WillowT

In the morning, they would probably cut off her hair. It was starting to grow too long, the dirty blonde fringe just brushing over her eyes and falling in jagged layers past her skinny shoulders. She blew a few strands away while digging her fingers into the heavy ceramic jug wrapped in her small arms. Her entire body ached from the grueling work she had done today, but it was an ache that she was painfully familiar with. Light from the fire burning in the center of the camp knifed across her path, allowing her to see a few inches in front of her feet, but most of it was blocked by the armored figures gathered around the blaze. They talked amongst each other in loud, raucous voices, pushing and shoving in good-natured roughness.

"Then Tem nearly got his arm mauled off by those karking hounds today." Vic's booming voice rose above all the others. He was a tall man built like a stone monolith, head completely devoid of hair and covered in jagged tattoos. An excellent hunter, powerful warrior, but one mean schutta when drunk. Though he could be mean even when he wasn't. It didn't take much to spark his temper. She tended to avoid him as much as possible.

Across the fire, Tem's gaunt face glowered. The ember and shadows shifted across his thin features, making him appear anything but human. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a simple sling of his own making while the fresh hide of a Kath hound was draped across his thin shoulders. "It got a bite, but I got the beast's life and then some." He spat at his feet where several much smaller pelts were gathered.

She suppressed a shudder and continued around the gathered warriors. Tem frightened her the most. Though the smallest amongst those gathered, he was undoubtedly the most violent. He took the greatest pleasure in inflicting pain on anyone and anything that crossed his path. On more than one occasion, she had been on the receiving end of one of his sadistic treatments. Many of her scars were courtesy of him. Two others, Brin and Struss, chuckled nervously. No one crossed Tem; even the hulking Vic was cautious in his jokes about the smaller man. Jastor was the only one who could keep him in line, the surly leader of this ragged band of Mandalorians.

"Oi! Nass, bring me something to drink!"

Nass… Mandalorian for nothing, for she was nothing to them.

She nimbly slipped between Struss and Vic, tipping her jug to refill Vic's glass, not even having enough time to straighten herself before Vic cuffed her hard on the back and shouted his affirmation. It was not a friendly pat, and his thanks were jeering as she stumbled and fell, the heavy jug slipping from her grasp and clattering to the ground. The liquid inside sloshed out and splashed all over Tem's new pelts, instantly soaking them. No one moved, and she felt her heart skip a beat, eyes trained on the ground, refusing to meet Tems. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Perhaps Tem was in a good mood toni-.

A hand grabbed her hair and savagely yanked her up. She felt her whole world spin as she was summarily thrown, her head slamming into the dusty ground when she landed. Before she could recover, that same hand was again in her hair, dragging her toward the fire.

"You fucking Nass!" Tem snarled, his voice so low and cold it sent a shiver down her spine despite being uncomfortably close to the flames. "Worthless, fucking Nass! My pelts are worth more than you; now they're ruined!"

Her face was dangerously near the fire now, the heat making her skin prickle and steam. She struggled to back up, to put at least some distance between herself and the blaze, but Tem held her tight. He withdrew a wickedly sharp blade, the end hooked and barbed. A gutting knife. She had seen the cruel man disembowel many creatures before… many people, both living and dead, with that weapon. He pressed it into her stomach, and she stopped breathing, fearing that any sudden movement would plunge the knife into her soft flesh.

"You owe me now, Nass. I think I'll just gut and tan you here."

She couldn't speak, her tongue as heavy as a beskargam ingot in her mouth, and no one came to her defense. This was it… she was going to die. She would never see her father or sister again, never walk within the Enclave, or live past her adolescent years. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth. She would not cry. She wouldn't give Tem that satisfaction. He shoved her forward, the flames now licking at her face, her skin feeling like it was boiling.

"What's happening here?"

