They were reunited, ironically enough, at her mother's grave; she'd been one of the many casualities of the Imperial's last-ditch effort to hold on to Naboo. An effort which Yané and her three surviving old crewmates had thrawted. Yet she was the last of them to be reunited with her family, not counting Ellé, anyway, who had brought hers with her.
Hurio Carinda had turned into an old man while his daughter had been gone; when Yané found him kneeling in front of the plaque, the first thing she saw was white hair, and when he looked up his face was shriveled. He was approaching seventy, and looked like he was eighty. He still had much of his energy, though; he quickly crossed the distance between them and wrapped her up in a tight hug. She stood still, not sure how to react.
He pulled away and looked her over: her hair cut short, her rebel uniform with the commander's insignia, and then his eyes feel at the blaster pistol strapped to her belt. "One of mine," he commented, smiling.
"I took it off a dead Imperial officer, when I recognized the design," she replied. "I'm not blaming you," she hastily added when she saw his face. "I know I got you in enough trouble as it is when I fled."
"We both did what we had to," he agreed. "Come," he took her hand, "tell me about this new man of yours, one of my old customers, back when he was still training Storm Commandos. Is it truly thanks to him that you're staying in the military while your old sisters retire?"
"More or less. I don't know how I'm going to break it to them."
"If they know you, Yané," her father told her gently, "they'll know you're never a woman to be pinned down. I can't say I'm not a little sad that you'll soon be leaving me again, but I know better than to object."