Aavruun lay on the woven floor mat beside his brother, a few months into this new life and already feeling the difference between "human baby" and "Wookiee cub."
Wookiee cubs came out ready to grab and climb. His little arms had real pull in them; he could hook his claws into the edge of the cradle and drag himself upright with a determined growl. When Carruck leaned close, Aavruun could cling to his father's chest fur and hang there, legs kicking, grip steady enough that the elders chuckled in approval. His teeth had started to edge in early, useful for chewing on carved wood toys and the soft bark strips Asharra left within reach.
His brother—his doppelganger, though he didn't call him that in his head—rolled beside him, just as strong, just as grabby. Aavruun had settled on "brother" for him. The other him felt separate in a way that mattered. Same start, same memories up to death on Earth as far as Aavruun could tell, but from here on out the feelings drifting through the link carried their own flavor.
Curiosity from the other side of the bond landed different than his own. A flicker of irritation, a sudden spark of interest in a hanging bead or shifting shadow—those pulses belonged to the cub at his side, even if they both remembered firefights and college lectures and Mira's voice.
GRADE: E on the CONSCIOUSNESS perk kept things fuzzy. They didn't trade full thoughts, only impressions. Aavruun could feel intention more than words: his brother's urge to reach, to crawl, to explore; a shared agreement that the warmth felt good; a mutual spike of excitement when Carruck rumbled a proud growl over them.
He couldn't control his brother, and he preferred it that way. The system link gave them vague sharing and a sense of where the other's head was pointed, enough to line up without stepping on each other. That was fine.
Now they were both Force-sensitive; Aavruun felt that truth in every shared edge with Krawruuk. The same odd touches brushed across both of them—small, quiet things that marked them as different from regular cubs.
With an adult mind tucked inside a Wookiee cub's body, Aavruun picked up habits he never carried in his first life. He sensed people long before floor planks creaked or woven fiber shifted. Heavy feelings arrived first. Worry pressed in like extra weight, anger felt sharp and hot in the air, joy moved light and quick along his fur. He could lie in the cradle with his eyes half-lidded and feel exactly which parent stepped inside from the way their presence settled into the room.
Trouble showed in the Force as well. When Asharra carried a burden, the whole branch felt tight. Calm evenings wrapped him in a steady, gentle flow. On days when old pain rose in her chest, the current around her pulled inward, like wroshyr bark drawing close around the core. Carruck's presence rumbled deeper—solid, grounding—with brief spikes of tension each time he checked the cradle again.
Other details surfaced in small ways.
Some mornings, before wind moved across the canopy, Aavruun and Krawruuk felt a faint tilt inside their awareness, a tiny shift that passed through their chests. Only then did leaves outside start to whisper. Insects near the cradle grew quiet when the twins steadied their breathing. Once, drifting half-asleep, Aavruun focused on Asharra's hand above the blankets, and her fingers twitched in rhythm with his heartbeat, as if the Force had carried the beat straight into her muscles.
Learning carried its own rhythm. Wookiee life wrapped them in constant noise and voices, Pack and family spoke around them all day, over meals, during grooming, in soft talks by the hearth. Aavruun and Krawruuk soaked in every sound. By three months, they already tracked most of the meaning in Shyriiwook—tone, pattern, phrasing, the slight changes between a command, a tease, and a comfort. Their bodies still shaped only cub grunts and small growls; speech would come with time. Understanding, though, ran far ahead of their age.
The Force helped. It bridged gaps between words and intent, stitching together emotion, posture, and sound into clear shapes. Where others heard noise, the twins caught shared feeling and purpose. Language, after all, carried life through it, so the Force flowed along the same lines. That flow gave them a shortcut.
At night, they tried to "meditate," as much as two fuzzballs with short claws and wandering attention could manage. They lay side by side, matched breaths, and reached for the quiet hum that filled the great tree and the sky beyond. The Force answered in faint waves—warmth, comfort, hints of distant light just beyond reach. Objects around them stayed still, yet that sense of something waiting circled them, patient and steady.
One day, Aavruun felt certain, those soft ripples would turn into real movement. For now, they listened, breathed, and let the Force learn them as much as they learned it.
But one thing stood out more than anything else: his white fur and his brother's black fur turned them into a small legend in the village. Every relative, every neighbor, every curious hunter wanted a look. White fur in a Wookiee cub sat in the old stories, the kind elders spoke of with slow voices—something that appeared once in many generations, if at all.
Most coats in the village ran in deep browns, rust shades, and dark grays, sometimes streaked with pale bands from one parent or the other. Carruck's lineage carried dense, earth-toned fur suited for the shadowed lower branches. Asharra's line brought that rich, glossy black that gave her such presence among her people. Aavruun's coat grew bright as fresh snow, Krawruuk's as dark as starless space, each cub reflecting an extreme of the lines that met in their parents. Offhand comments from visiting kin mentioned recessive traits, old blood, and the way the Forest sometimes answered in colors.
Asharra crossed the floor with an easy sway, the braids in her fur shifting softly as she moved. She lowered herself beside the woven mat where the twins sprawled, and her hands came down over them in a gentle, familiar pattern—fingers through fur, a light rub along their backs, a quiet rumble in her chest. Warmth and affection poured from her presence every time she touched them. Aavruun felt it roll through the Force as well as across his skin.
He had expected to fake a lot of this. Act like a child, keep his awareness hidden, wait in silence while years crawled past. Instead, the affection from his parents seeped into him through every small contact. Respect from the clan followed: elders who bowed their heads in greeting, cousins who treated him and Krawruuk as blessings for the whole village rather than curiosities. The Force carried all of that—steady, sincere, free of edges.
Love rose from Asharra like warm air from sunlit bark. Pride and fierce protectiveness flowed from Carruck each time he checked on them. Elder voices called the twins "blessed cubs," precious gifts for parents who had waited nearly two centuries. Among Wookiees, most couples raised families by their first hundred years. Carruck and Asharra had crossed two before these births, which gave the moment extra weight in every shared glance and quiet murmur.
Aavruun felt something inside him answer that trust. Biology played a role; instincts coiled in his small body, tying him to the figures who fed and carried him. Yet through the Force he sensed deeper layers—intent, promise, quiet oaths his parents had made to each other long before he existed. That, more than anything, anchored him to this family.
He remembered what came after the Clone War in his first life's canon.
Kashyyyk turned into a supply world and a labor pit. Imperial walkers stomped through clearings, Star Destroyers hung like teeth above the canopy. Whole villages ended up in chains, marched onto slave ships bound for shipyards and construction sites. Wroshyr trunks were cut open for landing platforms, branches stripped for fuel and dry-dock scaffolds. Wookiees were shipped off to help build battle stations and fleets, families split apart to fill quotas and schedules. Fire fell on the clans that pushed back, and stormtroopers finished whatever the turbolasers left standing.
Every time his thoughts ran forward to that future, a thin edge of urgency slid through his plans. Raw strength carried weight, yet strategy, timing, and the right allies would decide whether Kashyyyk thrived. It would require strength and change.