Looking back, Kal nods. Gripping the handlebar of the speederbike, he guides it along on foot; the less noise they made, the better.

Questions about clones; Kal could answer. On politics and Jedi.. he wasnt so knowledgable. Survival, he could do. He'd offered to teach the Jedi how to shoot, how to move without noise and strike without being seen. Weather Jinn would take him up on that remained to be seen; he imagined the young Jedi was still more then a little traumatized by the sudden upheaval of his life.

Kal remembered how he used to feel. He'd been the more bitter of his brothers towards the Jedi. Where there was a Jedi; there were dead commandos, he'd felt. Of course, insubordination or outright hostility were out of the question for him, but he could still sigh and grumble when word of fallen teams reached their ears; brothers dead so that Jedi didnt have to so much as singe their robes in combat.

And now, here he was, playing personal custodian to a wet rookie Jedi, praying that he could teach the Twi'lek to keep his head down during the Empire's purge. Twitch'd never let him here the end of it. The wry humor is quickly stabbed with regret and loss; Twitch was a corpse systems away, cooked alive inside his armor by a thermal detonator as he tried to sheild a Jedi child.

Distraction is death, soldier. Get your eyes back downrange. The harsh tones of his Mandalorian instructor snap his attention back to the present. He had a job to do, stangit. With a grunt, he picks up the pace slightly with the Jedi in tow. He could hear armored boots marching only a few streets over...