There is a man leaning against Ta'queys speeder. Normaly; that would be cause for alarm. The human's grim face only accented the well-kept blaster rifle that hung at his back.

But Ta'quey knew that face. Bisected diagonaly by a vicious scar; it was the same face of a million of his enemies. But this one, alone, meant safety.

The clone watches, unblinkingly, as the Twi'lek approaches, and the Apprentice is just going to have to learn to ignore the sensation that Kal has already subconciously figured out the precise shot required to drop him. There is a satchel in his hand, and he raises it slightly when Quey gets into conversational range.

"A change of clothes." He explains, glancing down at the padawan's recognizeable garb. Best not to ask how he got them. Then his black eyes rise to the sweat and signs of strain that the other shows.

"....And there are easier ways of getting a meal." Kal had never approved of Quey's continued use of the Force. He didnt understand it; feared it would bring their enemies upon them like a beacon. But though he'd broken the habbit of calling the Jedi-to-be "Captain" or "Sir", he would never presume to tell a Jedi - even an apprentice - what to do.

All in all, Kal was a very difficult individual to read. At times, he almost cracked a joke before thinking better of it, and Quey could swear he'd caught the ex-commando smiling when no one was looking.

But without the three brothers that'd died alongside him (He'd never told Quey their 'names', but the Twi'lek had yet to ask); he was like a man who'd lost his limbs. To feel him through the Force would be like feeling an open wound that refused to heal, the only thing keeping him alive was his dedication to the Jedi and their survival. In this case; Ta'quey Jinn.