She smiled—a tiny, crinkled, ancient smile.
Yoda Chika looked at Mousie the droid, at the stormtrooper now washing dishes, at the Rodian planting flowers outside. She looked at her wobbly table made of scrap metal, at the stars beginning to pierce the twilight. yoda chika
Yoda Chika touched his helmet gently. “Cook with the scars, you must. Not the spice.” She smiled—a tiny, crinkled, ancient smile
“Eat, you must. But more important? Taste.” She smiled—a tiny
“How?” he whispered.
Yoda Chika’s ears twitched up.
Yoda Chika was tiny—barely three feet tall, with green skin, enormous amber eyes, and two long, expressive ears that drooped when a sauce split. But her voice was the strangest thing. It came out in backwards chirps and solemn, reversed proverbs.