The words weren't registering. Not really, not in the state the Lightwarden was in. But something about Emet was for all neither could really examine why that was. And while the Ascian might be expecting no response, there was one.

Not that the creature spoke- it was likely that it couldn't, not as it was now, but there was a shift in stance, a slight hunker down before it was slowly slinking down from the stone onto the sand. A soft noise slipping from it not entirely unlike the sound made from a bow harshly run over the strings of a violin, something about it sounding distressed under the discordant echo of it.