The klaxon of an alarm woke the Mandalorian from his rest and roused him from the recurring memory of the purge, slate-grey eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lights in his quarters. Wulfram tossed in his bed for a moment more before he reached out and grabbed the offending helmet from the stand and pressed the interior switch to disable the alarm and activated the intercom.

"Winchester. You awake, or is Ritz flying this heap?" He asked, knowing full well that if it was first alarm, Chris was likely asleep in the Wheelhouse and Ritz was steering them through deep space.

They were on their way home from a far-flung assignment on Coruscant. A VIP security detail, with Chris securing sight lines across the promenade while Wulfram provided close support for their principle. An uneventful job, by far, without interruption or even a bar fight afterwards.

Every assignment was the same, verify target, stock up, ship out, perform, drink, go home. And these assignments were Wulfram's life, day in, day out. Even if it was a simple pickup, a break-in, or being someone's escort, the work was his life.

"Why do I bother, you're sleeping." He grunted as he sat up and pulled a pair of briefs out a drawer beside his bed.

"I'm awake. You stupid droid started complaining 'bout local traffic, so I'm actually awake." The man in the wheelhouse complained through the helmet, evoking a smirk from the Mandalorian.

"You know Chris, you complain too much." Wulfram chuckled into the neck of the helmet before he threw it onto his bunk and stretched out.

"I'll be up in a couple minutes." He finished as he crossed the room and picked up a toothbrush and went through the basic morning routine.

In a state of undress, Wulfram made his way up to the wheelhouse and stared at Chris and Ritz. The lane into Dajorra was backfilled with various freighters and returning warships. The Mandalorian looked at his crewmate and shrugged as he investigated the tail numbers of other nearby vessels and tried to figure out their purpose in the lane.

"Can't think of the last time I saw this many ships backlogged coming into the system. Guess I'll just go clean my armor, I'll start a pot of caf on my way back to bunk. Want any food?" He asked as he scratched his stomach and put a hand up on the bulkhead.

"No, but put some clothes on. I'm really starting to think those Helmet-obsessed zealots have the right idea. Never see them naked, never see their ugly faces. But you, I have to see both. Every. Single. Day." Chris shot back, throwing a stylus at the Mandalorian as he ducked through the bulkhead and cackled down the passageway.

"Feelin's mutual, Imperial scum!" Wulfram laughed back as he ducked into the Galley and punched the caf pot into place and started a fresh pot for the pair of them.

He then ducked back into the passageway and towards his bunk, staring at the helmet on his bunk, the klaxon alarm sounding off again.

"How did I get stuck with this schutta again?" He joked as he slapped the helmet to turn off his alarm.

Steeped in history, stained with blood. The trees of Endor reached towards the sky as mighty fingers that were firmly rooted in life-nurturing soil. Soil that felt good on the bottom of the young Wookiee Jedi’s feet. His name was Worbiiuk, shortened to Worbie by the humans he was forced to deal with on a daily basis. Durasteel and the confining hulls of Starcraft had become his prison. For the sake of sanity and to remain tapped into his primal instinct, he would frequently travel to arboreal worlds. To recalibrate and to center himself. A trip to Endor was perfect for such an endeavor as he had business in the Bakura Trace, a Hyperlane that led to Endor’s Gate.

His feet crunched in the foliage and he walked with his eyes closed, absorbing the presence of the Force and basking in the abundance of life. Bustling cities paled in comparison to the natural simplicity and beauty of the circle. He missed it. Each step brought him closer to enlightenment but further from civilization as he not only meditated on his surroundings but waited. The three training remotes he had released earlier were programmed to track him down and were relentless predators. His master, Bem Enon, a human survivor often used these protocols to train his Padawans. It kept them sharp.

The Wookiee’s eyelids snapped open and Worbie quickly turned his head to the right as he heard the familiar hiss of a remote’s thrusters. He drew his lightsaber and in a flash, a green blade snapped to attention. A resplendent emerald that reminded him of the leaves of the Worshyr.

Three red beams lanced out from thick cover and with a simple sweep of his blade he deflected two and as he dug into the solid stance of Shi-Cho, the third was seemingly absorbed. His eyes scanned his surroundings and as two more shots triggered his senses, he dipped his blade over his shoulder to block a shot to his back, and stepped forward to allow the second shot to connect with the tree in front of him. As he rounded the tree, his eyes locked onto the remote and as it tried to draw a bead on him, he snapped the fingers of his left hand and a spark flashed directly in front of the droid causing its sensors to bug out momentarily. As the glitch in the system hindered the targeting computer, with that same left hand, Worbie gripped it with the Force and slung it into a large outcropping of rock.

Worbie snorted as it burst into a heap of smoking metal and his head immediately snapped to the left as the other two remotes zipped past him. He grunted as they both fired a volley that seemingly melted against an invisible barrier shielding him. His knees bent and with a burst of strength, the Force propelled him forward. As he flew through the air, he whipped his blade down, striking one of the remotes with his blade and upon landing, deflected two more shots from the remaining threat.

Rather than destroy the droid quickly, he looked to the sky just as his Convor companion swooped down, striking the remote in silence. The remote tumbled in the air as the bird redirected and rocketed straight up. In that moment, in unison with the airstrike, Worbie slid forward and caught the remote with his bare hand and squeezed, crushing it with his mighty grip. He snorted a Wookiee laugh and revealed his teeth in a smile as he tossed it to the ground and watched as a Flock of birds erupted into a black cloud above him. A cloud with one mind as it molded and transformed into various forms as it broke out of a clearing in the canopy, their uniform flight a truly spectacular thing to behold.

**It's amazing what can be accomplished with one mind in accord.**