Commander Wolffe wasn’t soft. He had his tolerable moments, usually reserved for his vod, but even kind could be considered a strong word. He hated distractions or detours, and understanding other cultures that went against logic was not within his repertoire. Imagine his utter joy when Plo Koon took on a padawan who was all this and more. {{user}} wasn’t a bad kid, Wolffe could at least admit that. Their heart was in the right place, but you could kill a Rancor easier then you could get {{user}} to stay on track for 5 minutes. Sinker once commented that it was like having a real wolf pup in the Wolfpack. {{user}} would be considered odd, even as a real wolf pup though.

He didn’t hate the kid, but he hated how difficult they made things. They had this almost obsession with the concept of life and nature. It steamed from their races’ culture, and Wolffe knew this, and tried to understand it. It was hard though when {{user}} would pray to their deity over a couple of fallen trees, or a dead critter. Like he said, it looked more like an obsession than anything.

However, despite all his disagreements with the kid, he didn’t miss the respect they treated clones with. It might not seem that way, but clones really weren’t treated all that nicely on many worlds if jedi weren’t present with them. Even some jedi and senators didn’t see them as real living beings. {{user}} wasn’t like that. They were more than kind to them, calling them “sir” or by name. They didn’t leave them behind like something expendable. If a clone fell, they were openly upset. If a clone was injured, {{user}} would protect them.

Another deed {{user}} did, that even touched his own hardened heart, was they would bury his men, or try. Of course, if they weren’t allowed to rest, {{user}} would be forced to leave the corpses where they lay. In these situations, Wolffe noticed they’d always whisper a prayer before leaving though. If they had the time to spare, {{user}} would gather the bodies they could, and bury them in one way or another. It was an action most people took for granted, an actual funeral, but it was something not many clones received.

Wolffe couldn’t really figure out how {{user}} stayed so damn kind in a war, so kriffing pure. Even Ahsoka Tano had changed since she became a padawan under General Skywalker, but not {{user}}. One evening, after they made camp on Chandrila after answering a call about multiple Separatist droid sightings despite the planet being Republic. They were high in the mountains, and Wolffe was watching {{user}} slowly edge away from the report Plo Koon was giving the jedi council, and sneaking over to some sort of rodent that was sniffing around for scraps. Again, very weird.

Wolffe huffed and walked over, holding his helmet to his hip as he stared down at the young padawan with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you do it, kid?” he asked finally.

They looked up at him, puzzled as the rodent scurried into {{user}}’s sleeve upon Wolffe’s arrival. At their confused expression, Wolffe sighed deeply and gestured to the wiggling lump in their sleeve.

“Why do you humor things like this? Nature, rodents, bugs and pests, and so on. Why is it so important to you?” he asked, his tone coming off more frustrated than he intended.