[ Even a grasp meant kindly causes him to balk, a full-bodied flinch twitch of his shoulder that allows him to immediately recoil from the hand coming for him. His ears ring, blood pounding in them, pulsing in the line of his throat like a fluttering bird, a winded stallion; the thing he wants most to do, in that moment, is laid out before him by a perfect stranger.

He stares, for a long moment. The heavy line of his brows turned up in the middle, jaw slightly slack — painfully young in expression, for such an ancient creature. Vash is successful, in catching his attention. He is divine, after all; his oldest sister was a goddess of miracles, one who spoke in prophecy as readily as the god of wisdom, Thoth. To be told the exact thing he would do next, though he had not done it, nor could he remember doing it?

To some, it might sound like inanity. To Set, it is actually a sensible statement. Such is the difference, between a god's mind and a mortal's. ]

— I have never been able to warn him, have I?

[ The question croaks from his throat, as his posture begins to loosen from the tight coil he's drawn it into; the defensive preparation, the poise of someone prepared to be violent suddenly, and all over the place. ]

I cannot remember doing what you are saying. All I know is that, he's right there. He's right there and he needs to know.