The old man ignores her, or at least her words: he continues his rush forward, changing direction at the last moment and lurching past her, heading for the vine covered wall.
"He's coming!"
The old man doesn't so much shout as exclaim with grim determination, not even trying to strike out with his cane when he passes. Open to any magic that Hermione might cast, while Licyn, trying in no way to be helpful, grumbles as he continues burying his head in her robes. (Or her arse. It is not, at least, intentional, right now.)
Left unimpeded, or at least not significantly injured or delayed, he hits the wall with a bang of his cane, shoving vines out of his way while hunting for something. Licyn, not able to see and not inclined to look, offers no guesses.
he's just a lil' guy
"He's coming!"
The old man doesn't so much shout as exclaim with grim determination, not even trying to strike out with his cane when he passes. Open to any magic that Hermione might cast, while Licyn, trying in no way to be helpful, grumbles as he continues burying his head in her robes. (Or her arse. It is not, at least, intentional, right now.)
Left unimpeded, or at least not significantly injured or delayed, he hits the wall with a bang of his cane, shoving vines out of his way while hunting for something. Licyn, not able to see and not inclined to look, offers no guesses.