THROUGH THE FAINT GLOW of his elemental sight, a path had all but forged itself forward -- curling and looping forth, forth, then somewhere far ahead, to the right. In the uncertainty of Momoyo's safety is the discernment that no room is present for paced march and intake of Narukami Island's mid-day air. Neither chirp of bird species nor linger of passing steps is permitted a glance, his devotion lodged in its entirety to marking elemental traces where they stamp.
Perhaps that is why, under these circumstances, he finds his guard raising upon sight of a VISION in blue ... A Fatui agent, no doubt, like the many that had blocked his path. He is ready -- all too prepared -- to draw his sword and plunge in swift deliberation to knock @tenkoseiensei where he stands; question him, during, if could be. For a moment, for a second, he is all too engrossed in the act, already in the motion of shouting attack grunt when — he stills, his wind reduced to breeze in his recoil to tickle such familiar, vibrant hair.
" – Childe." He announces, perhaps to himself so as to permit his sudden halt, and openly sighs. His sword is thrust into the ground, not yet sheathed should worse come to worst. "Friend, I apologize for my haste ... A friendly spar is not one I can spare today. Though I am not so compelled to harm you otherwise if there is room to avoid it yet. I'm … certain you're aware of the circumstances, if you are here." His gaze travels from vision to higher gaze, slight angling of his head to confirm that, yes, this is the Eleventh and no one else. No other vision flashes in sight, nor can he sense any hazard from behind. "If you let me pass without quarrel, I can promise you fulfillment when this is done."
