Tyrrazapon rose to sit on his bunk and pondered. After a moment he made his way into the cockpit and sat heavily in the pilot's chair. He seemed to be lost in thought as his eyes looked through the front window into nothing.
He hoped that this moon would finally reveal some answers, or at least a solid direction. As the Wraith approached the system, he grew anxious.
Naboo had yielded little help, and he had only wasted time there. Tattooine he felt, had produced a little more and he'd stayed their for 2 and a half years observing the kinds of people that came and went. He was able to gain a little more knowledge of his father's old belief system, and even found himself practicing with his father's saber. He felt he could handle himself if he were forced into a jam and Tattooine was definitely a place where you could easily find yourself in the middle of one.
Tyrrazapon had lent himself to some of the smugglers on Tattooine and earned some income, though he still had his father's extensive savings at hand. He felt that more than earning credits, he was able to learn valuable skills and insights on the operations of these derelict sorts. He had certainly grown more and more fearless.
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