She was abruptly yanked back and dumped unceremoniously onto the ground. She gasped, hands rubbing clumps of cool mud into her burning face, unaware as another tall figure stepped into the flickering light. He was covered head to toe in deep blue armor marked with gray clan sigils. The beskargam was scratched and pockmarked with numerous blaster burns, each mark telling a tale of how their leader, Jastor Rhann, had overcome any foe that had dared challenge him. Tem glared up at him, refusing to answer. The shadows from the flames danced across his crimson armor, painting the smaller man in a near sinister light.

"Things just got a little out of hand, that's all." It was Brin who spoke first. There was still a slight tremor in her voice, and though she couldn't see the female Devaronian, she knew that the warrior's eyes were downcast.

"Is that right, Tem?"

Tem still hasn't sheathed his knife. In fact, he held it firmly in his grasp; the tip pointed casually in Jastor's direction. Murder gleamed in his dark eyes.

"I said…" And Jastor took a deliberate step forward, hardening his voice considerably. "Is that right?"

The other man finally relented and shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

But Jastor was not satisfied. In a flash, he had one of his powerful hands wrapped around Tem's skinny throat, a gauntlet-mounted flamethrower shoved in the human's face before he could even react. Jastor flexed his wrist, and the tiniest spark ignited. "That dar'jetti is my property, Tem. And no one touches my property. I've told you this before."

Tem didn't speak, his dark eyes not even focused on the flamethrower but on Jastor.

"Keep your hands to yourself, or next time…" Jastor shoved Tem hard to the ground. "I'll cut them off."

He turned, jerking his head once at her, and she scrambled to her feet to follow.

"Jastor won't always be here to save you, little Nass," Tem hissed under his breath as she left, and a shudder ripped through her body. She ran to catch up with Jastor, not wishing to be alone with the others anymore. They walked to the edge of the camp, clearing the tents and speeders to climb along the ridge. The night air on Dantooine was cool, a soft breeze soothing away some of the lingering burn running along her cheeks and forehead. She was scared to see what she looked like now after Tem's latest torment. They cleared the ridge, Jastor stopping just atop a flat knoll. She halted a few feet from his, turned back, and waited. It was quiet save for the distant howls of Kath hounds or the wind rustling through the plains. They were far from any type of civilization, the nearest settlement was probably Outpost Cinder near the Jedi Enclave, but she had no idea how far away it was from here.

Jastor turned suddenly and threw something at her feet. It was a long-handled knife, the keen blade sticking into the dirt. Jastor crossed his arms and nodded at the weapon. She stooped low and picked it up, the familiar weight of the blade comfortably resting in her palm as she flipped it from hand to hand. She was a bit stiff, but the movement became more fluid with time.

"You haven't been practicing, Nass," Jastor pointed out, and she shrugged. She couldn't tell him that Vic had caught her with the last knife Jastor had given her and boxed her ears so bad that they hadn't stopped ringing for that whole day. Jastor would punish Vic if he found out, and then Vic would punish her. Better to keep her head down, practice when they were out raiding, or when Jastor saw fit to grace her with his presence.

"You're of no use to me, Nass if you can't fight. You'll never become Mando'ade."

She bit her tongue so hard that she could taste blood. She didn't want to become a Mando'ade; in fact, she wanted nothing to do with the Mandalorians! They were murderers who had stolen her away from her home, killed her friends, and treated her like she was no better than the worms crawling through the dirt. Jastor himself had slaughtered one of her Jedi teachers, stopping short of killing her, but her young friends…

She blinked hard, trying desperately to push the memories away. It had been nearly three years now, but the images of that night were still seared into her mind. Her friends, Jedi younglings like herself, were all herded into a small shack, and the door locked before Tem ignited his gauntlet while the others stood by. They hadn't screamed for long before the fire engulfed them, her teacher forced to watch before Jastor put a bolt through the poor Ithorian master's head. Why had Jastor spared her? Why did he insist on training her with both blaster and blade? It didn't matter. She would use the skills this killer taught her and one day turn them against him.

She wasn't a Mandalorian.

She wasn't a Jedi.

She wasn't nothing.

Her name was not Nass.

It was Sasha, and nothing these monsters ever did would take that away from her.