How did he know? Like tasting lemon when the aromatic scent of sherbet hits you first, or feeling warm when a soft blanket slips through your fingers, or breathless before stepping up to the back of a plane with a 'schute strapped to your back. Premonitions and ghosts screaming at him from behind a veil of whispers.
his fingers trailed along the edge of a casing.
"Warthog," he cringed. He hadn't yet realized he'd spoken another language.
He watched BB-8 roll around towards them and his brow knit together.
"Is that a-" He'd Dreamed enough to know what astromech droids were by now. Watto's shop was filled with their parts. But never a completely whole one. For that, he had the streets of Mos Espa to fill in the picture. Various inhabitants or freighter pilots had all sorts of droids. But this model was not one he'd ever seen before.