--A little bit of a shove that nearly sends him careening backwards over his trunk. Any more enthusiastic, Alan, and the Dragon might have found himself concussed and sprawled in a tangled heap. He grips and braces himself on Alan's arm harder and more desperately than he looks like he is capable of with those long, lean limbs, shock marring his cold face.

"Certainly I can," he hisses once he recovers enough to steady himself, utterly bewildered by this Alan fellow. "If my carry-sack were intact!"

If nothing else, though, his quick-calculating brain is able to piece together something out of this fog and mess of a conversation: the only logical conclusion is that he is being taken. As a prisoner, more than likely. That entices a bitter, humorless grin to bloom at his lips. He almost allows himself a defeated, exhausted chuckle.

"Since I haven't the choice, you'd better take all my things." He clicks his heel against the trunk behind him, most of his weight bearing down heavily on Alan's shoulder. The trunk emits a musical glass-clinking-against-metal sound. "Don't leave this behind. And don't let the rest of captors play with it without me, either, lest they do something stupid like singe their faces off or sprout tulips from their ears."