“I’m not kissing you because a plant told me to,” Mara said flatly.

“I think it’s sentient,” Karrde pointed out, “and I don’t think it will let us go until we do,” and the festive berries above them jingled as if in agreement, and the leafy tendrils winding around their bodies tightened as if to bear out his argument.

Mara reached again for her lightsaber, but it bobbed just out of reach, held in the grasp of a thorny branch that seemed curiously resistant to the Force for something that communicated telepathically.