There are three points of stillness—true, perfect stillness, the stillness that comes with confidence and patience—in the bazaar. Two of those points are standing next to each other, overlooked even while they watch over the many points of noise and motion.

"Do you miss being that young?" One asks.

"Nay," says the other, and it might even be true, because there's a satisfied look on his face. He is apparently content to watch.

"And you never wish for them to grow up." The first tilts his head, eyes sharpening on a slim tanned hand 'liberating' a man's coinpurse from his belt. The hand tosses the purse to another hand and then there's laughter, weightless and breathless, rising up from the knot of youths.

The other watches, too, but says nothing on the matter of the stolen coin for reasons of his own. "With maturity comes a tempered spirit, but they've naught that needs tempering immediately."

One of the youths rounds on the thief. There's a smile in her eyes but a sharpness in the set of her brow. If her words were a weapon, they'd be a whip, to crack and sting. The thief recoils.

Neither intervenes. Even for the father of a group, there is such a thing as overstepping. If the blond boy cannot protect himself from the pigtailed girl, there is no hope for him. And if he can, there's no point invading the argument with heavy-handed words.

"Patient of you," pipes up another of Basch's group, while Shikijou simply snickers and mutters something in Japanese about old men who outwait the ocean. "How comforting that you can be so patient when the rest of us are—"

He stops, because the third point of stillness looks over at him and doesn't say anything. Silence and peace radiate outward in something that Hannya might almost think was an un-uttered threat.

"They are but children, Balthier," says the other. "We should be glad they've any joy in them at all. And they are learning."

Theres's something layered in that statement. It's a deeper statement than the one he's understanding, but he doesn't have the background or the resources to fully parse it. He writes off the loss, watches a svelte form sway through the dust and the heat, her braid tossing.

She's been well-behaved; in some ways, far better behaved than the children Basch watches over. To be stranded in a world that makes no sense to any of them and with no certain way home and not have a nervous breakdown is admirable. To adjust, or attempt to adjust, with anything remotely resembling grace and awareness of greater concerns is yet more admirable.

He's proud of her.