Efaen stood in mute military stance through the duration of the battle, her own abilities so inconsequential compared to those fighting that she was hardly able to comprehend what she was watching. At the speeds they were moving, the battle came to an end with an abruptness that she almost missed, and she was surprised to suddenly see Ossanlin - no longer glowing with that disturbing inner light - alone with Mar. Efaen's well-structured mind reeled with the results of the battle.
How can any Andalite contain that much power? she wonders to herself. It is unlike anything she has ever seen before, and suddenly her inherent distrust of the Andalite warrior-traitor seems inconsequential.
<Prince Ossanlin,> she speaks openly to him, her thought-speak voice betraying her awe. <You should listen to your...friend. You need to morph away your injuries.>
One stalk eye fixates on Claxter.
<<Were you aware that this Andalite possessed so much power?>> she asks him privately, in a softer tone.
Terenia listens in to the bits of conversation that the computer can pick up, but all that does is frustrate her further. She
wants to help. She
wants her body back. Instead, she is stuck squirming about the small, portable pool. Frustrating for any Yeerk, but doubly so for Terenia, who still has Andalite instincts bouncing around her brain thanks to her original Andalite form. That part of her is terrified of the blindness, of the way the pool's sludge seems to encase her small, sluggy body. Now that her Yeerk form is no longer reveling in the Kandrona particles, this other part of her seems to be taking over. As a result, Terenia feels the beginnings of a panic welling up inside of her. She is not used to having no control over when she leaves the pool.
<I need out of here,> she says in panicky thought-speech. <What's going on? I can't see anything. I can't hear anything. Corliss, get me out!> Her small body writhes, making barely a ripple on the pool's surface.
Trey clearly heared the sounds of battle; how could he not? When Elayne leapt up from the table to see what was going on, he even half rose to follow her. But then, at the sight of bright flashing lights from outside - like a silent lightning storm - he returned to his seat, one hand trailing to his bandaged head.
Not the place for me, he admits to himself, as the battle seems to die down, trying to ignore the pang of guilt he feels. Will he always be this much of a coward?
Perhaps starting a rebellion is foolish of me....
