[ No credits, no lodgings, no supplies. For everything they're taught at the Temple, they're taught so little about survival. Trust in the Force, as his Master would say, and he does. He trusts in the Force above anything else. Yet now that they're faced with an uncertain future, he's not sure what to believe in. His stomach twists, but from nerves or hunger, he doesn't know.

The weight of Ezra's hand on his shoulder makes him jump, and he looks across at his companion in the dim light of the transport. There's relief in the gesture first, followed by another twist of his stomach, a sick feeling that almost burns at the back of his throat.

Master Billaba often consoled him in this way, calmed his racing, curious mind when he needed it. It takes everything in him not to shrug the hand off. ]

If you teach me, I can help. I can build a fire for us after. [ He hesitantly reaches a hand across to rest on Ezra's forearm, an awkward sort of thank you for the gesture before he carefully ducks under the hand to stand and peer out of a crooked slat on the transport. ] But a fire might draw attention. It's so dark out there.