[ Koltira's request had been crystal: don't look for me. His agony was plain. Lancer respects both and minds his own damn business, but trouble always finds a way. And trouble today is a bloodied elf stumbling into his cache of trees, dragging the threat of death and rot in after him. He'd been raised to understand forests are sacred things, wise in their own way—it reacts to Koltira's presence viscerally. He should respond in like, but something keeps him sitting on a fallen log. It isn't curiosity, they aren't strangers this time. Obligation, likely. Not much time to think on it.

Once he's noticed, he lifts his hands with a helpless shrug. ]

Hey now, you're the intruder. I haven't done anything yet.

[ That said, his armor takes place of his silly Western threads in a jolt of magic. He can guess how this'll go, it's not like this has been a subtle, low-key week of frenzying, and they've thrown down before. ]

But maybe I should go ahead and put you out of your misery.

[ Lancer's definitely trying to provoke him, though it may as well be an honest suggestion. You're a hot mess, friend. ]