Bewildered by his master's behavior, Jerek watched Vor'loch recede quickly down the corridor. The sandy-haired youth was impressed by the Noghri's pace, when just a minute ago he had been offering the older Jedi support just to walk. At the same time, he was struck by a sense of fear, helplessness, as Vor'loch charged into a battle for which the injured Jedi could not possibly be capable. 

Jerek found himself racing to catch up, the name of his master erupting from his mouth as he went. Ahead, he could see a group of younglings huddling, surrounded by a sparse wall of padawans. The reasonable part of his mind told Jerek that this was his place, to stay and protect the Order's most vulnerable members, but those who needed to survive the most. It was critical, it was imperative, after all, Jerek's rational mind told him, the younglings were the future of the Order. 

The rational part of his mind fell silent as the padawan laid eyes on the fallen Noghri. 

Emerald flashed through the air as the young Jedi launched himself towards his master, drawing the fire of several nearby clones. His blade sent the shots flying wild, none so lucky as to return to its origin. Yet despite his aching muscles and winded lungs, Jerek spun his blade in the fashion that he'd been taught, feeling it slice through the white and blue armor of a clone. He barely heard the trooper's cry over the sound escaping his own mouth, a battle cry fueled with the rage boiling within him. 

The universe had stolen his twin brother from him, but today Jerek stood against the universe, wielding his lightsaber and the Force. Within the padawan, there was no peace, only emotion, driving him forward into the fray.