essenceofhispenance.

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 Her glance falters backwards, disbelieving that such awareness  was his to own. Chani had no time to answer completely, to analyze the wormsign beyond the disturbance in the sand. To those familiar with the ocean, it would was akin to a great menace of  the deep beginning to crest the surface of the waters.

“Territory,” She breathed. It was a possibility, but then he could be feeling the thousands of sandtrout - the larva that would one day be the  great sandworms-  deep below the desert sands. Though not many of them would survive the desolate planet.

 A more likely situation would be smaller rivals flooding towards the vast vibration like a bell ringing for free sustenance. A standoff would not be beneficial for the companions’ survival. But the essence of the spice filled the already potent air. 

                                    Cinnamon.
                                                                Cinnamon everywhere.

She wondered what such a drug would do to his already heighten awareness. She thought on old legends and superstition, but remembered that in such an environment, he wouldn’t be without the Republic’s filtration masks.

Chani shook her head, shaking such religion from her mind as she pressed forward, he was of no use dead. Neither was she.

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               HIS EYES DROP to the sighing dunes below their feet. Minuscule flows of air shape && caress the shifting skin of the desert; motion with purpose, potential with direction, constantly expanding as they traversed the planet’s sere expanse.

                The smell of bitter cinnamon rises through the air, curling around Anakin’s senses. He wrinkles his nose, one hand dropping to the pouches sewn around his robes to retrieve the portable respirator hidden inside. The Council had warned him that some of the planet’s natural spices could have worrying effects on the already advanced percipience of a Jedi. && given the sheer mass of Anakin’s midichlorian count, the consequences of exposure are too high a risk to entertain. 

               The mask filters his breathing into harsh, mechanical rasps. Each exhalation is measured in exact seconds from the next. It turns his voice deep && robotic; an ominous resonance hanging on his every word. ❝ They’re waiting for something. ❞ The beasts’ hungry thoughts fills Anakin’s head with roars. The stillness that follows is too perfect not to be constructed, in shape or form, by the monsters lurking beneath them.

     ❝ Run! ❞ Anakin’s lightsaber springs to life with a hiss just as the sand beneath them breaks, shuddering into a cavernous gap that allows several spinning heads of the sand worms to push through. Anakin raises his saber to defend, but the sandworms shift to attack one another, each opting for the same prize: their fresh meat

     ❝ GO, GO, GO! ❞

 
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independent & private roleplay blog for anakin skywalker/darth vader of all star wars media. written by scout. || est. feb 2016.