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Storms could last for days at a time on Kamino – the concept of waiting it out was a foreign one. So when Yoda arrived to collect the Republic’s new army, there was no delay in loading the troops, even as the rain poured down in gusts and sheets. The sea rose up in waves that would dwarf a creature a hundred times Yoda’s size, under a dark sky only lit by brief flashes that rumbled loud and close, but this did not slow the soldiers down in the slightest. A fact that the Kaminoans were quick to remark on to Yoda, eager to advertise the clones’ ability to deploy in the harshest of conditions.
It was ominous weather, if one believed in such omens. Of course, it was only the natural cycle of the planet, beautiful in its own right, and deserved more appreciation than to be associated with the precipitation of evils it had no claim to.
Warnings from the Force were hardly so tangible, and the sense of foreboding Yoda felt had nothing to do with the storm. But in a poetic sense, the weather provided an appropriate backdrop to it.
War had risen, and Yoda’s heart ached.