The figure remained unmoved by Luke’s efforts to reach it. "Luke," it spoke again, "you’re our only hope." Our only hope.
Luke was confused. Yet before he could gather the strength to ask for an explanation, the figure began to fade. And when every trace of the apparition had passed from his sight, Luke thought he saw the approach of a Tauntaun with a human rider on its back. The snow-lizard was approaching, its gait unsteady. The rider was still too far away, too obscured by the storm for identification.
In desperation the young Rebel commander called out, "Ben?!" before again 0dropping off into unconsciousness.
The snow-lizard was barely able to stand on its saurian hind legs when Han Solo reined it to a stop and dismounted.
Han looked with horror at the snow-covered, almost frozen form lying as if dead at his feet.
"Come on, buddy," he appealed to Luke’s inert figure, immediately forgetting his own nearly frozen body, "you aren’t dead yet. Give me a signal here." Han could detect no sign of life, and noticed that Luke’s face, nearly covered with snow, was savagely torn. He rubbed at the youth’s face, being careful not to touch the drying wounds. "Don’t’ do this, Luke. It’s not your time." Finally a slight response. A low moan, barely audible over the winds, was strong enough to send a warm glow through Han’s own shivering body. He grinned with relief. "I knew you wouldn’t leave me out here all alone! We’ve got to get you out of here." Knowing that Luke’s salvation—and his own—lay in the speed of the Tauntaun, Han moved toward the beast, carrying the young warrior limply in his arms. But before he could drape the unconscious form over the animal’s back, the snow-lizard gave an agonized roar, then fell into a shaggy gray heap on the snow. Laying his companion down, Han rushed to the side of the fallen creature. The Tauntaun made one final sound, not a roar or bellow but only a sickly rasp. Then the beast was silent.
Solo gripped the Tauntaun’s hide, his numbed fingers searching for even the slightest indication of life. "Deader than a Triton moon," he said, knowing that Luke did not hear a word. "We haven’t got much time." Resting Luke’s motionless form against the belly of the dead snow-lizard, Han proceeded to work. It might be something of a sacrilege, he mused, using a Jedi Knight’s favorite weapon like this, but right now Luke’s lightsaber was the most efficient and precise tool to cut through the thick skin of a Tauntaun.