Kashyyyk turned under its soft green haze, a world wrapped in layered forest from equator to shining sea. Along one mid-latitude coast, the wroshyr trees thickened into a vast living wall, their trunks wider than towers, their crowns lifting into cloud. Storms rolled in from the ocean and broke against that endless canopy, feeding rivers that vanished into the leaves far below.
High above the shadowed ground, a settlement clung to a cluster of wroshyr giants. The Wookiees called it Tharrawrr, a village woven from wood, vine, and tradition. Broad platforms ringed the trunks at staggered heights, lanterns hanging from carved branches like small suns. Rope-and-branch bridges stretched between trees, swaying gently with each passing breeze and each heavy-footed stride. Far beneath, the lower levels faded into a green-black depth filled with distant roars and the rustle of unseen creatures.
Tharrawrr's main platform opened toward the sea. From its outer railings, the ocean lay visible through breaks in the foliage, a sheet of blue-silver between trunks, glimmering where light struck the waves. Salt carried upward in faint traces, mixing with the smells of sap, woodsmoke, and roasted meat from communal fire pits. Children's growls and laughter rolled between houses, answering the deeper rumble of elders trading stories near the central hearth.
Near the heart of the village, one of the larger family homes encircled a massive wroshyr trunk, its walls curved with the tree's living grain. The cradle Asharra had tended rested inside, shaped from carefully worked wroshyr root and bound with braided vine, positioned where warm light from a side opening fell across its rim.
Just outside that doorway stood her mate, Carrukk.
Carrukk's frame filled the entrance with ease. He stood a head taller than many of his kin, shoulders wide enough to carry heavy game alone, chest thick with dense muscle shaped by years of climbing, hunting, and guarding the village paths. His fur carried a rich, dark brown tone with faint streaks of copper along his arms and back, hints of old sun across a warrior's coat. Thick forearms ended in powerful hands, claws still stained in places from recent work with wood and binding fiber.
A leather-and-metal harness crossed his torso, decorated with simple beads and a pair of tooth tokens earned during hunts in the lower boughs. Scars ran in pale lines beneath the fur at his left shoulder and along one rib, quiet proof of battles with predators in the wild growth below the village. Each breath he drew felt steady, controlled, the breathing pattern of someone who spent a lifetime moving between branches at great height.
Around him, Tharrawrr's sounds rolled on—the distant clatter of tools against wood, the hoot of a bird somewhere in the canopy, the low murmur of clanmates passing along the nearby walkway. Carrukk listened to all of it with the calm focus of a guardian, heavy form planted at the threshold of the home that now held more than two heartbeats.
Others joined in around him—his elderly parents, Asharra's mother, cousins, warriors, friends—until the platform outside their home felt full of familiar faces and warm eyes.
Asharra's mother, Rhashala, stood near the doorway, silver running through the black of her fur like threads of starlight. Seasons of work lay behind her: decades spent guiding hunts, tending injuries, mediating disputes high among the wroshyr limbs. Elders from other platforms often sought her judgment, and younger Wookiees spoke her name with deep respect. Today, though, she simply wrapped her arms around Carruck's shoulders and pulled him into a fierce embrace, chest rumbling with a pleased growl.
He had arrived first in his parents' litter generations earlier; Asharra had arrived last in hers. Between their families, stories filled entire evenings. Now a new story waited just beyond the wall.
Inside, healers moved through low, steady murmurs. The village midwife—Grasha, a broad-shouldered female with graying muzzle fur and steady amber eyes—worked with two assistants. Among the high branches, Grasha's name carried weight as well; she had delivered cubs for three full generations.
Rhashala released Carruck with one final squeeze, palms resting briefly on his upper arms before she stepped back toward his parents. Her voice carried, warm and proud, as she spoke of blessings and long-awaited answers.
Carruck's heart beat hard against his ribs. Cubs meant strength for the village. Cubs meant future warriors, future artisans, future keepers of stories. For a clan, few moments carried greater importance than a long-awaited birth.
The door-curtain finally shifted aside. Grasha stepped out with her two assistants close behind.
