He cried when he began to forget their names.
Ben fell to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks, when he realized that he could not recall the name of one of the council members. Something was on the tip of his tongue, something tickling the back of his mind. Orange skin, goggles, a stern but warm voice...
The name was gone. No matter how hard he tried, baking in the Tatooine heat surrounded by sand and rock, it was gone.
He immediately ran inside and began writing down as many names as he could. Kit Fisto, Shaak Ti, Mace Windu, Ki-Adi-Mundi, Yoda...
He was crushed to realize there were several more names, long passed from his memory, slipping away without him even noticing. With determination, he finished as much of the list as he could, raising a nail to pin it to the wall, a constant visual reminder of those he refused to forget.
No.
The word, soft but firm, echoed in his mind, and his hand paused.
A list was dangerous. Incriminating. For who would have a list of Jedi Masters hanging on the wall of their home?
Ben trembled, staring at the names for as long as he could bear. Trying desperately to carve them into the very center of his heart, so he could never forget them. To forget them would mean their permanent death.
He burned the list, watching the names disappear into smoke and ash.
The desert suns are cruel on Tatooine. The body seems to age faster, more harshly, under their gaze. The mind becomes weary of the heat, and lack of water. Less able to recall information that isn’t vital to survival, especially when you have none to talk to.
Twelve years later, were you to ask Ben who was on the list, he could not tell you. The only names he knew any more were Yoda and Luke.
Only the living were afforded attention; the dead finally faded away.
