[ Din ate these, alone in his room with the box on his lap like a grown man made half his size - the youngling in him absorbed by flavors not found on the outer rim or any planet he's ever been to.
When he's finished, the scrap work from an old cape is pulled off the doorknob, their agreed-upon method of communication that he either had company or wasn't in his beskar.
He shoots a text, putting what's left of the cookies up on his personal shelf. ]
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When he's finished, the scrap work from an old cape is pulled off the doorknob, their agreed-upon method of communication that he either had company or wasn't in his beskar.
He shoots a text, putting what's left of the cookies up on his personal shelf. ]
They were good. Thank you.