I appreciate your consideration, but this is not your fight.
[The words come to him automatically, but he makes no move to stop Arthur from coming with him. No, Utsusemimaru is too focused on following the quickly fading glow of the spirit to worry about anyone else's safety. If he had better control of his senses he would have been horrified by his own single mindedness.
He trips along, sword forgotten, heedless of roots and stones hidden under the brush and thick mist, his chest tight with fear. What if he has lost him...?
But the ghost comes into view again past a grove of pines: it seems to be composed of the very mist itself, translucent, at times shapeless, but with a face carved out of Utsusemimaru's very memory. He pauses a few feet away, not daring to move closer for fear of chasing it off again.]
Oyakata-sama...
[An incalculable weight presses down on his heart as he drinks in the kind, sorrowful eyes of his fallen lord.]