His eyes flick back up and around to Faolan, guarded now -- brow furrowed in an expression that doesn't seem to suit the same man who had so playfully joked about about criminal flies and man-eating Samoyeds. Lancelot eyes Faolan like a cornered animal, uneasy -- fingers flexing as he slows a moment. He flits his gaze away and around the road, as if checking for anyone (or anything) around them.

"Fine," he offers quietly, and speeds up again. "We're not far away. You don't have to stay. You must have other places to be."