Марта Уэллс: From a Certain Point of View

Murra snorts; something caught in her second set of nostrils. The rebel keeps talking.

“I’m worried about Luke. It’s not like him to be careless. It’s exactly like Han, but at least Han’s still here and safe. I know he’s about to leave, but…” The rebel trails off, uncertain, and sighs….“They’re kind of impossible, aren’t they? Or maybe just Han is. Or maybe I am.” She slings her arm around Murra’s neck and looks at the open door along with the tauntaun, wisps of snow curling in as the sun begins to set. “I sent Threepio to ask Han about going out to find Luke. I hope he doesn’t botch it up. Six million forms of communication and that droid still gets the wording exactly wrong half the time.”

Hearing the word Threepio, Murra’s tail tip twitches in disgust. The shiny thing smells wretched, and it once tried and failed to communicate with her using a loud, grating squawk she didn’t condescend to return.

“Princess?”

It’s another rebel, some random male, and he’s carrying a bridle.

Her rebel, the female, the leader, looks up. She smells annoyed now, as if she’s been interrupted in the midst of something very important. Murra knows that feeling.

“Yes?”

“Captain Solo is gearing up…”

The female unhooks her arm from Murra’s neck, a sensation the tauntaun immediately misses. But then she takes the bridle and slips it over Murra’s head, buckling it gently. “You’ll bring him home, won’t you, girl?” she whispers into a furry ear. “You’re a tough old broad.”

Murra twitches her ear back toward her rebel, listening.

“Princess, wouldn’t you rather send out one of the younger, stronger animals?”

The female leads Murra over to the smaller corral where they keep the saddles, and for once, Murra eagerly follows. Not because there’s food involved, but because the saddle means she’s going outside, and that’s where her daughter Riba has been for far too long.

“There’s no stronger tauntaun than this old battle-ax,” her rebel says, patting her neck. “She was here before us, and she’ll be here long after us. For some reason…I trust her.”

The female rebel leaves as the male begins the lengthy saddling process, but then she returns with a handful of fungus, which Murra daintily nibbles from her open hand, following it with a wide lick of thanks.

“I’m counting on you, girl. Bring them back safe.”

And then the female rebel leaves, a scent of hope mixed with worry trailing in her wake.

The male rebel grooms Murra with a currycomb—it would be enjoyable if she weren’t so anxious to leave—and saddles her, pulling the strap a little more tightly than she’d prefer and making her snort in surprise. She knows this dance, she’s ready for it, and when the noisy male rebel finally arrives, she can smell him, too—he’s angry, but more than that, he’s scared. And he carries the faintest whiff of her female rebel, a tender but lingering scent of affection.

The noisy one doesn’t seem to like what the other rebels are telling him, and he climbs up into her saddle with purpose, thrumming with energy that resonates in Murra herself.

He wants something very much, and she does, too.

She can feel it in her blood, in every muscle.

She needs to run outside, needs to open all her nostrils and hunt for her daughter. She is the matriarch of her herd, and this is her greatest responsibility—keeping those she loves safe, no matter what.

“Your tauntaun will freeze before you reach the first marker,” the male on the ground says, but tauntaun is the only word that means anything to Murra.

“Then I’ll see you in hell!” the noisy rebel shouts back.

Murra doesn’t know what that means, either, but it feels an awful lot like the bellow of rage she unleashed on Keelak earlier, and she wants to bugle along with him, to share in his determination. But the sound she wants to make belongs outside, just like she does. She can wait a few moments longer.

The noisy rebel nudges her forward, and Murra gladly runs out the open door, nostrils wide open, scenting the icy air for any sign of her daughter. She takes in a deep breath, and her body lights up, incandescent. Here, she is an animal again, she is herself, she feels the snow underneath her feet and her tail swinging fully in the freezing air. It is exhilarating and right and beautiful, and for just a moment, before he jerks her reins and sets her course, Murra remembers what it was to be free.

She throws back her head and calls for her daughter, and for once the noisy rebel lets her, doesn’t yank the reins to quiet her.

“You can say that again, sister. Now do me a favor and find my friend.”

Murra runs, nostrils open, searching, hunting, fully herself for the briefest of moments.

There—the faintest scent.

It’s the younger rebel male, the one Riba carried this morning.

The trail is old and faint, but it is enough. If she can find him, perhaps she will find her daughter, and when the temperature falls, they can huddle together and share their warmth. It’s the only way to survive a night this cold on Hoth, and she is determined to live to morning.

She runs like the wind as the sun begins to set.

She will find her daughter and protect her, protect the next generation of taunlets in her daughter’s belly. She is driven by blood and love. She will protect those that she loves.

She will keep them warm.

HEROES OF THE REBELLIONAmy Ratcliffe

Corwi Selgrothe imagined herself at home—wrapped in her beloved bantha-fur blanket and comfortably reviewing footage for new recruitment holos. Instead she was still on Hoth. This was not how the trip was supposed to go.

She adjusted her gloves to make sure they were tucked inside her sleeves. Being inside Echo Base’s shield doors was far superior to being outside in the unforgiving elements, but she wouldn’t go so far as to call it warm. Corwi let loose a frustrated breath, forcibly enough to make a tauntaun dozing nearby give her what she could only describe as a rude look.

“Hey, believe me, I’m not thrilled about this situation, either,” Corwi told the tauntaun.

She leaned back against the pen keeping the conscripted creatures from roaming at will. Corwi needed to collect her thoughts, and this was one of the few places of respite she’d found in the base. She should have been interviewing Luke Skywalker, the most well-known hero of the Rebellion. Time had passed since his triumph against the Death Star, but the name Skywalker still inspired potential recruits—had them with stars in their eyes, dreaming of fighting the Empire and restoring good to the galaxy. Corwi had leveraged the rebels’ victory above Yavin 4 to great effect, releasing numerous holos about the mission to counteract the Empire’s “terrorist attack” lies.

And this trip to Hoth should have given Corwi material for months. Maybe even the next year of the Galactic Civil War! Besides Skywalker, she was going to talk with Han Solo and Princess Leia Organa. Sure the locale was rough, even by rebel standards, but all three of them were in the same place at the same time. Given what she’d heard about one or more of them frequently dashing around the galaxy on missions, this was a rare gift. Corwi knew she could extract stories about their service to the Rebellion and that she’d find stirring quotes in them—quotes that would make others see the promise of the Rebel Alliance. Lines like, “Rebellions are built on hope.”

Capturing Jyn Erso’s moving words before she took off to Scarif with the doomed Rogue One group was one of Corwi’s greatest achievements as a rebel propagandist. And Corwi intended to find similar success on Hoth. She’d certainly lobbied to be sent here, this top-secret location on a frozen rock. She’d made a professional case directly to Mon Mothma about why she should come to this mysterious base—she’d heard rumors that the heroes of the Rebellion were all headed there, and she wouldn’t be foolish enough to try any live broadcasts, or transfer data, or send a message to anyone offworld. She’d save all the glorious interviews she’d get for review after the rebels left Hoth; she didn’t want to give them away. In fact, she told Mon Mothma, she would stay embedded with her fellow rebels for the near future to document day-to-day life. It’s the kind of thing potential recruits were curious about.