Chapter Text
It was carefully explained to the foundlings that choosing to go through verd’goten (coming of age ceremony) would be more intense for them than for those who had already been born or adopted into being Mandalorian. Din had seen another foundling a little older than him go through it - he couldn’t see her face since of course she had taken the creed and received her helmet - but he’d heard her cut off whimpers and gasped cries through the night for days while her wings grew in and her bones shifted to accommodate them.
So he knew, before he went through with it, that it was going to hurt.
He hadn’t really expected how much it would hurt though, especially with no one to help him through it. Oh, other foundlings brought him food, but since he had no clan he had to force himself to sit up enough to eat by himself through the points of agony on his back.
He, just like the foundling he’d witnessed before him, tried not to let his cries of pain escape, but he couldn’t stop them all.
By the end though, he was truly, indisputably Mandalorian. When he stepped into his first wing-combat class he felt giddy with excitement. He was, of course, absolutely terrible at first - he had to re-learn how to balance with the new strange combination of weight-weightlessness on his back - but he learned.