shunk

The tulim stalk was sliced cleanly, falling into an outstretched hand. It was neatly placed onto a pile with others of it's kind, waiting to be bundled and placed on the transport wagon.

shunk

Another stalk cut, this one particularly large. Well-matured, sure to be of good flavor.

shunk

It was a process that he had repeated thousands of time. Slice the stalk low with the hand scythe, and let it gently fall into his other hand, ready for the stacks. Simple to learn, yet difficult to master. A good cut, after all, could make the difference in keeping a contract for the following season with the processing facility.

At least that is what Den had always told him.


It was late summer on Dantooine, and harvest was in full stride. The tulim had to be cleared from the fields, and the winter gentir root had to be planted before the weather cooled. Like countless around the planet, and nearly a hundred workers on the Manheim family farm, Fig spent his days sweating in the oft blistering sun, making sure the harvest stayed on schedule. The hours were long, beginning before dawn and ending at sunset, but the pay was reasonable... at least for a hired hand. It served his needs, and Den had always treated him well. It was hard work, cultivating the earth to feed multiple worlds across the region, that was often underappreciated. In that respect, it was not dissimilar from Fig's former career.

Fig brushed the sweat from his brow, his gloved hand leaving traces of tulim seed on his forehead. The early afternoon sun was beginning to take it's toll on everyone, including the middle-aged man, but it mattered not. There was work yet to be done, and work on they did.

Upon completing his latest bundle, Fig reached for his canteen. He always kept it clipped to his belt, and always filled it when he had an opportunity. Staying hydrated during harvest was a constant battle, like trying to fill a sink when someone has removed the drain plug. He took a long swig of water, finishing off what was left in the insulated container.

"Hey, Den," Fig called across the other side of the transport wagon, "I'm gonna take five to go fill up with water."

Den, an older man, in his early 70s but still as vital as a man half his age, peaked up over the ever growing stalk bundles. A kind man, but always serious about harvest, he simply nodded and went back to work. Den, depite being patriarch of the Manhiem family and owner of one of the largest farms in the district, never let his men do all the work alone. He always pitched in, even at the protests of his wife saying he needed to slow down.

Fig walked towards the nearby irrigation tower, stepping to the side where a small spigget was attached. Dantooine water was perhaps the cleanest in the galaxy. The wells ran deep into enourmous underground watertables. It was one the of simplest pleasures that Fig had come to appreciate in his time on the planet. Twisting the knob, crystal clear liquid flowed into the farm hand's canteen.

It was then that the aftereffect him hit.

Like being hit by cheap shot to the gut, Fig staggered, grabbing the irrigation tower for support. But there wasn't physical pain... it was more like nausea and veritgo, overwhelming him for a few moments. Ghostly images flashed into his mind. Fleets of ships, a planet nearby, and... darkness. But not darkness spreading, darkness being overwhelmed by light. A violent explosion. Then, nothing.

"Hey man, are you alright?"

It was Niko, a younger hired hand, who had wandered over, probably to get water himself. Fig was shaken back to reality

"I, uh..." Fig started, unsure what to say. He didn't even know what had happened, muchless how to formulate a response. Water was running on the ground, of which Fig finally became aware, and quickly turned off the flow.

"I'm okay," he said at last. "It's... just exhaustion. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?," Niko pressed. "You don't look so good. My ma came down with this bug about a week ago, made her all flush in th' face, then she got this rash that..."

"I'm fine, Niko," Fig said more forcefully. The younger man got the message.

"Do you want me to go get Mr. Manheim?", he asked timidly.

"No, I'll shake it off. I just need a few minutes alone."

Niko shuffled away and back to work. Fig rested his hands on his hips, and looked up at the sun-lite sky. This wasn't normal. He had felt things before, but nothing like this. The last time he could remember feeling anything near this strong was... the Temple.

Over 20 years had passed. Fig never wanted to feel anything like that ever again. Once in a lifetime to suffer that kind of pain was enough. Yet, this didn't have the lingering pain that stuck with him from that sad day. This had an something with it, something muted yet profound.

Hope.

He needed answers. But he had to gather himself first. The harvest, though important, would have to wait.

Fig approached Den Manheim slowly.

"Den?"

Den stood up, brushing off his pant legs.

"Yeah, Fig, what's up?," the old man replied plainly.

"Den, I hate to do this, but need to ask for the rest of the day off. I think I had an episode of heat exhaustion back there, and in this heat, I'm not sure it's wise to risk anything worse."

Den looked at Fig curiously for a moment, but then brushed it off. "Well, it's harvest, but your health is more important. You've been good worker for us, and I'd hate to lose you for more than just a half a day."

Den finally cracked a smile.

"Don't worry, we'll get along with out you for a few hours. Tomorrow's your normal off-day for the week, isn't it?, "

"Yes, but if you want me to work, I can take my off-day later on."

"Nah, that's alright. I'd rather that you come back healthy and rested. We'll see you in a couple days."

Fig smiled in kind. "Thanks, Den. I owe you one."

A few moments later, Fig was on his way home, his small speeder moving along the ground at a modest clip. He needed to meditate, to clear his mind. Only then would there be a chance to find the truth.