Aw shit. Noticed. Izumo stopped again, midstep, before he offered an uncertain smile. See, harmless little Leaf Chuunin on an errand, please do not squash for the hell of it. Oh sure, there were peace treaties hither, thither, and yon, but the thing about peace-treaties was they didn't mean shit to a single shinobi in a fit of insanity of bloodlust. Or boredom. Kimimaro didn't look like he fell into any of those categories, but Izumo had lived this long by relying on the assumption everyone eventually would attempt to stab him at some point.

"Ah, sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you..."