Obi-Wan finds her by the river, that morning, watching her ping stones off the surface of the water. It's an idle thing, with all the real intention and emotion of childhood behind it, and something about the moment makes him loath to disturb the peace. She has already progressed remarkably-- her control is improving by leaps and bounds, and he feels no sense of pressure, no need to push. Obi-Wan long ago came to trust his feelings, and so he stands, listening to the plunk of stone and snowmelt, the rush of water, and the wind-sound muffled by the encroaching mountains.

"I was thinking," he said, finally, "Today, we should begin with meditation, if you like. I'm interested to see if we can't pry more meaning out of the vision you mentioned."

Qui-Gon had done that too, phrased most directives as if the course of study depended entirely on his student, and now Obi-Wan found himself falling into the same habit. It made him smile to think of it, and for once without the accompanying pang of loss.