Emet-Selch glances in the man's direction, one eye following his movements and noting his apparent distraction. And then he sighs, reaching the other arm out from beneath the covers and snapping for the cup of water to teleport itself into his waiting hand. He still feels sluggish and unsteady, his mind murky like a pond following a flood. But a pond can be crossed, provided one has a boat. Or skirted. Or one can simply fly over it.

"On the contrary, I would say the image is plenty clear already, though I can't say I much enjoyed the view of...me."

He takes a long, cautious sip. Not because he's suspicious - not anymore - but simply because it won't do to overexert himself.

"I remember things, they're just frustratingly out of context. Slow. Jumping all over the place, with no regard for the natural flow of time. And, I assume, a good portion of these visions are not mine at all - but yours, given I was speaking with your voice. That boy, Dimitri, was there, too. Although he had obviously grown into a man by then. Looked like he'd seen a ghost, or perhaps something far worse."

Gradually do the pieces begin to click satisfyingly into place. Emet-Selch gives no indication that he's rejecting any of it, really. If anything, he seems entirely neutral about the whole affair. Or maybe he's simply too exhausted to be outraged. But when he glances at Byleth this time, there is recognition, at least.

"Lucky for you, I am disinclined to gossip."