Camp Vamo, forest moon of the Endor system. Colonel Fifs walked out of the rebel command tent, his green and brown camo hid him perfectly among the ferns and underbrush of the forest canopy. It was quiet, and in the distance he could hear the unmistakable crunch of walkers working their way through the huge trees. It'd be only hours before they arrived. Time to prepare was almost over. It was time to fight.
A spot of white passed through the trees, stark and bright amid the earthy tones of the forest floor. The shape moved left, paused, doubled back. Right, then. The armored figure carried on a few uncertain paces into the brush before stopping once more. "Gah, I can't see a thing through this stupid helmet... All these trees look the same... Where am I?!" When the battle for the fate of the galaxy began, Trooper TG-827 would be late.
The battle that would set the new standard of this galaxy was beginning, yet in the treetops was a third party. A party that didn't know what was happening, a single person from the group moved quick, as quick as his little furry legs would carry him. He let out a few shrieks, a more imposing furry creature reacted. Stating his name, Chief Tarpa, and a loud bang with his stick. The fuzzy people grabbed their weapons, it was time for the attack. The attack of the drop bears.
Still a better love story than Twilight.