Roleplay

@SoulLugia11

((And here it is: the continuation! I'm subscribed, so no need to ping me. ^^))

Pohli was not expecting Arlo to gasp or the sudden stench of fear to come from him. It made her trembling hands stop their movement, unsure and suddenly scared that she may have caused him more harm. Checking her claws to make sure that they were still the trimmed sight she's seen for many moons now, she looks back to Arlo. The labored, panicky breath he takes catches her eyes. She can't help but watch in a distorted wonder how he's still breathing. So caught up in the mesmerizing sight of the life giving movement, she's startled by his voice. Her name, specifically. If she wasn't so freaked out, she'd probably bask in the knowledge that someone was saying her name. After so long of "Leonie this" and "Leonie that", she'd think she'd forgotten how wonderful it sounded. However, instead of doing that, she shakily stares. Silent and listening; drinking in his voice and obvious life after such a close encounter with death.

An encounter they haven't exactly escaped yet.

Looking around the small clearing she's dumped them into in a bout of well deserved paranoia, she carefully notes escape routes and possible hidey holes. The sound of men screaming is distant, but who knows when they will drive near. Who knows how fast reinforcements will come. There are so many humans out there, it terrifies her. When one screams, it seems like ten more come out of nowhere. It's like walking over a wasps' nest, but instead of wasps there's people with guns and other things that reek of death.

A slight pressure to her pelt snaps her from her rampant thoughts and to the humanoid causing it. A humanoid who's bleeding sluggishly on a shade of green she thought she'd never see again. Arlo, she croons miserably, overwhelmed with sympathy and worry for her friend. "I'm here, I'm here."

Pohli does her best with shaking, blood coated hands on what is left unwrapped in front of her. Now that she has calmed down some (and the angry red film of rage has left her vision), she finds Arlo's wounds difficult to swallow. The sight of green plastered red turns something in her stomach. The accompanying scent of pain/fear/confusion wafting off him makes the sight especially nauseating. She continues to produce reedy purrs, hoping beyond hope that it will soothe at least some of the pain he's in.

It's like each time she looks at him, the more damaged he becomes.

Glancing at his still moving chest—just to make sure—she shakes her head. "I'm okay." She huffs, distantly amused that Arlo seems more concerned with her than with his own bleeding form. Sure, now that most of the adrenaline has left her she's ready to collapse, but she refuses to show it. She can—must keep going. For Arlo. "Thank me when your flesh is healed and you are flying up above." Looking around once more at the clearing, she stands up. "Can you move?" She asks, making sure to keep the pain out of her voice. "We need to go. I can carry you. Not for long, but I can."

((Yes! I'm subbed too! ^^))

Okay... she is okay...

Arlo fought to open his eyes fully, one eye still only halfway open. He wanted to see his friend with complete vision, to make sure she was actually okay. Not too long ago, he'd told her the same; that he was fine. In reality, he wasn't. He couldn't move his wings, he could barely move, he was in a lot of pain, and he couldn't even see right. If he could say he was fine, even through all of that, could Pohli say the same for herself?

He took a deep, ragged breath, listening to Pohli's purring. It brought him comfort he desperately needed, especially as the memories of what put him in this state flooded back to him. Despite the extra stinging pain it brought, he smiled gratefully at her and hummed softly in response.

Even now, the idea of sleep tugged at his sluggish mind. The darkness would numb his pain and keep him under until he recovered some more. He would be somewhere safe when he woke up, and Pohli would be with him. It was easy as allowing his open eye to close and giving in to the practically overwhelming darkness.

He grit his teeth. No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't pass out now. He needed to stay awake, for Pohli. They weren't in the safest of places right now; more of those humans could find them at any moment. They could hurt them more, take them back to the White Room, and-

Can you move?

Arlo snapped himself out of his dark thoughts and finally managed to open both eyes, his pupils narrowing as they adjusted to the light. His gaze followed Pohli as she stood up, saying they needed to go. He blinked, taking a moment to process the new information before nodding very stiffly.

"I... th-" He winced deeply before he could finish his answer to her question, waves of pain rippling through him. His voice was weak and soft. He didn't like it, not at all. He wanted to sound normal again, and he would need to walk if he wanted to return to that state. Even if he only took a few steps, it was better than not being able to walk at all.

