He isn't alone for long. In this land one rarely is. Whether this comforts or annoys him, Caneo still isn't sure. His head tilts when he first glimpses movement near the surf, and slowly the beats of his walk fade to nothing and his body turns just enough to tell the mare he notices her. In the dark and with the distance, his eyes pick out little but the pale stripes of her coat, the horn like a spire of bone jutting from her brow. She is a little thing with a color suited for daylight and the sway of autumn grass, but Caneo doesn't begrudge her his company. No; intrigue is a cool light in his gaze.

        "Good evening," is all she says, and because Roland lingers in his mind, Caneo smiles at her. It sits a little sharper on his features now than it did in youth, but conveys no ill intent. "Is it?" he returns, mild laughter playing in the smooth notes of his voice. Caneo's gaze breaks from the mare to the restless writhing of the sea. As for himself, he isn't sure; he failed to find what he wanted, but he has found something - someone - else. "Can't sleep?" he wonders. He has yet to meet one in Helovia who embraces his habits with any regularity. Sometimes they wander at night; sometimes they can't sleep; but he blinks now at the stars and thinks, with sorrow: no one hear know what they means.

        It is still a foreign sky. Only the moon is familiar, and he frowns at her, no longer stricken as he once was by love and wonder. Caneo has found better things to stake his heart on; warmer things. He's about to look at the mare again when something catches his eye: a darkness against the night, a quick-moving void in the stars. His ears stand up, and his tail twitches, betraying the quiet draw of tension all along his spine. It's too big to be a bird. One ear cocks back at the other unicorn, as if to ask you see that? but alert keeps him silent until the anomaly banks and begins to descend.

        And it is a winged horse. He ought to be accustomed to their oddness by now, but Caneo fears he will never be. Still far from relaxed, he gazes at the girl with something between concern and curiosity. Even in the darkness, she looks young: small, bony angles, awkward in all the ways of youth. Younger than himself and the other unicorn, for sure. Caneo's head cocks when she speaks. "Join us?" he repeats, clearly surprised. He turns to the other unicorn as if asking permission. When he looks at the winged girl again, his face is all concerned confusion. "Does your mama know you're out here?" And it might sound like genuine kindness to them, because they don't know how much Caneo hates mothers - or at least, mothers' propensity for trampling all perceived threats to their offspring. He has no desire to be a threat, or be trampled, so he regards the girl with an ounce more caution than is strictly necessary. If he's lucky, they'll think him a gentleman.