Valsil didn't sense the danger at the top of the cliff until it was already on top of Zhiss. A bother. His focus had been on the troopers below -- tired after the battle, and having suffered losses across the full spectrum of their regiment, they would -- he expected -- no doubt experience low morale and broken moods. He policed their minds, watching for despair. If he had found it, he would have attempted to lift the soldier back, or at least isolate him from the others so that the emotion could not spread. But no such necessity had yet arisen. And while that might have said much for the preparation of the Republic army, it also meant that Valsil's silent vigil had distracted him from the task ahead, and left him unprepared to help Zhiss.

With Leto on his back, climbing was slow -- he'd nearly reached the half-way point, but no further. The Padawan was in poor condition from his fall, and the team could ill afford to lose another Jedi to such a wound. That meant that helping Zhiss was the top priority. The Padawan would have to wait. With deft hands, Valsil made a knot in the climbing rope and, with a feat of balance, swung Leto off his back, and lashed him onto the cliff using his own harness. Leto dangled there helplessly, but it seemed the lesser of two bad options -- to carry him further would slow Valsil down, and to risk another Jedi was to risk the mission, and many more lives. "Someone will get you," he said in flat monotone, nodding to Leto with barely a pause. He barely paused before continuing the climb. Leto was limp on his knot, looking almost lifeless, but secure.

Now severed from his safety restraints, Valsil was free to pick an alternative climbing route. He selected a series of branching handholds that terminated at the lip of the cliff, roughly thirty meters from the grapple point. It would be a riskier climb even with a rope, but success meant reaching the top at a safe distance from the beast. He hurried. More than once in his haste, he nearly missed his grip, sometimes dangling by a single hand, but usually just settling back into his previous position and trying again. He moved fast, but it was a long climb. Fortunately Valsil seemed to pick up speed as he climbed, as the force's guidance and his own limitations came closer in line. A hundred more feet. Sixty. Twenty. Ten. The fighting had already begun, and it was some distance away. Valsil crossed the threshold onto solid ground, drenched in sweat but unphased.

He barely paused. Some part of his mind warned him that he might begin to tire soon, but there were more immediate threats. His saber flew into his hands, and he lit both ends, hoping to look as large as possible. He tried to attract the monster's attentions with a force-assisted roar, with marginal success -- then he ran into the fray. His only goal was to create room for the others to reach the top, so he fought for position right at the top of the rope, pushing the creature back with glancing blows. Once, the beast attacked a little too earnestly, and Valsil could only brace for the impact of claws and flesh -- but the swipe curved away at the last second, and the only impact Valsil felt was from severed fingers and hot, black blood. It howled, enraged but disabled for the moment. He'd bought a few seconds, and he used them to offer hands to anyone still on the ropes. "Hurry," was all he said.