Her hooves clicked with each step as she walked along the main bridge of the ship, barely audible against the hum of it’s landing gear being deployed. Tailtooine was a far cry from the frozen tundra of her homeworld, but necessity demanded she was here - one of her informants needed to make a drop and could trust only Watuki with the document. She breathed deeply, holstering her weapons underneath her robes while mentally reciting the Insurgent dogma, preparing mind and body to make the exchange.


She joined the crowd disembarking from the ship, staying hidden among differing groups of furs as she headed towards the scrap shop she and her informant were to meet up. The sun blazed directly overhead, casting barely any shadows but radiating an intense heat that made sweat drip from Watuki’s brow. As the minutes went by the warmth became oppressive; her eyes fluttered and she rubbed her temples, but noticing strangers beginning to stare at her as she continued through the market, she calmed and collected herself - she was acting far too much like an unacclimatized outsider, too easy to single out. Just as she was beginning to blend in, she felt the familiar vibrations travel through her body that she only associated with one thing: the Imperium guard. Her eyes darted around wildly, looking for the  lynx skull sigil on the shoulders of any armed guards. She spotted them almost immediately, pulling up her hood and walking down a side street, but the vibrations within her persisted, only now she felt the icy dread of being watched.


She chanced a look over her shoulder and could see the Imperium guards headed her way; she adjusted her hood although it was of little help with her disguise. Realizing the futility she silently cursed her antlers and stepped into the thicker market crowds, the mass of furs slowing their pursuit and giving her time to slide into an alleyway and duck down behind a few crates. She slowed her breathing, closed her eyes, and focused on the footsteps of the guards, hearing the footfalls and feeling the vibrations of every step, slowly removing her blaster from beneath her robes as they came closer and closer, ready to turn on them. As she began to tense her muscles, ready to leap forwards and open fire on her opponent who were now less than a metre from the crates she had hidden behind before someone on the street shouted “Hey! Antlers, two lanes up at my 10, move it!”. She breathed a sigh of relief as they ran off: she holstered her weapon but didn’t risk returning to the same street again.


Navigating through lesser-used alleyways and back streets she made her way to the scrap shop. She chose a spot away from everyone else and picked nonchalantly through the small pile of old droid parts, keeping her peripherals open for any more guards. After a few minutes someone knelt down next to her. He turned over a broken pulse stabilizer, asking quietly, “When do two claws rend better than four?” Watuki picked up a catalytic ionizer, responding “When three stars are guided by one”. Her informant placed his dossier on the pile where Watuki quickly picked it up, placed it in a hidden pocket in her robe, and began to leave the junkyard of a shop. She was nearing the exit when she once again felt the dread of being watched and felt the vibrations of footsteps swiftly approaching behind her. She fought her training to perform a pre-emptive strike, and her instinct to run, instead choosing to remain seemingly oblivious. The hand of a large bull forcefully grabbed her shoulder, swinging her around, growling in a gruff tone “Don’t think you can walk out of here without paying for that part; the junk here might be broken but it’s still 27 credits for that ionizer there.”


She smiled and opened a pouch hanging from her waist, “Sorry about that, it’s been a stressful day”, dropping the coins into his open palm before sliding back into the market crowds.