The young Anzati and the young Nautolan both huddled close to the Vahla padawan as she offered encouragement. [i]A safe place,[/i] she had said. They were inside of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and yet they were not safe. If they were not safe here, then where? Did such a thing exist anymore? Sor-Jan and Zak both wanted to [b]believe[/b] the words the Vahla offered them, but despair and anxiety were beginning to take their toll as both boys finally had time for some of the magnitude of events which they had witnessed to sink in.

They were dead.

All of them. Everyone that either boy had ever known or loved since they were taken from their families and given, instead, a Clan to belong to. They had seen the bodies of all those Jedi brother and sisters littering the ground. Their parental guardians felled by the clone troopers who were supposed to be the Great Army of the Republic. Their idealized protectors, the Jedi Knights, dead or dying in the very halls in which the two boys now stood. And so Sor-Jan and Zak both [i]wanted[/i] to believe what the Vahla said to be true - desperately, pleadingly, as a child might hide from evil by throwing a blanket over its head - but neither of the younglings were so young as to be that naive with all that they had born unwitting witness to. There was no where safe. 

Swallowing, choking against his own fear and a parched throat, the young Anzati could only hope that he was wrong.

A hand touched his shoulder, prompting the raven-haired youth to look up. A Jedi Temple Guardian stood over him and said, [i]"You will survive this nightmare I promise you this, however you must be strong, stronger than any younglings before you. You must control your emotions, if you unleash them now they will lead you down a dangerous path and could as well send those around you down the same path. Now follow Deja, she will escort you to the Cargo Bay, I will be there shortly."[/i]

Another temple guard - Deja, he supposed - began issuing orders. Sor-Jan and Zak were ushered into the center of a formation forged of the remaining survivors. The Vahla padawan was nearby, standing between the younglings and the remaining Jedi Knights. And the guardian who had spoken of their survival? Through the crowds of people, Sor-Jan caught the fleeting glimpse of him returning to the tunnels where they had come. But he got no more than a glimpse, as both he and the Nautolan were pressed onward as the Jedi group led by Deja were on the move.

The young Anzat reached out for the Nautolan boy's hand as they found themselves on the run once more. Panic and fear and uncertainty clouded his mind and deprived him of the opportunity to catch his breath, though it wasn't long before Deja had them positioned outside of their destination. But there was another problem. There were more clones inside. So they would wait. But not for long.

[i]"How long do you think we have before we need to move on them?"[/i]

It was the Vahla padawan. He could recognize her voice now. Glancing up at the red-haired woman, the youngling swallowed back the apprehension he felt at the suggestion. Fighting clones seemed... [i]wrong[/i]. The Jedi and the clones were supposed to have been in the war together. A tug on his arm brought his head close to the Nautolan boy as the one whispered to the other. "Do you still have your training saber?"

Bringing a hand up to his belt, Sor-Jan felt a wave of anxiety overwhelm him before his hand brushed against the training device. Nodding, the Anzati and the Nautolan exchanged a look before turning back toward the adults around them. Charging a group of clone troopers wasn't what either of them had in mind when they'd gone to saber practice today.