Xel did not answer his master's question. He did not even hear it. He was still lost to unconsciousness. Unfortunately, he was not experiencing the sweet bliss of oblivion, but rather was seeing various images, some bright, some dark, but all focusing on one color. Red. He saw brilliantly flashing red lightsabers, wickedly grinning red lips, and the dark red stain on the snow and ice of Hoth that was the blood of the Jedi. He had not actually witnessed any of this of course, only felt the dark presence and the death of more than one Jedi. His imagination, well developed from his years spent reading stories of the Jedi, provided the rest.
He twitched as he sat there, still strapped into his seat. Grunts of protest escaped his lips as he tossed back and forth, until his eyes finally shot open. He looked around frantically, but eventually focused on his master and took a deeo breath. He closed his eyes again as he fully awoke from his nightmares, cold sweat dripping from his face.
As he reopened his eyes and looked at his master, she could see that the brutal rage that had been there previously was gone, but was only replaced with deep sorrow and terror. He said nothing, could think of no words to express what he was feeling. The grief was for those who had died. Had he bothered to focus on his connection to the Force, he may have sensed that they had been successfully cloned and were alive and well. He did not however. The terror arose from his growing belief that he would end up as another failed attempt to raise a new Jedi. That he would either end up falling to the darkside, or falling at the edge of a sith saber. He sat there in silence, the drops of sweat falling from his face mixed with tears.