Jacen doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally surfaces from his trance, but he’s certain, at least, that he feels much better. He has several cuts and bruises, but that and his other injuries aren’t life-threatening.

He opens his eyes and quietly takes a look around, not daring to move anything else but his eyes, at least for the moment. He’s in some sort of hut, small but certainly occupied; the chair he’s sitting on is padded, comfortable, and there’s a small table beside him, on top of which is a half-full glass of water. Suddenly reminded of his thirst, he makes himself straighten up in his seat so he could reach for the glass, and when he can’t quite get a hold of it, he uses the Force to pull it towards him just a teensy bit.

Who’s using the Force as a tool now? he thinks, and he could almost hear Anakin mocking him for his hypocrisy.

He drinks greedily — nearly choking on the first attempt — and as he does so, he tries to remember how he’d gotten here, what happened before he’d crawled out of the wreckage of the crash. But still nothing comes to mind.

So he’s marooned on some desert planet. Well, he’s been through worse.