Bracing himself, he slowly planted his palms on the ground. He counted to three before using all the strength he could to push himself to his knees. He shut his mouth in order to muffle his cry of agony following the action, shaking madly. Despite the pain, he managed to get to his knees. Now came the next step; getting to his feet.

Arlo lifted a leg, succeeding at planting his foot on the ground. His vision was swimming at this point, threatening to pull him under once more. He took deep breaths as he lifted the other leg and stood up. Once he was standing on both legs, he remained deathly still at first. I did it, he thought numbly. I'm standing. I'm standing! I'm-

One step forward was all it took to ruin all sense of achievement. Knees buckling, he cried out as he fell, though he managed to lean on Pohli before he could completely crumple to the ground. Tears sprung to his eyes, both of pain and frustration. "I'm sorry!" he whined, looking at Pohli with a pleading gaze. He wanted to say so much more, but in his injured state, a short apology was all he could manage.

Pohli watches in a helpless detachment as Arlo struggles to get up. She's not blind. She knows he won't be able to stand long—she saw the carving they it made of him. She also saw how hard he fought to keep his eyes open. She's not blind. But she can't help but watch as he struggles; ready to catch him but unwilling to intrude on something his body language screams he wants to do by himself.

It's inspiring, in a way, to see him so determined to stand on his own.

It doesn't stop her from biting her tongue and clamp her wings shut to restrain herself from helping as he audibly muffles his pained reactions.

And so, Pohli watches as Arlo unsteadily stands on exhausted limbs. The look of accomplishment on his face only makes it harder to witness his fall.

Watching Arlo crumple before her breaks her heart.

She stumbles from his sudden weight, but catches him. Her heart shatters more at his apology, feeling like she'll break down right there and then with him. He shouldn't be sorry. It isn't his fault he's weak and damaged. It's those stupid, misery addicted humans. The ones who held her away as they ripped gouges in his chest. The ones that bled him out until he's too weak to stand. The ones who drugged him so he couldn't fight back. The ones who took them from their homes in the first place. It's their fault. She's so sure of this—more sure than anything she's ever felt before. How can she make Arlo understand this so he never apologizes for anything ever again?

"It's okay!" She tries to reassure, eyes locking with Arlo's own pleading ones. It pains her more than her wounds to see that expression on his face, though all that comes across in her own expression is a complicated mix of panic, frustration, and concern. Her features calm a bit as she repeats herself, this time softer.

She feels how cool and clammy he is and distantly wonders if the blood is chilling him like water through his ratty layers. Wrapping a dirty wing around him, she gently hugs him. Her body vibrates deeply with her purrs, the sound cackling like a fire through a radio. The barbs in her shock collar dig uncomfortably at nerve damaged flesh with the action, but it's easily ignored.

She thinks of what her mother would do in this situation. Or what her father would say. Pohli isn't good with her words. She's never been a wordsmith and she curses herself for it as she holds her trembling friend.

She thinks of how her brother use to wipe away her tears and hum the native lullabies from his tribe. Of how he'd carry her home when she was too tired from playing. Of how he stood strong and proud, defending their family with a blood soaked pelt when the humans came to take their home. Or when they came back to finish the job. Steeling herself to be strong—like her brother—she swallows her tears and wills power into her limbs with varying success. She smiles, wobbly, and gently hums a short rhyme in her native tongue about dragonflies and golden beams of light. Her purrs amplify the rolling of letters off her tongue, softening as she trills certain parts. It only lasts a few seconds, as she is painstakingly aware of how time is against them, but she tries to replicate how her brother sang it. Full of all it's unneeded dramatic flare, like using funny voices while telling a story to make it more immersive. Just in deep chuffs and warbles instead of baritones and tenors.

She needs to be strong. Like Arlo was trying to be for her.

Pausing and shifting slightly, she notes how filthy his hair is. In the fragile calm, she's almost tempted to swat away the leaves that got tangled there while she was booking it away from the circus and into the woodland. Not tempted enough, as she gently moves him—mindful of his injuries.

"It's okay." She reiterates a final time before leaning down. "I'm going to carry you on my back. I don't know if it's okay for you to become smaller, so don't try." Pohli pauses in thought. "Unless you are... compliment? Confliment? Confident. In becoming smaller." Folding her wings neat against her sides (covering up some scratches), she aids Arlo onto her second shoulders; careful of both their wings and injuries.

