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“I want to see you,” Han said. “You know those goggles hide your eyes.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, then kissed the back of it. “I missed you while I was away,” he murmured.

“You did?” He couldn’t tell whether the thought pleased or distressed her. Maybe both.

“Yeah. I thought about you,” he continued softly. It occurred to him that this was the first time he’d ever been this honest about his feelings with a girl. For once in his life he wasn’t putting on an act. “I didn’t want to,” he added honestly, “but I did. You do care, don’t you? Just a little?”

“I … I …” she stammered. “I don’t know …” She tried to pull her hand away, but Han wouldn’t let it go. He began to kiss her fingers, her scarred, lacerated fingers. The touch of her skin against his mouth intoxicated him as much as the Alderaanian ale. He rained soft, tender little kisses over her knuckles, her fingertips.

“Stop that …” she whispered. “Please …”

“Why?” he asked, turning her hand over, so he could kiss her wrist. Han gloried in the jump of her pulse against his mouth. He pressed his lips against her palm, feeling the ridges of scars old and new. “Don’t you like it?”

“Yes … no … I don’t know!” she burst out, sounding on the verge of tears. She yanked her hand back, and this time Han let it go, but stepped forward to catch her sleeve.

“Please …” he said, holding her with his eyes as much as with his hand. “Please … don’t go. Can’t you tell that I care about you? I worry about you, I think about you … I care about you.” He swallowed, and it hurt. “A lot.”

She caught her breath, and it sounded like a sob. “I don’t want you to care,” she said, her voice ragged. “Because I’m not supposed to care …”

“You won’t even tell me your name,” Han finished, and he couldn’t hide the touch of bitterness in his voice.

She stood poised for flight, like a bird, her eyes wide and tormented. “I care about you, too,” she whispered, finally. Her voice trembled. “But I shouldn’t. I’m only supposed to care about the One, and the All! You want me to break my vows, Vykk! How can I give up everything I believe in?”

Hearing her admit that she had feelings for him made Han’s heart turn over. “Tell me your name,” he pleaded. “Please …”

She stared at him, eyes bright with tears, then she whispered, “It’s Bria. Bria Tharen.”

Then, without another word, she picked up the skirts of her robe and ran away, through the door, into the dorm.

Han stood in the darkness and felt a slow, wide grin spread across his face. All his exhaustion fell away, and his feet felt as though he were wearing repulsorlift boots. He walked away from the dorm, still smiling, and barely noticed when the skies opened up and it began to pour.

She does care … he thought, slogging through the ubiquitous mud. Bria … that’s nice. Sounds like music or something. Bria …

The next day, after long hours of thinking and planning during a mostly sleepless night, Han went in search of Teroenza. He found the High Priest and Veratil relaxing in the mudflats that lay about a kilometer inland from the shallow Ylesian ocean. Both priests lounged at their ease, immersed in warm red mud up to their massive flanks. Occasionally one or the other would roll over and thrash a bit, to cover an area that had dried out.

The two Gamorreans on guard duty looked positively envious of their masters. Han, on the other hand, came close enough to the mud wallow to catch a whiff, and grimaced. Ugh! Smells like something died last week!

The Corellian stood balancing precariously on the bank and waved to get Teroenza’s attention. “Uh, sir? I’d like a word with you, if possible.”

The High Priest was in a good mood, relaxed from the mud. He waved an undersized arm. “Our heroic pilot! Please, join us!”

Climb into that muck? On purpose? Han thought, repressing a grimace. But he understood that the t’landa Til were offering him a great honor. He sighed.

When Teroenza beckoned to him again, Han grinned and waved back genially. He unfastened his gunbelt,