Create a fanwork.First, for flavor:
Title:
Auction AngstAuthor:
pronkerEra:
15 BBYSummary:
Luke and Beru share an ~Adventure.IOIOIOIOIO
Blanking your mind makes the Troig's two heads easier to understand, but you are not alone this Mos Eisley morning.
"Aunt Beru, what are dey saying?"
"Let me concentrate, Luke, and then I'll tell you. Go play in the plasteel slag heap with the others, be a good boy, go. Aunt Beru needs to think."
"'Kay."
Plasteel slag produces perfectly smooth, round balls half the size of your pinkie fingernail so nothing scratches and oh look, he's playing with other children. He'll like that. Fours need to socialize because when he's five, he'll start school. You frown as you push away a pang. Let the future take care of itself and drat, you've lost track of the auction so a perfectly contoured bantha got sold and you don't know how much it went for.
Get back in the game, Beru.You remain unsure if you have the money to buy a bantha, and then there will be fodder, shelter and vet bills because you remember your childhood pets quite well. None of them were bantha-sized, though. None of them qualified as possible second vehicles if the family speeder breaks down.
You follow the auction and when it's over, you sit alone on the bleachers. The Troig nods both heads in your direction before joining the throng of buyers as they chitter about their purchases before leaving in twos and threes for the pens to lead their new stock away. A bantha seems impossible to afford, keep, and, well, groom. All that shedding hair! You could weave it into blankets, you suppose, but you've got enough chores. No, Owen will agree with your decision when you three meet for lunch.
You're stiff from sitting so long on the backless seat so you swing your arms and work your shoulders. "Luke?"
The children leave in twos and threes, as well.
"Lu-uke!"
You smile as you stretch and stand up. From the topmost bleacher, you survey the area. The transports parked haphazardly shimmer as the breeze picks up, not yet boiling hot but it will be. No Luke. You climb onto the seat. He's wandered off with Camie's family, yes that is it. You spot them near their rattletrap transport; they've foregone buying, like you. You count them as they cram themselves into the passenger cab,
one two three four five six.This can't be happening. One moment here, the other gone.
"Luke!
Luke!"Departing transports growl, banthas bawl, and you jump down from the modest height. You run to the slag heap. You kick it because surely, surely he's let the others bury him for fun. You'll come across his dear little form any second now. The heap flattens to a wide expanse of rolling balls one ball deep. You trot upon it, skittering, flailing for balance, hoping he's somewhere safe. You have not known the true meaning of fear before this.
Where to now? The bantha pens! The massive banthas in their massive pens could hide, or crush, such a small, innocent
pateesa. The thirty meters to the pens seems like thirty parsecs, and what can those Aqualish be doing clustered around one pen? They shove each other to peer through the rails at something. No. No. Not an accident, he's so young.
What was it Owen said? "Aqualish run a few rackets now in the Workers Section and they'll grow meaner as they grow bigger. Keep away from them, Beru. They're bad news."
You hesitate before pushing through to see the spectacle. You climb as you have not since girlhood to gain the top rail, and you gasp.
At your eye level, Luke sits atop a bantha. He's absorbed with holding onto his perch with one hand. What is that he's doing with his other one? It does not matter because you have found him.
Relief blazes through you as you wonder what to do next. You do not know much about banthas. How excitable are they? They are huge! If you jump across, you will startle it. And how can you jump back onto the rail, or down into the pen beside the pillars of legs, holding Luke? The Aqualish rumble, the bantha chews placidly, and Luke is in danger.
You must act.
IOIOIOIO
"Mmmm, this is one tasty nerfburger. So, Beru, what do you think about getting a bantha?"
"I think there is such a thing as too much fun. Luke, finish your milk."
"Lukie, wouldn't you like a bantha to tame?"
"Nah."
"Don't encourage him,
Uncle Owen. Luke, take this wupiupi to the music droid and choose a song to play. Go now."
"'Kay."
"So what happened you're not telling me?"
"Luke rode a bantha --- here's a napkin let me pound your back --- and I'm sure he used the Force to calm it."
You sip your boba.
IOIOIOIOIO
A/N: Livestock auctions provided grand fun when I was small, and the auctioneers' patter remains a fond memory. Cattle, sheep, and hogs paraded before the bleachers, bids flashed quickly, and children cried as their two-year project animals trotted to their destiny all unknowing. Here's a song about it by Leroy Van Dyke:
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