Tora's eyes slowly narrow. <<A consultant to the Andalite government? Just who is this man, that a people as proud as they would accept advice and help from him?>> she murmurs to Myitt. Her gaze passes over the man beside Salem, who is saying nothing, and then into the ship, itself. Its interior is nearly as intriguing as the exterior, and she takes a step towards it, Dracon raising in self-defense. <<I will initiate the search, if you wish to continue questioning Salem and guarding the ramp,>> she adds to her friend, glancing back towards her for a sign of acknowledgement.
Light glints off Alic's raised tailblade behind Myitt, and she abruptly remembers that she is currently lacking a physiological defense system. She is tempted to demorph, but she is in the presence of two Andalites. Her grip on her Dracon tightens further, while her other hand fishes around her jeans pocket for anything that might count as an additional weapon. It comes away with nothing but lint.
<<Perhaps it would be prudent,>> she reluctantly tells Myitt, <<for one of the others to accompany me. Just in case.>>
"That sounds really dangerous," Elayne murmurs. She hesitates a moment, then adds, "Will you know it when she... when she dies?"
They have nearly reached her ship by now; the hull is still open from when she ran out of it at hearing the sounds of combat that had started all of this. The bed must still be unmade and a mess, she realizes, biting her bottom lip. She had not bothered to change out of her filthy clothes before resting the last time. Still, she tells herself, it's got to be better than the beds at the Bar, if there are any.