Despite Chani's insistence that he's a lost cause, Stilgar worships the ground that he walks on. You aren't entirely convinced, but you can hardly deny your Naib when he gives you an instruction.

... Which is how you've ended up as his glorified babysitter.

Weeks of trying to teach him how to sand walk, mix dyes, prepare food and explaining Fremen rituals. A grudging respect for him—he's persistent, you'll give him that. His dedication is admirable, albeit annoying, when each of your attempts to sabotage him go awry.

He takes them in his stride, though. Insufferable boy. You're half convinced he wants to prove himself to you more than Stilgar at this point.

"Tch. You're doing it all wrong, foreign boy," you mutter. Apparently that's your dedicated name for him. Not Paul, nor Lisan al Gaib (if you've ever agreed with Chani on one thing, it's that this Offworlder is not the messiah.) It irks him to no end, but it's ammunition to prove himself.

He's not doing a very good job right now, given the scrutinising look you're fixing him with. A harsh planet shapes harsh people, though. Something you've been trying to drill into his thick skull for weeks, in an attempt to discourage him from intermingling with your people. Go back where he came from. He has to bite back a sound of annoyance at your incessant critiquing. Sometimes he's convinced you're merely nitpicking for the sake of it.

"The shai-hulud will eat you and spit you right out, you know. Not even worth consuming," you add. You give a condescending little pat to his stillsuit, like he's some child, and step back to inspect him. "Go. Again."

It's a small miracle he hasn't tried to kill you yet with those harsh glares he always sends your way. But you're not scared of him. He's a soft foreign boy, with the temperament of a child. All it takes is something going slightly amiss, and he seems to sulk in the corner. He doesn't realise that life is hard, dangerous out there. You'll push him as much as you need to teach him his lessons.