This tree... he has seen this tree before. Blue eyes narrow with cool fury as he looks it up and down, certain now. That scar in the bark, just above his ears – familiar. The forest has been leading him in circles. The sun’s trajectory far overhead offers no consolation, and with a soft snort, Caneo tosses his delicate head.

How will he find the Basin, now?

Disgusted, he turns away. His toes begin their wandering again, dainty steps leading him under a network of branches and small, scurrying feet. Perhaps herd life never suited him well, anyway. He considers wandering this forest though and sighs. Dark promises to catch up on him while he paces like a wayward child. Once, maybe, such a promise filled him with hope for the sight of stars and the opportunity of finding his way again. But Helovia’s stars mean nothing to him, and as the shadows lengthen, clouds begin scudding across the pale blue. Though he no longer flinches in terror from the shadows of trees, his guts twist with uneasiness at the thought of spending a night alone beneath them.

Stupid.

An insistent wind rustles though the fine silk of his mane as the clouds gather strength. Frowning, the boy pauses, pale eyes tilted heavenward to watch. He imagines the kiss of rain and resents it, wishing only to be dry while he is lost. Is it so much to ask? At least he recalls something of this place; he weaves through shadows on nimble feet, in search of the dome he found earlier. It rises in his memory like a dream: the curtains blowing softly and the gleam of tinted glass. Better shelter than none.

But he is not the first to have this thought.

He breaks through the trees by luck more than his memory – his mind still whirls confusion at the thought of navigating a forest. Perhaps haste has distracted him, but he only catches the mingled growl and hum of voices when he ventures near. The last to speak rumbles with the depth and violence of a stallion, booming like the threat of thunder on the air. Caneo hesitates, his head drawn up, his muscles pulling taut and narrow over slender bones. For a long moment, his mind whispers only run, again and again. But where to? He steps forward instead, slowly and without the easy grace of his gait before. Toward the voices, then, and the strange glitter of the rotunda...

He finds them at a stalemate, or maybe bracing to do battle. The nearest is a familiar sight, if only in general terms: large, muscular, proud and angry in his stance. The length of his horn gleams crimson – fitting, for a weapon. And the way he wields it makes that abundantly clear. Caneo pauses well back from the man, blue eyes skimming quickly over the tension of trained muscle and the strange, pale animal now tugging at the stallion’s tail. His charge, or does it owe allegiance to the other...?

He gazes at the mare for longer, coolly drinking in the strange, stormy pattern of her hide, and tangle of dark hair over the graceful curve of her neck. She is more vision than reality, smaller than either unicorn but standing her ground without fear, something like a horn clenched between her teeth. And at her sides.... the abundance of feathers like a bird’s wings, like shields hung patiently and expectantly there. What magic is this? What angel, fallen into the wretched clutch of shadows and earth...? Caneo blinks, his own tail, nearly bald, wringing across the narrow structures of his hocks.

“That looks dangerous,” he says at last, unable to watch in silence – unable to turn away, caught in two directions by concern and an instinct for preservation. And you're in my way, he adds silently, though none of the venom makes it out to his face, lingering instead within the upbeat rhythm of his clenching heart. His tone is mild, nearly singsong. “If you kill each other, could you do that away from the roof? I think it's going to rain.”