Familiarity rings through his body as Caneo moves. He knows this dance, so well it seems innate. Quietly, he matches the burning girl’s pace, his pale eyes turning every now and then to watch the dance of sparks along her flanks. The warm light of her presence laps at him, illuminating the pins of his silver legs, the frail strings of his mane, but never all at once. A strange sort of anticipation hangs cold in the air, thin like bird’s bones, light as flame. Its name is winter, and it curls out from his lungs in silver plumes.

        But he does not shiver for want of heat.

        When Tandavi hesitates, Caneo’s eyes turn upward to cradle the shadow of some great, unknown thing in his attention. It blots out the stars like a bird in flight and yet it hangs, vast and unknowable, a dream half-glimpsed from far away. Something light burns in his limbs; his tail moves, twisting against bony joints, but the girl at his side shows no fear. With a glance at her, Caneo quiets, intensity simmering down into a tightly knotted coil in the base of his chest. One ear cocks toward the thick shadow of his companions voice; she speaks of gods, and part of him still laughs at the term, and part of him responds to it with a pang like fear. He thinks of the moon.

        His breath furls around his lips, the only warmth in the night. When they move again, the move up. His hooves clack on the naked rock, here and there, but carefully some intuition born of his only purpose guides each step. If Caneo knows anything, he knows traveling. A strange peace inhabits his body, lingering in his long, graceful stride, even as he cocks an eye back at the earth just beginning to fall away. It lies in shadow, now, bathed only in the muted starlight. He watches it briefly before his attention swings forward again, to Tandavi’s voice and the curl of water vapor at the edge. Something thrums in her, too; it shivers with her voice in through his ears and Caneo watches her as if they have both, suddenly, just come alive.

        Fly. Curiosity moves in his breast. His neck snakes out, narrow and sinuous, as the girl steps away from him. And she is retreating heavenward, the clouds holding her feet somehow, and with a haphazard leap he is just behind, craning his head to peer down, down at the sleeping earth and the silence of it all. He ascends; his bright eyes watch the ground go as only the wind moves through his ears – the wind and the noise of a frightened heart.

        The trip ends after a brief eternity, and with a grunt Caneo leaps again to solid ground, though he stands for a long moment peering over the edge, one ear tilted back, eyes narrowed in concern or disbelief. This – this is a story. It cannot be real, and yet he feels his body living still around him, too vibrant and too frail to be a dream. Caneo draws in several deep breaths, and the high, cold air cuts at his lungs. “Of course,” he says at last, his long silence broken. He turns to Tandavi then, and something like a feral grin splits his face, half fear and half exhilaration. He steps forward then, past her, as his lungs drink what they can of this new air and his eyes scour the shadows, seeking, hungry.

        “You’ve been here before,” he surmises. The thought skates past his immediate scrutiny – what does she do away from him? Who does she know? He frowns at the sky, at the shadows, at the trees. He wonders if the Moon is here, somewhere. He wants to see her. His attention trembles like a spider’s web, pulled suddenly in all directions. “Did you talk to the moon then?” he wonders absently. One pale eye blinks back at Tandavi, softening, perhaps for her benefit. “Or was it someone else?” Still, as he speaks he moves, and his attention flits from one thing to the next, his senses wary as they are keen.