When the moans of the injured and dying faded into silence, the only sounds left in the ruined camp were the crackle of the burning campfires, the furious breathing of a single human male, and the hum of his weapon. Only moments beforehand there was a cacophany of screams, war cries, and shouts.
Something that felt like electricity continued to surge through Anakin Skywalker's body. It began when his rage fueled the first attack against the Tusken guards and now it filled him with a near-euphoria. He had avenged his mother's murderers. He had done it with an efficiency and speed that rivaled even the greatest of the Masters. For the first time in a long time he felt powerful. He felt in control.
He extinguished his lightsaber and stepped over the still corpses to reach the tent where his mother's body lay. He found a blanket, gently enshrouded the body with it, then carried the body outside to a spot away from the camp. He walked over to a still-burning campfire and picked up a log. With his makeshift torch, he set to flame tents, bodies, and anything else belonging to the Tuskens. He tossed the log aside as black acrid smoke filled the pre-dawn sky. He breathed in the stench of unwashed bodies, of death, of burning flesh. It was overpowering. He quickly picked up Shmi's body, not looking back at the massive pyre he created, and headed back to where he had hidden his swoop. Once he secured the shrouded body to the vehicle with leather straps, he climbed onto the swoop's saddle, gunned the engines, and sped away.
As he raced across barren plains, the first of the twin suns burned orange-red on the horizon. The rising light burned into his eyes and the heat rose off of the desert floor. It was a stifling, suffocating heat. One that made his stomach turn and his head spin. He tried taking a deep breath to clear his dizziness but he smelled again the same sickening stench from the Tusken camp. Did it come from there or was it his mother's body?
Anakin slammed the swoop to a halt. He bent over the sand, retching until his sides ached. Tears spilled down his cheeks. What have I done? he thought as he panted. What if the Council finds out? I'll be expelled.
Involuntarily, he looked down on his hands and to his amazement they were smeared only with dirt and dust. Not a single drop of Tusken blood stained them. He unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and examined its hilt. The metal glinted in the harsh morning light. It, like his hands, was clean of blood. Of course it was...the lightsaber cauterizes wounds. There would be very little blood.
We could keep it a secret. His words to Padmé echoed in his mind. That's right...he needn't tell anyone about this. He had desroyed all of the evidence.
The sensation he had back at the camp surged through him. The Council wouldn't understand anyway. They didn't know what it would be like to lose a mother like this. He glanced back at his mother's shrouded figure and a wave of guilt and anger washed through him. He'd had the power to slay those responsible for her death but not the power to save her in time.
His tears evaporated and a determined hardness settled over his features. He turned back around, facing the way back to his stepfather's homestead. He started up the swoop again and flew off into the horizon.
