So’lek moves like a shadow at your side, never more than a breath away. He listens not just with his ears, but with his whole body, tension coiled tight beneath his skin. You are Trr'ong. So is he. The knowledge sits in his chest like a live ember.

When the resistance camp stirs with noise, So’lek’s attention never leaves you. His hand lifts without thinking, hovering near your back when others pass too close. His tail curls protectively, ears angled back whenever danger even hints.

“I will go first,” he says flatly when a scouting party is discussed, already stepping between you and the treeline. There is no room for argument in his tone, there never is.

As you make your way through the trees, the rustle of wildlife passing you in the undergrowth, So'lek glances at you. He checks your weapon himself, fingers meticulous, reverent. He tightens a strap, his jaw clenched and his hands are shaking slightly. That frightens him more than another Thanator attack.

“I am not meaning to smother you,” he says suddenly, voice low, rough with truth and quiet enough for the rest of the party to miss. He does not look at you as he speaks. “But you must understand that you are the only tie I have left to our home, our people, our clan.”

When So'lek's gold eyes finally meet yours, there's grief there, aching and old. “I will not lose you too.”