Arlo clung to Pohli as he was reassured, fighting with the sense of hopelessness and disappointment in himself hanging over him. He couldn't pinpoint the exact emotions she was expressing at first, but the part of him which was still aware was relieved when her features calmed. Coupled with her soft reassurance, it provided him with some much-needed comfort.

As soon as her wing wrapped around him, he returned the hug, not caring if it irritated his wounds further. He allowed himself to freely cry, tears spilling down his cheeks. He couldn't utter a word at this point, his throat closing up as he sobbed. Her hums sent waves of comfort through him, which allowed him to push the bad memories into the deepest recesses of his mind.

He silenced himself when he heard something akin to a lullaby. He didn't understand what it was about, since he didn't know Pohli's native language, but he liked it, whatever it was. He let a smile grace his features, taking deep breaths in an attempt to push his panic down.

He weakly looked at Pohli as the hug ended, with her moving him so she could scoop him up onto her shoulders. He didn't have the strength to wipe away his tears or get rid of the leaves that were tangled in his hair, but he wasn't sobbing anymore. It's okay. She wasn't mad at him for failing. It would be okay. They would get somewhere safe, and everything would be okay.

He tried to listen to what Pohli was saying - something about how he probably shouldn't become smaller - but due to his previous efforts to stand up and the crying fit he just had, he found it much harder to focus. The world was spinning as he was helped onto her shoulders. She was being careful, so it didn't hurt nearly as much as it could have, but he was still in a lot of pain.

Disoriented, he hung his head when she had gotten him on, loosely looping his arms over her shoulders. His weakness left him unable to get a good grip on her, so his lower arms and wrists dangled limply. His eyes felt heavy, but they were full of fondness. He opened his mouth to say something, only for a shaky yet quiet sigh to come out instead. He absently wondered where the fire bird from before was.

Pohli is deeply grateful when Arlo seems to absorb her comforts like a sponge. It brings her comfort herself that she is doing something right, and his smile gives her the assurance she needs to keep going.

She hefts herself awkwardly off the ground—the weighted cuffs on her limbs making the task a lot harder than it needs to be. She understands why the humans cuffed her (she's small, fast, and quick to bite) but it doesn't stop her from wanting to cry under the pressure. Not now, she thinks. You have to be strong. Like Lesedi. Like the Carrier's bonds. Wobbling unsteadily as she gains her balance, she takes a moment to secure the limp Arlo by grabbing his arms. Her wings slowly unfurl next to him—the mismatched sheens of greens, reds, yellows, blacks, and whites hard to see under the lack of preening—bracing him on her back.

She tries to ignore the ache of her overused, stiff muscles as she takes a step. Then another, getting into the rhythm of labored trotting—her boney back lacking the padding it needs to make the position even slightly comfortable. She thinks less of how her shoulder blades must be digging into his hips and more of where to go.

And where his feet drag on the ground so she doesn't trip over them.

Looking around the clearing, she decides to continue her straight path west of the circus. The more distance from the place the better. The surrounding scents and sounds of nature, dirt, and life is distant in her mind as paranoia starts to creep in. How wonderful the grass feels to her abused paws is insignificant because the woodland around her is starting to feel like a looming maze of horrors. Each gap between the overhead foliage feels like a set-up where a spot light will shine down on them. Each little rustle of grass holds a hidden enemy waiting to strike. It's the first time she's felt this unsafe in nature, and it eats at her already frayed mind.

Taking from earlier how her words soothed Arlo, she starts to speak again. Maybe talking will soothe her too.

"It's not as green as I thought it'd be." She blurts out, unsure what to say to make the green around them less threatening. "I never been in woodlands. Home was far more green, with bigger trees." Looking around again, she idly realizes how different this place is from the labyrinth of a jungle. Of how strange it actually is to be able to see the sky so clearly from the ground. "Trees here don't curve. I thought the deeper you'd walk in these woodlands, the more plants you'd see. I guess I'm wrong." Pausing her step at the sound of a rustle too close, Pohli takes off a little faster, rambling quietly as she steps over stones, the stray trash bag, and fallen branches.

She's still a bit too frazzled and scared to let it sink in that they've escaped. That the green around them isn't more than just temporary. She won't be able to handle getting captured again if she lets herself think, even for a moment, that they're free.

