As lightly as the girl steps, Ishiah's ears pick up a great deal, even dulled as they are now thanks to the island's magic. He can no longer recognize someone by their precise footsteps, can no longer manage anything other than a decent guess whenever it's Robin and his light, sweeping gait. But he does hear the approach of a person, of two feet stepping through the brush, and so decides to turn around after giving a stalk of bamboo one last, heavy chop, the rest of the plant cracking as it falls to the dirt.

"Currently, I am chopping. Not trying to plan," Ishiah replied plainly. "Not having planned. Simply chopping and collecting wood in case it should be needed for anything in the near future."