Peace. Arlana moved among the young Jedi in the infirmary. Jedi training was a bit of a rough and tumble affair, and just about every apprentice would end up here at least a few times, from a smack with a training saber that left a scorch to an error that sent a rock into their face. She treated them all, touching fingers lightly to burn and break and bruise and cut and letting the Force flow into the hurt, easing the pain, speeding the healing. This was where she wanted to be, where she would spend this war if she could. Unfortunately this was a War, not some outer rim scuffle and they needed every Jedi capable of wielding a sword to fight, not to be a nurse in a galaxy of bacta. She had received her orders - she would rendezvous with a new unit of clones at Fondor in one week, taking her place aboard the R.S.D. [i]Aullanger[/i].

Peace had come to an end. The thought ran through her mind, and as if fate itself had a twisted sense of humor, it was made more true than she would have liked.

The temple shuddered from a distant explosion. In a flash she had twisted away from the young boy with the bloodied nose, stretching out with her senses, her mouth widening in horror as she felt distant pinpricks of light that were other Jedi, wavering and flashing and fading before her eyes. She heard the children began to cry, one young girl - perhaps five - sensed the distant horror and let out an ear-piercing scream. Arlana shot a glance at the other fully-fledged Jedi in the room, an old, gnarled Master.

"Can you...?"

"Go, Arlana, I'll watch after these young ones."

"Get them out of here, Master. Find a way, I'll protect this pathway."

She didn't wait to hear his response, hitting the door for the infirmary and drawing her lightsaber from her belt as she ran. Anger surged through her at the thought of an attack on her beloved temple, of her fellow Jedi dying, Then she saw it, as she stepped to an open staircase and saw the atrium below - a few Jedi huddled in a corner, being advanced upon by a unit of clones, pouring blaster fire into the Jedi. Whirling blades deflected most of the bolts, but they were being slowly but surely overwhelmed, their meager skill not enough to protect them. Trainees, Padawans...she didn't stop to contemplate her outrage at seeing clones attacking Jedi, instead leaping into the battle, taking the clones by surprise and scything through them. Form III wasn't much of a combat style, but up close against surprised opponents it wasn't much of a challenge, her blade sweeping through soldier after soldier, leaving them a huddled mess on the ground. Her mind quailed at causing such death, yearning for the simplicity of cleaving an unthinking droid rather than a man.

It was no time for that.

She turned her head as the last of the Clones fell, her heart sinking. Their defenses had failed a moment too soon, each lying on the ground, a smoking hole in his body. One of them still twitched, the oldest, a boy of perhaps sixteen. She rushed to his side, pressing her hand against his wound and letting the Force flow into it. His breathing eased, and his eyes met hers. She knew him, Kalen Voth. A good Jedi, not quite a friend.

"Master Kailor...are they alright? The children?"

She couldn't bear to look at them, stifled her tears and the anguish in her voice, and said, "You did it, Voth. Just hold still, you'll be okay." She was, for once, a good liar. The boy smiled at her, then his breath stopped and he went still. She let out a raspy breath, and rose to her feet, tears streaming down her face as she reignited her saber.