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The first time he found a bowl of steaming gruel at the entrance of his secret burrowing hole, he ignored his growling stomach and threw it away. Poison killed as surely as starvation. Then he set off finding a new burrowing hole.
Hunger was a stubborn friend and found him yet again. This time, another pot of gruel was waiting innocently in his new, carefully-hidden burrowing hole. The steam was stilling rising above it like a taunt. He froze, eyeing it suspiciously. But only for a moment. After he'd finished hurrying down the food, he set about upgrading his home security. His fingers worked nimbly with wires, blaster mechanisms and tripwires. He paused. Then changed the blaster settings to 'stun' instead. Had to keep the intruder alive and unharmed. For questioning, he decided. For questioning.
There were no more signs of intrusion.
Until the day Baze found himself crawling back to his hole, half delirious with fatigue. There was a flash of red and black, and he threw a punch at the boy he found waiting in his home. Without missing a beat, the boy ducked to the side and dragged him to his sleeping mat. Clearly much stronger than he looked.
Efficiently, the monk apprentice applied some foul-smelling salve to his cuts and bruises. Baze was too exhausted to resist. And perhaps it was his imagination but the boy seemed a little anxious despite his unflappable appearance. His face gave nothing away but the harsh line of his back said plenty.
"How did you know?"
"I could feel you in the Force," he replied simply.
The Force, Baze thought as he drifted off. What a nutter.
Baze awoke to an empty home. Baze had never been one for sentiment, but he felt strangely disappointed. None of the traps had been tripped but his hand was neatly bandaged.
A bowl of warm stew waiting.
A week later the townspeople found the local street gang strung up on the city gates. Some had lost lost teeth; all had lost their dignity. Especially when rumour got out that it had been a little boy, no older than 10.