<We're descended from prey animals. Anxiety is very common,> he says dryly. Andalites tend to be light sleepers, and to struggle to whatever degree getting to sleep, and to keep a stalk eye open. That state where one is sure they're awake but time passes more quickly anyway is almost obligatory.

He nods back stiffly and pulls free of Saturday's hand. <I think... let's try this.> It takes some maneuvering before Alloran's in position, angling his tail out horizontally so that as he starts to pass her, she could sit on it. The base of his tail is thicker than her waist and, under the fur, absolutely hard with muscle, it won't move at all taking her weight.

If Saturday does put her weight on his tail he'll coil some of the length of it around her and just pick her up, keeping his tailblade well clear. It's kind of awkward, but she's probably seen him using his tail to move heavy things and pick items up off the floor before. <Stable?>