A voice rang out like thunder, though the clear sky curved above him pale and unblemished. Rather than answering at once, Caneo wondered for a time if he was – what? – a loyal Basin citizen. The thought provoked soft peals of laughter, even if he stood alone. Regardless, he turned to answer the summons, even if only to sate curiosity. Perhaps because it felt like a joke, and too long since he’d laughed.

        He tells himself he barely understands the meaning of that concept – loyalty. But his cloven hooves fall over the tracks of others, and his pale eyes fall over the dark lord at the valley’s heart. They fall on that stallion first, wavering for a moment at the regal carriage of power in his merely standing. His voice had called. Caneo pauses for an instant, watching, glimmering like a vision on the edges of the meeting. He should flee. He eyes the press of bodies, a shudder gathering on his skin.

        But he steps forward.

        Reluctant footfalls bring the fragile silver body to the edges of the crowd, where he pauses and briefly surveys his new fellows –are they? Part of him expects to be shooed off; the tension underneath his thin skin betrays it. Where is Roland? Lost behind greater creatures, perhaps. Caneo’s toes reach out to dig a shallow furrow in the ground, then still. Control yourself, he chides. Be still. Adapt, adapt, adapt. Meanwhile, the dark lord speaks, and Caneo’s ears tilt up.

        Most of the information escapes his grasp, though he struggles to impress it all upon his memory regardless. Something about an Edge, and many names of creatures unknown... Caneo blinks at the gathering, searching for some sign of recognition in the other faces, some method of placing names to physical reality. Roland is mentioned; the grey acknowledges this with a little nod. He hears Lena’s name as well and decides they must have told him mostly truth. A strange, pale-eyed creature seems to be called Zikar-sin... the lord goes on and Caneo’s tail twitches impatiently behind him. Why in the world should he ever care, at all?

        At length, the lord falls silent and the golden lady at his side begins to speak. Her voice burgeons with pride and warmth, matching the brilliant glimmer of her hide and the silver plate wrapped over it. She speaks of nothing, really, for some time and mentions a celebration. Caneo struggles against the urge to snort or recoil, poised instead in perfect silence, head up and attentive. He wants nothing to do with weavers – whatever they are – or the creepy, sycophantic creature with the pallid eyes.

        Slowly, his head tilts to one side and he sighs, speaking aside only to himself. “A festival, hm?” These creatures revel in splendor, if nothing else. They have more at their whims than he has ever dreamed, and seem to Caneo’s eye to fail at feeling the appropriate awe. He nods and decides to linger, anyway, and see what might be seen. There is no joy in wandering alone while voices gather elsewhere. Even if they are all strangers, unknown and untrustworthy, he can’t reject the desire to learn more about them.