Cloud isn't interested in thanks. In fact, the burden on his back is almost secondary. Instead he'd concentrating on putting some distance between himself - both of himselfs - and that oily black he tells himself he doesn't have to fear anymore and does anyway. Too many miserable nights alone in the church without his family, too much overwhelming failure to help anyone, too much fear of voices that shouldn't be there anymore taking him over the second he risked closing his eyes. His memory's still too sharp and clear of it all and while he won't run from the ending of the world, he'll try to outdistance that sticky darkness because Aerith's miracles don't tend to happen twice. He's not going to lose his family, his future, himself, like that again.

Powerful muscles move under shaggy fur like liquid steel. Large paws find purchase, claws dig in, propel him forward. Blue eyes like electric narrow down in focus as he runs, the ruins they pass through nothing compared to his enhanced body and its reflexes. His neck stretches out even as his body unconsciously adjusts to having a rider, changing form subtly to suit better.

It's really not that different from carrying Marlene or Denzel. Or Yuffie. He hits his stride, motions going smooth and the pleasure of pushing his body settles in. With a huff, he lowers his ears and pushes forward into the wind. If this is ruined Junon than Edge is a long way away. Cloud points his nose toward home.