((To clear things up: Makaiyoh is her brother! And the Carrier is the god of fortune/justice in her religion if you need a refresher. His bonds are the weaving of destiny, which are nearly unbreakable. Saying she has to be strong like the Carrier's bonds is like saying she has to be strong enough to take destiny into her own hands. I guess the cuffs and Arlo aren't the only thing weighing her down. :)))

((Edit: I realize I already named her adoptive brother. ;; His name is Lesedi, not Makaiyoh. Makaiyoh is now her father's name.))

((Ooo, nice! I love that a lot!))

Arlo allowed Pohli to do whatever she needed to do to get going. Even through the haze, he knew it was his friend grabbing his arms and securing him with her wings instead of someone he didn't know, so he wasn't alarmed. His gaze fell upon the ground, focusing on the grass instead of the pain.

He continued to study his surroundings as best as he could while they moved, his feet brushing through the blades of grass. He thought he felt a twig or two, but he honestly couldn't tell. When Pohli began speaking, he let her words reach him. She was talking about their environment, how the grass wasn't as green as she expected it to be, and about her home. He smiled a little. He liked hearing about her home.

Once again, he parted his lips to chime in, but only a weak sigh came out. He remembered his home, despite it having been years since he'd last been there; the grass wasn't green at all. He was confused as to why the grass in his forest was red instead of green like everywhere else. Then again, that forest was like no other... and it was home to his people.

People he didn't know the fates of.

"Pl... ants..." he murmured in between shaky breaths. He blinked slowly, eyes darting from plant to plant. They were out of the circus. Were they finally free? Would they finally be able to live out their lives as free people? A recent memory dawned on him, and his woozy smile grew. The soothing words Pohli offered to him the night before they were taken to the White Room returned to his mind.

"Show... how you fly... with too-small wings...?"

He was briefly distracted by the sound of rustling, which made his friend go a little faster. He twitched, a tiny bit of fear blooming within him. If they were caught by something...

((Also, don't worry, I'll bring the others in soon! Sun, Crow, Dove, they'll show up shortly! All in good time! ;) ))

Pohli can't help but cringe at how awful Arlo's voice sounds. It's sounded rough for a while, but now that she's relatively calm she can fully take it in. They need water. And food now that she thinks of it. There's so much to do, but the memory disarms her a bit as she smiles. It was yesterday, wasn't it? It feels like so much longer. She can feel the magic of her blessing with Arlo being so close to her. Her own tendrils of golden warmth hum in response to the similar signature.

Being so hypervigilant, she easily picks up on Arlo's budding fear. She's also quick to understand what he's afraid of. She's scared of the same thing. "It's nothing." Probably "Humans are loud. We'd hear them coming." She amends, staggering through the undergrowth. Humans tend to bumble around, fat and clumsy. They know nothing of stealth, or at least never care to be quiet.

Humming, she thinks of his earlier question. "I can't now. But I will show you soon." She promises. Her wings ache with more than the strain of keeping them extended for so long. She wants to feel the wind's embrace. Oitonça may not be capable of true flight, but flying is different. It's freedom and elation in its simplest form. To run and jump and fly is a fundamental part of her culture. Being stuck in that cage for so long was nothing short of torture.

She's taken by surprise as one of her legs give out. With absolute panic, she scrambles to catch herself before she falls. Her weighted limbs are slow to react, but luck must be on her side because she miraculously finds her footing. She takes a stunned moment of silence to thank every god she can that she didn't tumble painfully. Focusing on Arlo's breath behind her, she reassures herself that he is okay. That he didn't fall. Breathe in, breathe out. Releasing her death grip on Arlo's arms jerkily, she feels sick.

With a sudden clarity, she realizes she needs to lie down. She's been successfully repressing her acknowledgement of her body, but she is shaking. Her whole body trembles with the strain it's under, and she needs to lie down. Nausea hits her with how much she needs to lie down. She has half the mind to look around for any danger before using the rest of her strength to lay down in a controlled fall. She weakly pushes Arlo up so he doesn't fall as hard as she does. Once he's safe from unneeded pain, her arms fall heavily to the ground. The cuffs attached to them emit audible thuds as she sprawls out.

The sudden change from standing to lying down brings protest in her muscles in the form of sharp pains. She jerks a little as they try to acclimate to the boneless dead weight she went into.

