Alloran's somewhere past seventy-five, but with how his species ages that's something like his late forties. It's possible for him to have had grandchildren, but they would be quite young. Without comparing him to a younger Andalite it's hard to determine signs of age - there are some lines around those huge and vaguely goatlike eyes, and he has a generally weary cast, but that's about it.

He's grimly amused as Stacia considers being a pawn for the long term. She's lucky. No one's in her head providing commentary on the prospect.

<If we are fortunate,> he says, very neutral. <I imagine you're hoping to change your situation? At the moment only you can hear me, so my speech is private enough, but I understand vocal speech is different.>

Despite himself he laughs suddenly, a sensation like a static pop of manic joy; it comes with a shifting of his forehooves on the floor, as if he's had an impulse to rear up. <I choose who hears my voice, and what I say! How wonderful.>