an exciting adventure. He had swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he had been wearing that look of serene acceptance. No hint of gratitude or anticipation. Just that maddening emptiness.
She had failed again, she realized, a sick knot forming in her stomach. She didn’t know how or why, but somehow, she’d failed him again.
And the elements weren’t helping.
What had started out as a pleasant morning had turned into a sweltering afternoon with a humidity that seemed to get higher the longer they hiked. She could feel her tunic clinging to her body in growing damp patches beneath her robe, and sweat trickled in steady rivulets down her face, back and stomach. The air was so thick and close that it made breathing an effort, but the worst thing was that she strongly suspected all the humidity was merely a warning of a gathering storm. The sky was looking dubious in that respect, and she just knew with her luck they’d be caught in a torrential downpour.
Yaniko sneaked another look at her Padawan; if it were possible, he’d gotten even more remote. Outwardly, he appeared to be perfectly obediant and satisfied; he didn’t even grumble about the heat. Or the bugs, she thought with a grimace, slapping at a bloodsucker on her cheek. That alone was most unusual in one his age, who tended to be full of complaints and weren’t shy about voicing them.
A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, and she silently groaned. Perfect. Just perfect.
With a resigned sigh, she began scouting around for a likely campsite, and when one came into view at last, she stopped and shrugged out of her pack, massaging her own shoulders with a grimace. She’d been out of the field way too long, and the aches and pains she now suffered were taunting reminders that she wasn’t as young and spry as she used to be.
“Shall I light a fire, Master?”
Without looking at him, she shook her head, pretending to focus on unloading her pack. How many times had she heard apprentices address their teachers by that formal honorific, and how many times had she heard their tone turn it into an endearment? It was not so coming from her apprentice. Rather, he used it to reinforce the walls between them.
“Put up the tents,” she ordered tersely as she knelt on the ground and began pulling things out, setting them carefully aside. “We don't need a fire. I brought a..." She scrounged through her pack, frowning slightly. "I brought..." Her digging grew more frantic as the item she sought failed to appear. Finally she rocked back on her heels and looked up at Qui-Gon hopefully. "I gave you the power generator to carry, right?"
His blue eyes widened, and he shook his head slowly, his expression one of regret. "No, Master. You didn't."
Scrubbing her face with one hand, she sighed and stood up, straightening slowly so as not to strain her aching muscles anymore than they already had been that day.
"Then yes," she said wearily. "Light a fire."