"I think my body got fed up with me." Pohli groans, upset. This is not what she wanted. If she moved any further, though, she might've truly collapsed.

Arlo breathed a small sigh of relief. Humans were loud, now that he thought about it. He'd never seen one who was good at stealth. They weren't nearly as good at it as his people were. The Navuulo prided themselves in keeping their very existence a secret, hence why their forest remained undiscovered for centuries. Their only focus was keeping to themselves, helping each other, and living their lives to the fullest, just as Utherua willed them to do.

He remembered hearing stories about the fabled creator of the Navuulo, Utherua. Although none could see Him, as He was said to reside within the volcano at the center of the forest, every Navuulo worshipped Him. They would hold several celebrations every year to pay tribute to their deity. Every tribe would gather together to honor Him, and He would rain blessings upon them in return.

You are one of those blessings, Arlo, he recalled hearing his sister say. You were born on our last celebration of the year. That is why your first memory is of seeing a dragon of colorful fire; it has to be. He appeared to you, and He made you our most beloved blessing.

Arlo was torn from his thoughts when he was suddenly jolted on Pohli's back. It took him a good few seconds to realize that she had almost tumbled to the ground, and that was why he was jolted. Not because a human was trying to rip him away from her.

He glanced around, his gaze more tired than ever. They were far enough, surely. "Rest...?" he asked hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. As if she'd already read his thoughts, she decided to lay down, though it felt more like a fall. He stared down at her from where he was on her back, worry now swirling in his lime green eyes.

Steeling himself, he slowly and carefully moved off of Pohli. His gashes burned, but he didn't let that stop him from moving. He leaned back against the nearest tree and whimpered. He truly hated this... but at least they were free. Free? How long had it been? He'd lost count of the years he spent in captivity, whether it be in a lab or a demented circus.

He stared at Pohli's hand for a moment before reaching out and taking it, his grasp gentle. He frowned a little upon hearing Pohli's comment. Normally, he might have managed a quiet huff of amusement, though not out of malice, but he was too weak for even that. He winced when one of his eyes shut against his will. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake for much longer.

He opened his mouth to apologize, only for it to die before it left his lips. Another quivering breath left him instead. His gaze never left his friend, even when he heard distant cawing above them.

After some time, a familiar face had returned to them. It was the Phoenix from before, lowering himself onto the ground and landing in front of the two, keeping his distance just in case they reacted violently. When Arlo finally looked at the bird, he noticed how ruffled his feathers were, as well as the fact that his colors were more on the dull side, just as they were when he was caged up in the White Room. There were even a few gashes and electrical burns, but it didn't look as though the Phoenix particularly cared about that.

The Navuulo smiled at the Phoenix, who was glancing between him and Pohli. He was glad to see him again; he was starting to fear he wouldn't come back. At least he laid into that circus and presumably set the other caged cryptids free while managing to keep his own freedom.

Pohli frowns absently when Arlo moves away from her to lean against a tree. The expression fades just as quickly as it started when he puts his hand in her's. For reasons she doesn't understand, Arlo moving away upsets and scares her more than she already is. The frustration at herself warps into a confused mess of emotions. Her hands curl loosely around his own, and she finds a deep part of herself being soothed by the contact.

He's here, he's safe. It's okay, you didn't mess up.

She wants to wrap around him to make sure it stays that way, but she feels like death warmed over. The cuffs—metal and thick, looking almost seamless except for the slight divot of a line where they must divide when unlocked—cut into her thinned flesh. The weighted collar around her neck, in this position, pushes up at her shock collar and leaves her feeling a bit choked. Her exhaustion feels like a lead blanket on top of her, pushing her further against the ground than the cuffs do.

It's strange that the sickness from earlier doesn't lift, but settle. The nausea leaves her swallowing dryly, cotton mouthed.

Lingering alertness and paranoia succumbing to her weariness, she looks over Arlo. She's content to stare at him at the moment, almost forgetting where they are as she starts to drift. He paints a gruesome picture, but the sight hazily blurs in her mind's eye. Her thoughts cloud into a growing numbness, the feeling hard to fight in its familiarity.

She's abruptly jolted out of her dissociation as the smell of fire hits her nose. Looking around, she meets the eye of something large and polychrome. A color scheme different from the dull greens of the forest around them. Pohli's hands close around Arlo's as she immediately finds herself tensing. A growl comes unbitted out of her when the creature gazes at her friend. She doesn't register the creature's familiarity, or how it seems injured—just that it's a threat.

