Luke shook his head. "You're still in training," he pointed out. He'd never been attracted to someone he was training, so he wasn't sure where or if it would overlap--but he'd cross that hurdle when he came to it. And it might not have been a great idea to further the connection that had led to, well, this--but it was a little late to think about that, now.

"Find me," he instructed, closing his eyes and opening his mind to her. Not all of it--this was practice for him, as well. But if she could navigate what was him, versus the other forms of life, then she could pull on threads that would allow her to answer those questions. Not that he was unwilling to talk, but he hadn't earned his place as a craggy Jedi sage for nothing.

He thought about home, a place he had not considered such in decades. But she had asked. And so he settled into his memories of Tatooine. The Lars homestead. A stern-faced man and smiling, sad-eyed woman. A messy room with little in the way of luxury, made up for in bits of machinery half pulled-apart. A skyhopper cockpit, sheering close to red canyon walls. Life in the desert, uneventful and lonely but not entirely uncomfortable.