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Being a Jedi was a sacred duty—but the light demanded more than obedience and sacrifice. Sometimes a Jedi had to be open to the simple, pure experience of joy.
“What reminded you that we didn’t have to be aggressive? That we could be…small, even playful, and in being so, achieve a victory?” Orla gave him an odd look. “I’ve never had to be reminded of that,” she said gently. “Stay on your current path, Elzar, and you’ll see it, too.”
I think people who like pets are more in touch with the Force, Bell thought.
“I find tact only slows conversations down.”
“That’s where we differ. You still think the Jedi Order and the Force are the same thing.”
Nan couldn’t resist a small smile as she thought of the high-and-mighty Jedi being brought down by something as simple as this: the revelation that they didn’t look very carefully at those who did menial tasks for them.
“This is what hope is. It isn’t pretending that nothing will go wrong if only we try hard enough. It’s looking squarely at all the obstacles in the way—knowing the limits of our own power, and the possibility of failure—and moving ahead anyway. That is how we must proceed. With hope.”
Some individuals feed on conflict the way plants feed on light, Leox reminded himself. It’s as natural to them as photosynthesis to a leaf.
It didn’t matter if he’d failed recently. It didn’t matter if he felt shaky, or uncertain, or alone. Duty called upon him to rise to this moment, and Elzar would be damned if he’d falter again.
Between those notes lay another sound, so subtle she barely recognized it: the sound of the waves, the roaring of the sea.
Koley collapsed to the ground. The last thing he ever saw was Geode standing over his head, just like a tombstone.
Orla Jareni’s voice spoke in his head again: Trust yourself, stupid.

