Asharra sat on the sleeping platform, hands resting on the woven blanket, feeling as if her chest had turned to carved wood. For so many years she had longed for cubs, hoped through each season, watched others cradle newborns while her own arms stayed empty. In time she had resigned herself to a life of mate, clan, and service, a full life without children of her own.
Now Carruck held her from behind, his broad arms wrapped around her shoulders, his muzzle resting against the top of her head. She felt his warmth, the steady strength in his grip, the way his breath came thicker than usual. His presence braced her, yet the words from the elders still hung like a weight in the air.
Her cubs were special. Born after such a long wait, wrapped in blessing and strange signs, marked by the Force itself. She had been granted what felt like a double miracle—two lives, two tiny hearts, white and black fur curled together in her arms. And now, so soon, the talk turned toward sending them away.
Her thoughts circled the same word again and again. Why.
Why now, after so many quiet years.
Why her sons, when the village had so many strong hunters and crafters.
Why a path that began with distance.
She pressed her claws lightly into the blanket to steady her breathing. Every instinct inside her pulled toward keeping them close, holding them through each season, watching them learn to climb the branches and roar with the other cubs. The idea of release carved a sharp line through her heart, clean and deep, as if something had already been taken.
Her heart felt slashed open, raw and exposed, while the voices of council and honor still echoed in her ears.
Carruck wrapped his arms around Asharra, broad chest curved over her smaller frame as she leaned into him. Her breathing came slow and heavy against his fur, the weight of it settling through him as clearly as any battle strain.
He had wanted cubs every bit as fiercely as she had—perhaps even more as the years stacked and hope thinned—but the joy that lit her when these two arrived outshone anything he carried. The first time she placed both sons in the cradle, something old and tight in her eyes eased, a long ache finally given rest.
Carruck lived as a warrior, through and through. His sons carried his line, his strength, his promise to the clan. Among all fighters in the galaxy, the Jedi stood at the very peak. A path into that Order meant blades of light, mastery of the unseen, and service on a scale that reached far beyond their village. For a father with a fighter's heart, the offer carried a powerful pull.
Yet he had never carried them beneath his ribs for a full year. He had never felt their every turn from inside, never shaped his days around the simple act of keeping two small lives safe before they even drew breath. Their birth had washed away a wound inside Asharra that decades of patience could not touch.
To lift the cubs from her arms and hand them toward the stars would slice straight through that healing.
Carruck rested his chin gently atop her head, claws smoothing once along her shoulder. He weighed duty, pride, clan strength—all the things elders spoke of—and set them beside the quiet tremor in his mate's breathing.
He reached his answer.
When the time came, he would stand beside Asharra. Her choice would be his choice.
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Aavruun and Krawruuk stared at each other across the woven cradle, tiny paws flexing in the dim light. A heavy ache rolled through both of them at the same time, sharp and deep, like claws raking straight through the middle of the chest. The feeling came from one direction, a clear pull in their awareness, and that pull led home.
They had spent the afternoon across the platform with a neighbor's family, bundled into another cradle while cousins tumbled past and older Wookiees shared food and stories. In their village, cubs belonged to more than one set of arms; aunts, uncles, friends, and neighbors rotated through caretaking as easily as breathing. Aavruun and Krawruuk had grown used to drifting from one warm lap to another, soaking in the steady comfort of communal life.
The pain arrived after Asharra came to bring them back.
She lifted them gently, one against each shoulder, yet her breathing sounded different—short, tight, pressed down. Her arms wrapped around them with extra strength, fur brushing their faces as she pulled them close. Asharra walked home without her usual humming under her breath; each step carried a quiet strain that pressed through the Force like a low, constant throb.
Back in the family dwelling, she held them longer than usual. Aavruun felt her cheek rest against his head, the rise and fall of her chest thinner than before. Krawruuk sensed the same thing: love poured through every touch, mixed with a deep, raw grief that had no words yet. When she finally set them in their cradle, her paws lingered on their backs, claws resting very lightly, as if letting go even for sleep took effort.
Questions spun through Aavruun's mind in clumsy, half-formed thoughts. Someone gone? Some terrible news? The feeling in his center answered for him—the wound he felt belonged to his mother, and it flowed straight into both cubs through the Force.
Sharing that ache between them, Aavruun and Krawruuk settled on a simple answer.
Go to her.
The cradle stood low and wide, woven from tough wroshyr fibers, railings bound with soft leather so small claws would catch safely. Wookiee cubs came into the world with good grip and strong limbs; at four months, most could pull themselves upright and clamber over simple obstacles when they wanted something badly enough.
Aavruun grabbed the rail first.
Thick little fingers curled around the edge, arm muscles bunching as he hauled himself up. His legs wobbled, fur brushing the cradle wall as he leaned forward. Krawruuk mirrored him from the other side, their movements almost matched. They tipped their weight together, small bodies working with stubborn determination.
The pair eased their bellies over the rail and slid down the outer side, landing on the floor with two soft thumps. The woven mat cushioned the drop, fibers rough under bare pads.
