Garret's trip out of town was at least easier on him physically than it could have been. Running for so long was harsh on the lungs, but riding the gravity distortions that his spear emanated made the escape all the more easier. When the others finally came to a stop, Garret did as well, landing from one final leap and coming to a jogging halt. On the approach toward the others, he turned the polearm over and jammed the blade into the dirt, a move that any respectable weaponsmith would tell one to never do, but damage and consequence were for nerds with ordinary weapons. A few moments after it left his hand, the weapon vanished in a flash of light similar to the one that it appeared in, and his now-empty hand went to a rest on his hip.<br/><br/>"Oi, kid. I doubt it's your fault that a bunch of brutes decided to raid the town. Unless you're some kinda child warlord. No offense, but you don't look that type," Garret said, hoping to reassure Alan a bit. He was rewarded with absolute savagery and third degree burns. It was a bit unexpected, and his expression showed quite a lot of surprise when it happened. "Damn," He muttered, not sure whether to be amused or offended as hell. Worse yet, the courier joined in, with a threat to shoot him at that. Garret frowned, and to defend himself, raised his voice a bit. "Hey, I'm not gonna hit the damn kid!" He spread his arm out in an exasperated motion, letting it fall back down with a huff. At first, he glanced momentarily at Alan, but something weird caught his eye, and he took a closer look. "You feelin' alright? Your eyes look kinda weird. You sick or something?"