"With you around, I could hardly starve if I wanted to," Obi-Wan says, putting hands to his chair, and beginning the somewhat laborious task of maneuvering himself to follow her, "I lost track of the time, that's all."

Not strictly true. Something about living underground had slowly been diminishing his appetite. Maybe it was the lyrium, easier to find here, in dust, in stone. It was precious stuff, valuable as ever, but less so now than it had ever been. And air traveled everywhere it could.

Or maybe, it was something else.

"You're too young to worry so much about a crippled old Jedi," An old complaint, delivered fondly, "I did muddle along somehow, before we met."