*Mr. Eaten is able to keep up fairly easily, once he gets back into the rhythm of flight. It's not the sort of skill one forgets, apparently, and what is a snail's pace to his kind is still damn fast to those who've never had to deal with interstellar distances.

*They arrive quickly, shadows reforming into a cloak around gnawed bones. The Starveling Cat is there already, waiting from them as impatiently as if they'd been gone a hundred years.* Best if I not go through with you; you don't want me that close.