*Brynden laughed heartily, drinking his iced shig.*
"Ahh ner vod, do you think my father would have ever deigned to live anywhere where there was the slightest chance we would run out of booze? Stay as long as you like, my patience is vast and my cellar vaster still. How are your children?"

We were going to go get something to eat, but I wasn't quite sure where.

*Rezan reached out to shake the hands of both Brynden and Kaine. Not the usual warriors greeting he'd normally give them, Rezan found it hard to pull himself away from Estrella. He leaned in closer to Bryn and spoke softly.*

Thanks for covering the bull thing, I'll pay you back and tell Ghis that old strill of his truely was innocent...bull got onto my land...it was late... Don't you give me that smirk!*Rezan then spoke up again.* It is good your cellar is vast for our friend then, because I don't have one. I took over growing the old man's 'crops'. And Kaine, I actually have a home here. When I heard a bunch of people were starting a coloney here under Reyn, I came and made sure the militia made it to my standards.

*Working as a barwench, had always made it easy for Estrella to blend into the scenery and being around all of these people that she didn't know made her a little unsure what to say. When Razen pulled away from her to talk to Bryn, she thought that mans name was she more than happy to allow him to have whatever private conversation he wanted to. Being new to the area meeting new people was something that she had done almost every day, it surprised her that so many people could live in a colony that felt so small.*

"I can say that I was brought here because of the liquor.... The people are interesting enough to make me want to stay."

I'm sorry.*Rezan moved back to Estrella's side.*

Estrella, the old guy over there is Kaine Australis, former Mand'alor. The dashing fellow here is Brynden Skirata, chieftan here as I'm sure you know. And I don't know who the boy is.

*Rezan pulled Estrella close and kissed her, then smiled at Kaine and Brynden.*

Boys, this is Estrella Oran, the reason I'm still on Lehon, and possibly the only woman in this colony capable of putting up with me.

*Brynden sat in his chair, Ashla behind him with her hands on his shoulders. He was drinking from a large mug of shig and waiting while the rest of the colony filtered into the town center. When he felt that most were present, he stood and spoke out loudly, easing the chatter.*

"My kith and kin. In previous years we have had a good life here. But you know as I do how desperate our situation has grown. The storms and our distance from the rest of our people have made mere subsistence difficult, and so I put this forward to you all. I have sent to an old ally for a ship large enough for all of us. I would ask that at least fifty percent of us leave upon it, easing the strain on the colony. Those who remain will be able to survive easier and work to get the colony back on its feet. The rest of us will do as our ancestors did, roam as nomads. We will take work as we may to survive, and send as much money as we can back here. We may be gone several years, and some of us may not return. I will not force anyone into this course of action and I expect no answer right away. The ship will come, and it will need to be made ready before we can leave. So a few weeks to decide will be granted to all. For my part, I will leave and Ashla with me. That is all, thank you for your time."

*He nodded and took Ashla's hand, and together they walked back to the house.*

*Market day was drawing to a close, as the merchants and farmers and fishermen sold their wares and closed up their booths, but a considerable amount of activity and noise and hustle still revolved around the market. The social element of market day was coming to the fore, as were a number of fine ales and other strong drinks. No one paid much attention to an aged Mandalorian warrior and a young girl as they discretely skirted the crowded market square and approached the Shoc'yaim landing pier. The early morning mist had burned away, replaced by a clear, cloudless blue sky, and high, warming noonday sun. Ten minutes later, and the odd pair had boarded a hover-ferry bound for the other major Mandalorian settlement on Lehon, the ancient Rakatan city of Middle Beach.*

*Plu leaned against the railing for a moment, watching the clear light blue water flash past beneath the hundred-meter-long ferryboat as it navigated the outlying islands of the Kagaht'kranak archipelago and headed out toward the open tropical ocean. Then, he turned to the girl with a question.* "Do you know the Resol'nare rhyme?"

*The silence of their journey to the ferry is not, for Neassa, an uncomfortable one; she does not know what Plu is thinking of, and her thoughts are a commingling of anticipation - she had come to Lehon in hopes of finding a way to complete her training for the verd'goten and, now, it seems as though she is near to achieving that goal - and mild apprehension - Plu had spoken of proving herself worthy of being trained by the vod they are journeying to meet, and she wonders what manner of proof she will be required to provide and whether she will, when the time comes, prove worthy. Her father, a beroya, had only so much time to devote to her training in the time they had between his jobs and, as her mother died giving birth to her, the only other training Neassa received before leaving Manda'yaim was that her paternal aunt, Fianna, was able to provide. Fianna had four sons to train as well, all older than Neassa, however, and there was only so much time she could devote to her niece. When Neassa ran away, feeling or fearing after her father's death that she might be an unwelcome burden to her aunt, who lost her husband in the same battle that claimed Neassa's father, she found herself first on Bakura, and was taken in briefly by a Mando'ad, a mercenary who, like her father, had only so much time to devote to training her.*

