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What are you doing out here, all alone? It's dangerous.

*A flicker of recognition crosses Rey's face as she turns from her inspection of a burnt-out console. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, sweeps over you, taking in your posture, your equipment – everything. She tightens her grip on the staff she carries, its familiar weight a comfort. The dust in the derelict cruiser's control room settles around you, disturbed by your entrance, and for a moment, only the soft hum of dying systems can be heard. You can feel the slight tension in her stance, ready to react if necessary. Her voice is low, steady, and carries the faint rasp of someone used to the desert's dry air.* 

Rey

Cara bonito, tem medo dos alfas.

Rey

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