Chirrut's breath is driven out of his body as they hit the mat, his air already limited by Baze's chokehold. He thrashes, but cannot shift Baze's hold, and his own staff is digging into his ribs where he landed on it.

For a moment, for two, the world is almost serene. Muscles held tight for hours relax, slowly.

That damnedable wind howls, shredding soothed nerves. He snakes his hands free, and yanks on Baze's ears.