"Fair enough." She moves again, to the bed this time, and, if Daira doesn't seem to object, puts an arm around her shoulders. "Want to talk about it?"

She shakes her head and moves closer to Pradnakt, reaching for the steady presence she feels in the Force.

Well. Hugs, then.

Hugs are much better than trying to put her thoughts into words.

"How do you do that without... this?" she asks eventually, once she feels less like every shadow might hide some danger.

"Practice, and confidence - you learn that you can survive things, being a Sith, that there's things you can do about being in danger. And sometimes you feel it anyway, and you just learn how to not let it stop you. That's part of why we study tactics."

"I'm not a Sith."

"Yeah. So it's going to be harder, for you. Which one did you try?"

"Fear."

"Yeah." Squeeze. "Which meditation?"

"Foundational, I think. But I - messed it up pretty badly."

"Not that badly. You're just supposed to work up to fear."

"Oh.

I see why."

"Yeah. And if you're not going to be a Sith, it's not a great idea to start with anger, either. Happiness or surprise, probably; I'm not sure which I'd recommend, yet."

"I shouldn't try surprise either."

This elicits another squeeze. "I guess that narrows it down, then."

" - later, maybe."

"Yeah." She kisses her forehead. "In your own time, there's no rush."

Daira manages a faint smile and shifts closer to Pradnakt.

She's content to stay, for a while.

"We were packing," Daira remarks after a while.

"Yeah. I'm about done, though. Double check the garage in case I'm forgetting anything, and that's all for now."

She detaches herself to go look over the garage, still watching her surroundings more with the Force than her eyes.

Pradnakt comes too. A set of metal shelves holding various motors and electronics takes up one wall, and the space where a second speeder would go is full of disassembled scaffolding, neither of which interest her. Instead, she goes to the bins at the back, full of supplies in much more traditional shape than the scrap back in her workroom - bars, rods, and sheets of metal of various types, mostly, some in unusual colors, but also boxes of gemstones - probably not anything too rare, in these quantities - and jugs of liquid and powdered chemicals, neatly labeled.

"You can make a list of that," she gestures at the metal and gemstones, "while I sort the chemicals."

"I don't know what any of those are," she says, pointing at the gemstones.

"- right. Just the metal, then."