#We love some angst of Din having a concussed delirium

[cobbssecondbelt]

Dincember 2023 - Day 18: Snowflake

Maldo Kreis. That’s what the radar said. Din didn’t know much about this planet, and he soon found out it was with good reason, for there was nothing to be known about it. Ice, snow, and piercing cold that rattled his bones through the armor was all he knew, and he needed to know.

The Razor Crest was a carcass ripped open, left to freeze in those caves along with the parasites within her hull. The frog lady was bundled up with her precious cargo in two of the spare blankets Din managed to pull out of the collapsed storage space. Grogu had found his place by Din’s hip, curled into a warm mass between padding and cape, shielded from the wind.

As for Din, he sat on the floor, slumped against the wall and stewing in a sour broth of exhaustion and sheer frustration. His head was pounding, hammering at his skull.

He was never accepting a job from Motto again.

He wasn’t going to sleep, not when his veins felt like boiling and his head wanted to burst, so he stared instead. Snow had began falling outside, large plushy snowflakes raining like a shower of feathers thrown from the sky. If there had been a sun, it would have been a pretty scenery, peaceful and delicate and leaving no room for anything other than wonder.

Distant echoes of fresh snow on a Life Day morning resurfaced, just enough to catch a breath but still drowned deep within a clouded mind. Rumors of a warm house and warmer laughs, flashes of deep red and dark brown. The uncomplete sketch of a face.

Din shivered. Snow was falling harder, and behind its white curtain, he thought he saw a silhouette. He kept looking, trying to see something lone gone, to piece together the broken memory. His mind drew white hills in the snowflakes, bathed in rose light. A forest in the distance, the frosted backs of a flock of sheep. The splendid view through a foggy window. A fireplace, alive and cackling. A woman. A mother.

Home, just out of reach behind the white curtain.

After exhaustion won his worn-out body over and he dozed into a restless sleep, he dreamt of the farmhouse, and he called his mother over and over again, but she wouldn’t turn around.

#We love some angst of Din having a concussed delirium #dincember 2023 #din djarin #my works