The evening subdued, the nocturnal spread chiming too closely to Caneo’s eyes and ears, and Lena hushed through the assuaging depths, listened to the Thief’s answers (wondered how helpful a companion could be to a sleuth, racing through the underbrush and carrying back messages), and quietly indulged in the harmony of twilight. The heavy length of silence had only made Lena presume he was thinking quite heavily on his response, and she gave a light smile towards him, then down towards Imogen, who fluttered around his hooves, then waned, ghosting back towards the sylph’s legs. The little vixen was a blessing, but she understood that not everyone longed to cherish an eternal bond, ensnared with another being, constantly intertwined with the force of another – and maybe because she remembered so many times before with nothing and no one, alone, despondent, forsaken, thrown into desolation, that she couldn’t imagine wishing to embark on a lifestyle again and again. For a few moments, she stared upon Roland and pondered if it was a life he’d always lead, drifting through the shadows, conjuring veils and cloaks, concealing daggers, never bending or lending towards others, and if he did, it was only in light nuances, a touch of knowing, a caress of existing, but naught further. Something about the sentiment struck her as lamentable and despairing, and the sprite’s eyes roamed in a downcast spiral to the frost-laden ground as Caneo spoke of his gratitude, and the aspect of rest and repose. She heaved the subtle rue and regret away in one inaudible sigh, left it lingering on the chilling wind, wove a simple grin through her features once more, and clambered back into serenity. “A pleasure meeting you, Caneo.” She meant it, she’d enjoyed his endless curiosity, his constant questions, because if interests were piqued, perhaps he’d stay and drift among them, not disappear into the void, into the hollow, where so many of her friends had gone before, and not come back (Aurelius, Larkspur, Blue Duck, she could rattle off a list of names and the heartache would return). The fairy meant to stray away, and nearly turned her frame back into the spread of darkness, when she noted Caneo seemed lost in where to go; where he might yearn to close his eyes and think nothing but wondrous dreams of the future. She smiled, pointed her muzzle in various directions, and drew a map in words and phrases. “Depending on your preference, the caves are towards your right or left. The hot springs are towards the north, and there is always the forest.” Her favored lodging, producing memories, protection, and old, ancient wraiths; she grinned, then withdrew, spiraling back into the wilderness to think, to linger, to wonder, or perhaps, to sleep.