He follows as discreetly behind as he can, his inevitable noises seeming to blend in with the elf's own fumbling. Simon's tracking skills are rusty, and even when he'd had regular enough occasion to use them, his quarry rarely tried to brave the forests for long. He remembers just one--a Dalish-born mage he'd nearly had to give up on, until a chance brush fire struck by lightning had flushed her out.

However suspicious he might be of the garden-forest's origins, he certainly doesn't want to see any part of it on fire, not least because it is in the middle of a bustling city, and that city has already seen more than enough fiery destruction in this particular spot. Those ominously chiming and flashing runes look all too much like the kind he's seen burst into explosive flame, and whether it makes any sense or not to think a blind man would want to burn a newly-sprouted forest down while he's standing in the heart of it, Simon's not taking any chances.

"Hey!" he calls, his hand out and ready to cleanse the area without prejudice if he has to stop those runes from doing...whatever. "Stay where you are, trespasser. Staff down, hands where I can see them."