*Plu interrupts her musings with a question, and Neassa, looking away from the sea she had been silently watching, tilts her head to the side with an amused smile - the Resol'nare rhyme is one of the earliest things any Mando'ad is taught, and, accordingly, something her father drilled her on as soon as she could speak - that, as the rhyme is something that she associates closely with her father, does not last long, giving way to a somber nod that precedes her, as the rhyme is not, for her, merely a playful or fun way to learn the six tenets of her culture, equally somber recitation in Mando'a of the rhyme itself,*
"Ba'jur bal beskar'gam,
Ara'nov, aliit,
Mando'a bal Mand'alor—
An vencuyan mhi."

*It might have seemed an odd question to ask of anyone Neassa's age, but Plu had his reasons. He knew she would know the words; that was not his true question. The old Mando wanted to gain a feel for whether she knew and respected their meaning, or just parroted them as a matter of habit. Secondarily, he wanted to see how she would respond to questions when they seemed to serve little purpose. He hoped this might reveal something about her teachability and willingness to learn. He had intentionally started with the very basics, since he had no prior knowledge of her training besides what she had claimed to him back at the forges. It might seem like idle conversation, but all the while, he was carefully testing her worthiness.*

*Education and armor, self-defense, our tribe, our language, our leader—all help us survive. He was rather pleased when he saw Neassa's solemn, respectful nod, followed by a clear recitation, with the proper emphases. The rhyme itself was such a little thing, easily taken for granted, yet she did not question why he had asked.*

"Jate (Good). But those are miite (words) that anade (everyone) knows." *Plu's head sank slightly as he looked down toward the passing water, and he stretched one hand out over the railing, tilting it into the stiff ocean breeze.* *They were going faster now, as the ferryboat approached the breakwater beyond the harbor entrance. The seas below them were getting choppier, but the passengers aboard the floating hoverferry would not feel any significant difference.* "What really matters is their meaning. What does the Resol'nare mean to you, Neassa?"

*Neassa smiles, the expression laced with a hint of wistfulness, when Plu asks what the Resol'nare means to her, his saying that alone, without understanding what the tenets mean and without knowing how to make them a part of one's daily life, it is only miite, reminding her of something her buir [father] would say.

Resting her elbows on the railing after turning to, unconsciously mimicking Plu, look out on the sea, Neassa, continuing to speak in Mando'a, says, speaking to Plu though she addresses the sea,* "So that Manda lives on, it is the duty of all Mando'ad to raise their children, biological or adopted, to be Mandalorians. It is not only so their souls are saved from being dar'manda, but so they can teach their own children to be Mandalorians as well. *Smiling wistfully once more, Neassa says,* My buir once told me that each child not raised Mandalorian by Mandalorian parents is just as bad as a Mandalorian casualty on the battlefield."

*Speaking of her buir makes Neassa pause a moment, commingled melancholy and happiness filling her as she smiles, thinking of the way her daily observation of the aay'han [remembering and celebrating], in which Neassa honors those who have passed, giving them a form of immortality by keeping their spirit and memory in her daily life, always makes her feel. Looking over at Plu briefly, Neassa continues,* "We wear beskar'gam as a way to show all our heritage, and, my buir also said the tenet probably came to be because we are a practical people. On the battlefield, wearing a similar kit as those that share your ideals allows you to know who is friend and who is foe. The need to know how to defend ourselves, and the will to do so, is also practical, *Neassa says matter of factly,* if you cannot defend yourself or are unwilling to do so, you are a liability on the battlefield or to your clan. If one cannot defend themself, *Neassa shrugs,* they die."

*Neassa purses her lips in thought, having come to language and trying to remember all she has been taught about it's importance, and continues less certainly than before, repeating things she grasps with a child's understanding and accepts as true, for now, more than she fully understands,* "Our culture only survives so long as our language does. And, since Mando'ad can come from many species or . . . or places, it gives us a way to talk, and, as not many outsiders speak Mando'a, it can also be a way to speak in code."

*Back on firmer ground, the last of the tenets one she accepts simply and wholly as she has been taught to do so, Neassa continues more confidently,* "If the Manda'lor calls, all Mando'ad must answer. *Shrugging, as though it is as simple as the words themselves and needs no further explanation, Neassa concludes,* The Manda'lor is chosen to lead the Mando'ad, and they must follow."