Instead of standing or moving, the old elf simply glanced up at Celestine, as if evaluating her in that moment. Apparently something satisfied him, at least if him staying was anything to go by; a last sweep of the room, and he closed his eyes, shutting out his senses in a moment of vulnerability. Touching the tips of two thin, spindly fingers to his forehead, he reached inward, pulling memories of red cloth and pale blue skin to the surface. It wasn't much of an image he could conjure, but he'd had a good feel of her presence, her wild fright, enough to track by. Sending his mind's eye outward, Valeander felt his way through the stairwells and corridors above like a blind man in a dark room, until he sensed her.<br/><br/>Silver eyes snapped open once more, and spindly, gloved fingers enclosed Celestine's wrist as the elf stood up, soundlessly. With a curt nod upward, he pulled her around the corner of the stairwell and out of sight, out of the commotion. His steps were brisk for someone so fragile-looking, and they stopped only when he could pull open the door at the end of the corridor.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>