They paused, steadying themselves.
Standing came easier than it had a month earlier. Wookiee cub bones hardened quickly, and their wide hands gave them stable balance. Aavruun planted both hands on the mat, pushed up, and found his feet in a squat that turned into an unsteady stand. Krawruuk braced against the cradle leg, claws digging into the wood as he followed.
Short, shuffling steps carried them across the room.
The air smelled of sap and cooking spice, undercut by the salt of dried tears. A hanging curtain of woven bark string marked the entrance to the sleeping alcove. The twins pushed through, cords brushing over their heads and shoulders.
Inside, the light dimmed.
Carruck sat on the low sleeping pallet, broad frame hunched forward. His arms wrapped around Asharra, her dark fur pressed into his chest. Her shoulders trembled against him in slow, uneven waves. The deep rumble in her throat carried sorrow and strain, a sound that pulled at something inside the twins' small chests.
Aavruun felt the weight of her grief through more than his ears.
The Force around her tightened, dense and close, pressing against his senses like heavy air. The ache he had felt earlier came into sharp focus—sharp, deep, aimed inward. Beside him, Krawruuk's emotions flared in answer: worry, protectiveness, a steady push toward her.
They traded a glance.
Small, bright eyes met for a heartbeat, and the same intent passed cleanly between them.
Comfort Mother.
Asharra sat propped against the woven backrest, fingers tangled in the fur at her temples, the talk with the elders circling through her thoughts like slow wind around a trunk. The room glowed soft in the lantern light; shadows pooled under the curved beams overhead, and Carruck's heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders, chest a solid warmth against her back.
She heard the small scrabble first.
Tiny claws on smoothed wood. A breathy huff. Another. She lifted her head.
At the edge of the sleeping platform, two small shapes wobbled into view.
Aavruun came first, white fur bright against the darker bedding, little legs wide for balance, paws braced and determined. Krawruuk followed half a step behind, coat black as deep night, eyes catching the lantern glow in sharp amber. Their ears tilted forward with focus, mouths set in serious cub-lines as they toddled toward her.
Carruck rumbled a low chuckle in his chest as he watched them. "Strong cubs," he murmured, pride sitting clear in his voice.
They reached her knee and did not stop. Aavruun pressed both paws into the blankets, hauled himself up with stubborn effort, and leaned his small body against her. Krawruuk mirrored him on the other side, round head bumping gently into her hip. Together they wrapped short arms around her waist and pressed in, soft fur and small claws, a clumsy, earnest embrace.
Asharra felt something tighten in her throat.
It felt deliberate. As if they had walked all this way across the platform for this exact reason.
"Little ones…" she whispered, scooping them up with careful arms. One cub on each side, pressed to her chest. Their hearts beat quick against her ribs, fast and alive.
Mother…
The word spoken by Aavruun brushed her ears in a rough, cub-soft growl, thin but clear.
Asharra froze.
Aavruun's white paw came up and rested against her cheek. Krawruuk's smaller, darker paw settled on the other side. Warmth poured through the contact—simple, strong, full of feeling. Love, deep and steady. Trust. A sense of her own pain reflected back at her, as if they had reached straight into the ache in her chest and acknowledged it without any grown-up words.
She could feel it as they looked into her eyes and she into theirs.
Krawruuk's tiny chest rumbled, a cub-deep growl shaped around two rough Shyriiwook sounds.
"Come… back."
Asharra's breath caught. The word landed square in her chest, right where the ache lived.
Beside her, Carruck stared, ears raised, eyes wide. For a heartbeat he felt very young again, a fresh warrior hearing his first war-drum. Speech this early belonged to old fireside tales, yet both cubs watched her with a clear, steady focus that carried far more than sound.
They were so special, she thought. Each heartbeat, each breath, brushed against something larger. The Force wound through them with a strength she felt in her bones, older than any story.
Her arms tightened around them. Every part of her wanted to keep them close, to build walls of fur and wood and steel around this little family. She had carried them for a full year, felt every stir, every small twist inside. After their birth, a hollow that lived in her for decades finally eased. She felt whole again.
To send them away felt like tearing that healed place open.
Yet as Aavruun lifted his small paw to her cheek, pads warm against her fur, calm slid in alongside the pain. His eyes held a steady, earnest light. They did not understand the details—but the twins understood her pain having to let them go.
Krawruuk pressed closer on her other side, his paw mirroring his brother's. Two small hands on her face, two sets of eyes, one white-furred cub, one black. Love poured through that touch—simple, fierce, clear. They loved her. They trusted her. And that letting them go was okay, but one day they would be back.
Asharra's throat tightened. These cubs belonged to the village, to Kashyyyk, to the wide weave of life… and, for a brief bright span, to her arms.
She rested her forehead against theirs, black fur brushing white. "Come back to us, my children," she answered gently in Shyriiwook, her voice a low, steady growl. She held them there for a long moment, fixing the warmth of their small bodies and the weight of their presence into memory, already knowing she would carry this feeling through every season that followed in their absence. .