"You don't get it, do you?" she retorts, a snort of patience wearing thin and a temper flaring. A hand goes to rest at her waist, shifting her weight to the corresponding foot. She looks unenthusiastic, bothered by an irritating and insistent child who can't be reasoned with, can't be held to adult standards. "Someplace safe doesn't exist. It doesn't exist here." She uses her free hand to gesture to the world around them. "Onderon hasn't been safe since before the Clone Wars."