She watches him. Her eyes crawl like warm shivers over the velvet skin, lingering but never quite a touch. Still, sunlight brushes her features again, however gently. It springs up somewhere in him, too: a hidden warmth, sparks dancing through a weary heart. He stands quietly as she approaches – so minute the distance closed – but he acknowledges this fact with silent approval. They are friends. They will stay together, now. Perhaps he might teach her about the stars, and everything else.

        Caneo’s attention flickers briefly toward Natraj when the kitsune produces fire. Muscle tightens under silver skin unconsciously, preparing him to pull away, but only a shiver runs through him as he masters himself – the small one is no danger. It must not be, if Tandavi is his friend... Slowly, his long face cocks toward Natraj, and a small, indignant snort breaks his nose. It might be like laughter, except Caneo’s is usually silver and fine. He glances up once more at the girl, his interest hanging keenly on the dusky edges of her voice.

        “She’s a goddess.” He nods in response to this – of course. He knows already, the myth in his mind a far cry from the lady of this land but similar, perhaps, in more ways than he might guess. And Tandavi continues to speak of a family, of a land cradled in darkness, and Caneo wonders just how much of it is true. His new friend speaks solemnly, but perhaps she speaks in metaphor – or parrots words once given to her. His weight shifts uneasily as Tandavi hesitates, some powerful emotion crawling just beneath her skin, crawling down her throat. She looks strange, her face half shadowed by her amulet. She looks half god, herself.

        “We live with the sun now,” she says, and Caneo’s ears twist back just slightly in distaste. He far prefers the sound of the old land, the children of the moon. His people had a similar name for themselves, though they mapped the stars and knew the sun far too well. “Grandfather used to say we need the sun,” he answers, his interest gone from the words, distaste lingering still in the back of his throat, “the same way we need pain.”. Rather than elaborate he falls silent, his pale gaze sweeping the meadow. I would like to see your mother’s land, he thinks, but recalling the expression on the girl’s face, Caneo swallows these words. Perhaps it is the mother she recoils from – or just the dark. He cannot guess. He is too polite, now, to go prodding old wounds. He changes the subject instead.

        “I want to find the Moon Goddess,” he says. He is resolute, some sliver of steel glinting behind the words. It has remained hidden up to now, where it only breaks the surface. As if he might climb the treetops to the sky, he steps forward, his tail wringing, and peers at that pale sliver above them both. “I want to ask her things.” Sharply, one eye cocks back at the sunlit girl, so different from himself, so warm, and yet perhaps as fragile. “Do you know where to look?”