"It is done," she announced, voice low and controlled. Her expression carried a strange mix—eyes bright, mouth set. Excitement or concern, Carruck could not tell from a distance.
He moved forward on heavy steps, the crowd easing aside for him. Up close, Grasha leaned in, her breath warm against his ear.
"The birth went well. Your mate rests in strength," she murmured. "An auspicious sign appears with your cubs. Once you see them, you will understand. I must bring an elder to observe."
A short nod from him sealed the exchange. Auspicious sign. His cubs.
Carruck thanked her in a rough, quiet rumble and passed through the doorway, as tradition demanded. Fathers entered alone first; the village waited outside for the moment when he would bring the cubs out for all to see.
Around the platform, nearly fifty Wookiees held their places—family, warriors, craftsfolk, younglings craning for a glimpse. They had not heard Grasha's whisper, yet small glances passed between them. They had seen the look shared between midwife and father, felt the slight change in the air.
Behind Carruck, Grasha turned to her assistants, her voice shifting into the efficient cadence of long practice.
"Take the samples," she ordered. "Deliver them to the Republic station in the village center."
The two younger healers gathered their kit—sealed vials, clean cloth, small tagged containers prepared before the birth—and moved off along the walkway toward the central platform. There, a Republic medical droid waited as part of a wide network spread across countless worlds, quietly collecting health data, life-sign readings, and the rare markers that drew Jedi attention.
Under the Republic's watch, Kashyyyk's villages in this region had grown stronger—better medicines, sturdier equipment, faster contact with orbit when storms rose. The rhythm of life still belonged to the wroshyr trees and the clans, yet subtle threads now linked the high branches to a wider galaxy.
On this day, those threads carried a fresh trace from a small home, high above the shadowed roots of the forest, where two newborn heartbeats had just joined the world.
Carruck entered the room and found his mate resting against the carved headboard, thick furs bundled around her, two small shapes cradled in her arms. His chest felt ancient and young at the same time, tight with a feeling that reached back through every season of waiting.
Asharra's eyes lifted to him, warm and steady, love written clear in the set of her muzzle. The midwife's word lingered in his mind—auspicious—circling like a small bird above a storm. Something about the cubs, she had said.
He stepped closer.
The first bundle lay tucked against Asharra's side. Carruck leaned in and his breath caught. A beautiful cub, strong limbs, small claws already curling with quiet strength. Fur black as midnight covered the little body, deeper even than Asharra's own dark coat. Elders spoke of such shade in old stories—rare lines that seemed carved from the deep sky between stars.
Before that wonder fully settled, his gaze slid to the second cub.
Fur white as fresh snow filled his vision. Clean, even, bright from muzzle to heel. White Wookiees lived mostly in whispers—tales of omens, of turning points, of spirits that walked close beside the living. To see such a coat in truth, in his own home, in his own arms' reach, bent something inside his understanding.
One cub wrapped in shadow.
One wrapped in light.
Auspicious indeed.
Carruck's heart surged and every old ache washed away in a single rush. Whatever the signs meant, whatever the elders would say later, he carried one clear truth: his family had arrived.
He eased the bundles from Asharra's arms, one cub resting in each of his great hands. Small fingers tightened around his fur with fierce grips that drew a low, pleased rumble from his chest. Strong holds, just as every healthy Wookiee cub displayed in those first moments. A good sign layered atop many others.
Asharra's voice came gentle and proud as she watched him. The pale-furred cub had entered the world first, she said, the dark-furred one following close behind.
Carruck lifted both cubs up and pressed his brow to each tiny forehead in turn, breath steady, spirit full.
The white-furred cub they named Aavruun—a name from old clan speech that carried the sense of first light through mist, the glow that touches high branches before any voice stirs below.
The black-furred cub they named Krawruuk—a name linked to deep-rooted trunks and storm-dark canopies, the strength that holds fast when winds test every limb.
Two colors. Two names. Two heartbeats bound to his own.
Carruck lowered them slowly, a quiet growl of gratitude building in his chest as he cradled them together in his arms.