Word of honor.

He tries to explain. He tries, but he begins to cough as soon his eyes open—ash and smoke from the explosion linger in the air, he cannot take a full breath, and so as soon as the emergency medics arrive, his neck is supported by unfamiliar hands while a strap slides over his head, catching on his tangled hair. An oxy-tank is firmly pressed to his face, and the words he wishes to convey are lost in the sudden influx of oxygen.Qui-Gon struggles impatiently with the mask. He manages to get a finger underneath the strap, breaking the seal on his face.“The boy,” he gasps. “Where is the boy?”