I get that. I'm a pilot, have been since I was little. Staying still isn't something I've ever done.

( And from the way she's looking about solid walls now, it's clear that she's not used to being planetside much. Not since she'd been nine, maybe ten? It's kind of surreal to have no choice but plant her feet on firm ground, be surrounded by walls that aren't made of durasteel.

She paces around uneasily, and finally comes to a halt not far from him, expression darkening. )

Scarheads. They came from outside the galaxy, and they're nothing like we'd ever seen before. We weren't ready. I've never been able to feel them in the Force. Maybe they live outside it or were cut off from it—I don't know. What I do know is that my brothers were only two among trillions who've died.

They didn't just come to invade. They came to wipe out all other sentient life.