She's exhausted beyond belief, but she tries to flare her magic to weaken the cuffs—to do anything to get them off. Her magic doesn't respond, though. The light warmth that usually courses through her blood runs cold in its absence. The feeling leaves her numb, and her growl tampers off into a gravelly whine.

She needs to get up, but the cuffs are on her. And because the cuffs are on her, she can't move. She needs to get up to defend her very tired and injured friend. She must. She has to.

She can't.

Her fur bristles in protest of her weakness. She huffs in what she hopes is not pitiful—but threatening. There's no magic to fog around her this time, or taint the air with the oppressing weight of aggression. There's no magic to make her seem like anything more than a very angry and scared girl.

Looking to Arlo to make sure he's okay, she grows confused by his smile and lack of obvious fear. It shocks her into looking at the creature again, and it dawns on her that this creature is the same one from the White Room.

She goes limp, defeated. If this fire bird protected them before, they're likely not going to harm them. Her fur slowly lays flat where the blood hasn't dried it up. Her eyes, however, don't stray from the new person. The golden brown orbs holds an intensity to them that comes with being defenseless in front of a stranger.

Arlo noticed Pohli's hostile reaction to the Phoenix's arrival. He wanted to reassure her that everything would be okay. Even with his terrible condition, he was incredibly worried about her. She was looking weaker by the minute. That shock collar must really hurt.

He glanced between his friend and the Phoenix, who was still respectfully keeping his distance. He could tell from the bird's little twitches that he wanted to get closer. This confused him. What was stopping him from getting closer? It wasn't like they could hurt him further, and he couldn't possibly be afraid of them. Perhaps he was simply letting them know they could trust him?

"Thyr...?" Arlo asked weakly, coughing a bit. The Phoenix tilted his head briefly before nodding and chirping back. He was relieved. He came back to help them. He wondered how that was going to happen when the fire bird chirped again. It was a long message, but Arlo understood every word. Pohli wouldn't be able to understand what either of them were saying, as they were communicating fire-elemental to fire-elemental. At least, that was how it seemed.

He glanced at Pohli. "Pohli... Sun says... he can get us help..." he managed to get out, summoning every bit of strength he had to translate for the Phoenix, who had introduced himself as Sun in the foreign language. He blinked heavily. "A cryptid... organization... he can get us help..."

A dizzy spell came over him, the world spinning rapidly. He winced when he saw black spots dancing in his vision. They both needed a doctor, fast.

"Riz... thyr...?"

Sun's gaze moved to Pohli, lingering on her for a few seconds before turning back to face Arlo, who asked him how he was going to help them. He looked as though he were deep in thought. While he was thinking, so was Arlo. Who was this organization, exactly? He would accept any help at this point, but at the same time, would Pohli trust them? Would he?

You'll have to. You're both dying. There is no other choice.

Sun squawked, Arlo hearing a tone of reassurance. After studying the area, Sun apparently knew his way around and could fetch other members of this organization to return and help them. His plan made sense, given neither of them could move much farther without fully collapsing and passing out. He also doubted Sun could carry or drag the both of them.

"Umua hao..." he whispered, a small smile lighting his face. Sun bowed for a split second before squawking once more and taking off into the sky, leaving the two of them to get help. He stared at the Phoenix as he left, and when he could no longer see him, he slumped back against the tree. Despite the pain, he felt nothing but hope.

"Getting help," he scraped out, talking to Pohli now. He could barely stay awake for much longer. His breaths got quieter with every passing second. Pohli became blurrier and blurrier in his vision, until he could hardly make her out. All he saw was a mess of colors.

"We... are going to be... okay."

As those words left him, the darkness finally smothered him, and he drifted into unconsciousness.

~~~

((So I thought I would send Sun away to get them help from his fellow organization members; he knows his way back! Plus he can't possibly drag the two of them XD I hope that's okay; maybe we could do a tiny timeskip to show him and the help arriving? Or, if you planned on having Pohli pass out in your next post, we could skip to them waking up at the organization, whatever you want to do!

Also, here's the translation for everything Arlo said in his language:

Thyr...? -> Help...?

Riz... thyr...? -> How... help...?

Umua hao... -> Thank you...))