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Finally, with a burst of determination, he yanked on the straps until, loosened by the crash, they tore away. Two of the restraints came free in his hands, and he wriggled out of the remaining webbing.

Still no flames, Lowbacca noted with relief as he scrambled from the cockpit and distanced himself from the smoking T-23. Low bacca gasped in deep lungfuls of the fresh, humid air of Yavin 4. As he worked his way across the treetops in the gathering dusk, one knee ached from where it had banged against the controls during the crash.

But he had no time to think about that. His first rescue attempt might have failed, but he had not failed yet. There were always options. He had to get back to the academy.

In his hurried scramble through the upper branches, Lowbacca did not notice when Em Teedee's clip broke at his waist.

The tiny droid fell with a thin wail into the forest below.

Dusk deepened into the full darkness of the jungle night. Swarms of nocturnal creatures awakened, beginning to hunt-but still Lowbacca pressed on.

Common sense had forced him to travel below the canopy, descending to a level where all of the branches were of a sufficient length and sturdiness to support him as he transferred his agile bulk from one tree to the next. Sometimes when he began to tire, or when his injured knee threatened to give way beneath him, Lowbacca relied on his powerful arms instead, swinging from branch to branch, using bis keen Wookiee night vision in the murky shadows.

But he never stopped to rest. He could rest later.

Right now all of his senses were as finely tuned as a medical droid's laser beam. The pads of his feet and his acute sense of smell helped him to avoid decaying patches or slippery growths on the tree branches as he walked. His sharp hearing could distinguish between the sounds of wind through the leaves and the rustling of nocturnal animals as they stalked the jungle heights. For the most part, he managed to stay clear of them.

Lowbacca did not fear the darkness or the jungle. The jungles of Kashyyyk held far greater dangers-and he had faced those and survived. He remembered playing late-night games in the forest with his cousins and friends: races through the upper trees, jump ing and swinging competitions, daring expeditions to the dangerous lower regions to test each other's courage, and the usual rites of passage that marked a Wookiee youth's transition into adulthood.

As he pushed through a dense clump of growth, a twig snagged Lowie's webbed belt, and he yanked it free. The feel of the intri cately braided strands beneath his fingers reminded him of the night when he had won his belt, of his dangerous rite of passage.

He remembered...

He felt his heart race with excitement as he descended toward the jungle floor that night long ago. Lowie had been down that far only twice before, when he had attended the rites of other friends, as was customary; there was strength in numbers when they sought to harvest the long, silky strands from the center of the deadly syren plant.

But Lowbacca had chosen to go alone, preferring to meet the challenge of the voracious syren plant using his own wits rather than borrowed muscles.

The night on Kashyyyk had been cool and dank. The profusion of screeches, chirps, growls, and croaks had been overwhelming. When he'd reached the lowest branches, Lowie had cinched the strap of his knapsack tighter and began his hunt.

With every sense fully alert, Lowbacca had moved stealthily from branch to branch until he caught the alluring scent of a wild syren plant. With sure instinct he'd followed the distinctive odor, feeling a mixture of anticipation and dread, until he squatted on the branch directly above the plant. He leaned over to study his stationary, but incredibly vicious, quarry.

The huge syren blossom consisted of two glossy oval petals of bright yellow, seamed in the center and supported by a mottled, bloody red stalk, twice as thick around as the sturdy tree limb on which Lowbacca sat. From the center of the open blossom spread