He tries to make himself as small and easy a passenger as he can. He hooks claws carefully into whatever closing she has, trying to both secure himself and take some of the work of holding him in place onto himself. "If we can get inside," he calls, trying to stretch up closer to her ears, "I can drive it to the convoy! The bigger vehicles beyond the buildings! Their shield might be able to keep out the wind."

Or at least lessen it. He knows it kept out most of the rain, the last time the storm reared up.