Alloran considers his extraction options. He could morph back to bievelerd - given proper time to settle he could probably fly Saturday much farther than this wild sprint. It's been decades since he pushed on to that degree of effort while this tired but he used to be capable of it. Then again, that means taking yet more time when there's a clearly visible trail to their location.

He could just carry her on his back as an Andalite. That's not really something he wants to do, the back being a sensitive region when it comes to bearing another person's weight, but certainly she's not heavy enough to hurt him and it's an option he can't just reject outright. He can't exactly let a... are they friends? He can't exactly leave her behind out of prudishness.

<No, never. And I know little or nothing about magic, either.> He comes up alongside Saturday, giving her a measuring look. <What if you just kept a hand here at the bend in my spine for support? Would it help you to walk? If we're pursued and must move faster, then I can take the rest of your weight.> A compromise. A hand grabbing the stretch of mane over his foreshoulders isn't nearly as uncomfortably intimate as what riding would entail.

At least this gives him something to think of other than Esplin's voice, which makes him want to drive his tailblade into the back of his skull.