Star Wars_ The Approaching Storm - Alan Dean Foster [49]
Aware that their Masters and the two guides were watching from shore, he forced down the first retort that sprang to mind. “You didn’t look like you were in no trouble. You were being pulled downstream.”
“I know that. It was just a matter of getting turned around so that I could strike at the gairk.” Her eyes bored unflinchingly into his own as she deactivated and resecured her lightsaber. “You could have stayed on your suubatar. Did you hear me yelling for help? Did I ask you to come in after me?”
His reply was curt. “I see. Well, now that I understand you a little better, I promise that you won’t have to worry about it happening again.” He started to kick toward shore.
She kept pace with him easily. “Don’t misunderstand, Anakin. It was a gallant gesture, and I appreciate your willingness to risk yourself on my behalf.” She chuckled softly, her laugh far more restrained than that of her Master. “Not to mention your willingness to get yourself soaked for me.”
Stroking smoothly on his side, he looked down at himself. “I certainly did that, didn’t I? You swim well.”
She laughed again. “The Force is with me. Race you to shore.”
“You’re—” Before he could say “on,” she had burst forward like an eel. He almost caught up to her, but her hands and feet touched the sandy beach an instant before his own.
Two solemn-faced Jedi were waiting to greet them.
“Well, you two are certainly a pretty sight.” Luminara stood with hands on hips. “What happened, Barriss?”
Barriss looked away. “It was my fault. I leaned too far to one side to try to see what was going on up front, lost my balance, and fell. Then something started pulling at my back and clothing, and I found myself being dragged downcurrent. I could see that it was some kind of water creature, but in falling out of the saddle my robes became twisted around me. Wet, I had a difficult time unwrapping them before I could get to my lightsaber.”
“Very good, Padawan,” conceded Obi-Wan. He turned his attention to the other apprentice. “What’s your excuse, Anakin?”
Moving one foot slightly in a nervous gesture his mother would have recognized instantly, the taller Padawan muttered uneasily, “I went in to help her. Once I reached her, I realized she didn’t need my help. But I didn’t know that at the time.” Looking up, he met his Master’s gaze. “All I had to go on was the evidence of my senses. They told me she’d been dumped in the water and might need help. I’m sorry if I did something wrong, or violated yet one more unfathomable Jedi rule.”
Obi-Wan held his silence and his expression for a long moment—before breaking out into a wide grin. “Not only did you not violate any rules, Padawan—you did exactly what you should have done. You had no way of knowing your colleague’s condition. Under such circumstances, to assume that she might need assistance is always the wisest course. Better to be berated by a live friend than absolved by a dead one.”
For a moment, Anakin looked uncertain. Compliments from Obi-Wan were as rare as snow-crystal on Tattooine. When he realized that it was meant, and that both Barriss and Luminara were also smiling encouragingly at him, he finally relaxed. Anyway, he did not have much choice. It’s hard to stay tense when one is dripping wet. Something about being soaked to the skin, with one’s clothes hanging limp as seaweed from sodden limbs, is desperately debilitating to one’s dignity.
“I just wanted to help,” he muttered, unaware that had been his mantra since childhood.
“You can help yourself,” Obi-Wan told him, “by getting out of those wet clothes and into your spare set.” Turning, he regarded the line of waving grass that marched to the edge of the riverbank. “The wind’s no warmer here than on the other side, and I’d rather you didn’t get sick.”
“I’ll try not to, Master.”
“Good.” Obi-Wan stood squinting at the cloudless sky. “We don’t have time to waste on illness, no matter how educational the experience.”
Stripping off their clothes while their Masters