Chris hovers near Tess the entire time, clinging to her hand. A chill goes through him when the Andalite introduces himself. The name Ossanlin is familiar, though he has never met the Andalite personally. The familiarity does nothing to ease the anxiety that twists his stomach, though.
From one trap into another, he cannot help but think.
"Give her space," he demands of Ossanlin and Claxter. "She'll be fine."
He leans over and kisses her forehead. "It's alright, my dear," he murmurs. "We're safe now. You can pummel them later, alright?" He sighs, hoping that they truly are safe.
Dom's eyes narrow imperceptibly when Ossanlin reveals himself and he looks at Niko uneasily. "I do not like this," he murmurs under his breath.
Terenia allows herself to be tugged by Daniel, her free hand still covering her mouth, still torn between crying and throwing up at the injured imposter. "I'm going to kill her," she says, repeating her words from earlier. They come out half a sob, though, and she finds herself clinging to Daniel as he directs her away.
There is a sudden tumbling sensation, and Keslin mentally winces as he is upended from his cell. He can sense dry air around him for a brief moment, then abruptly he is immersed in liquid once more.
Kandrona! His half starved body stretches out, relief flooding his system at the return of the nutrients his body has been denied.
He does not remain idle for long, though. The thought-speak voice had announced itself a friend, and the name is familiar. A little spur of hope shoots through him when Ossanlin mentions Tara's name.
If Tara is here... He begins sending out little ultrasonic chirps. <Myitt? Who is here?> He can sense other Yeerk bodies being added to the pool in the same unceremonious fashion, and he swims as fast as his small body can, trying to discern who is in this new prison with him.
In her haze of pain Efaen barely registers the thought-speak voices, let alone the spoken voices. The one word that does manage to stick, however, is the most important one.
Demorph. She takes in a deep, shuddering breath, a wordless cry of agony escaping her as the fire seems to lace its way up the mangled leg.
Demorph, Efaen. Focus. It takes all of her remaining mental strength, but eventually the changes begin.
Her natural talent at morphing helps the process along and soon the white hot pain is a dull throb, and then it disappears entirely as thin, strong Andalite legs replace those of her morph. Once the injury has been taken care of the rest of the demorph follows quickly, and she backs away from the group so that she will not harm them with her tail as it emerges.
When the morph is finally complete she stands there, all four of her eyes focused forward, uneasy and uncertain what to say. Now healed, the thought-speak voices come back to her and she blinks her main eyes in slow surprise. <Prince Ossanlin,> she says, turning one stalk to face him as he works on the Yeerk pool. <If I knew you were responsible for this I may not have bothered trying to escape. You're not going to send me back again, are you?>
