The moon is a sickle above him. She has come early, promising night even as the sun wallows burning on a watery horizon. Caneo tastes dusk in the back of his throat. He tastes it in the cold bitterness of the waves and the long, hungry reach of eager shadows. Briefly, his pale gaze narrows and he watches the sea from his vantage point on this carcass of metal and dead wood. The moon will be there soon, reflected on the waves. It reminds him of something distant, a deep voice roaring a battle cry, telling him to run.

        He will not run today.

        Quickly, his attention snaps from reverie to the present. Earlier, he saved himself from the dragon. He is in danger once more, with strange dead trees rising from the cracked wood underfoot, and strange leaves billowing from their boughs. His ears twitch to the noise of garbled voices above; his eyes track the movement of small figures dressed in too-bright skins. A shudder, something like revulsion, tracks down the boy’s spine. He is too delicate to be here. He remains a thing of grace, his narrow body draped in folds of silk, from the veil trailing over a long face to the half-blanket swaying gently over his haunches. The boy’s tail twitches, and the silver bands down its length glint in the dying light. His layers of silk do little to hide the stark, bony shape of the body beneath. They do nothing to hide the stunted, keen-edged horn upon his brow. He wears that like a gemstone set in the top of his thin silver crown. There is danger in him, now, with the daylight slowly drowning and the sea denying him escape.

        He blinks, pale eyes finding the dark shape on the other side of the deck. It wears deep blue as if to echo the sea, and though it stands no taller than the silver boy, its darkness stretches wider than his fragile bones could ever dream. His eyes narrow over the broad limbs, skirt quietly up to the gleaming horn between the eyes – golden. It comes to a rapier edge, a promise of danger, and Caneo’s attention all focuses there at the tip. The silver boy moves then, and the deck under his hooves moves, too, so his gait is half grace and half uncertain staggering, tail held out like a counterbalance. He knows now two things: this other boy is heavier than he, and the stranger’s horn is dangerous but very long. The absence of wings means he ought to find other targets than those he picked out on the golden king; he looks at the boy’s muscular flanks, at the powerful legs. The boat rocks again, its cradle restless under a creaking bow, and when the deck tilts just enough to give him the implication of higher ground, his careful dance becomes a charge.

        Like thunder, the hollow footing rumbles beneath the boy’s cloven hooves. He swallows the distance of the last two strides with a bound, his limbs folding gracefully and snapping out to catch his weight. He hopes the movement is sudden, fearsome, confusing. He moves quickly as if doing so will leave his fear behind. Thinking of the last fight, Caneo approaches with his head low, ears pinned, skinny face a strange mask of wild-eyed uncertainty and killing solemnity. He aims at first for the stranger’s left shoulder, his skinny body thrusting forward hard, but just before he reaches it Caneo veers off and aims for the flank instead, his head raking up, eager to bring the point of his horn through flesh. He will cripple the enemy now, and when it can’t move, he will be free to do as he wants.

        The silver boy doesn’t waste time lingering after his strike. He keeps moving instead, aiming to clatter past the stranger’s haunches. Caneo’s own hind hooves surge up as he moves to aim a haphazard kick at the black and blue ribs on the left side. He wants to hurt as much as he can as fast as he can. His blood will not be coloring the moonlit waves tonight; he will not be falling with the sun. His head is up, his pale eyes scanning the deck, prepared to turn just before his hurtling body meets the railing at the edge. He is late in spying something from the sidelines coming at them both: one of the little creatures, with its own curved sword, coming forward with the thin edge gleaming in the light. He is not certain what it means, but he counts it as much a threat as the other boy, and keeps one ear cocked in that direction.

_____________________________________________________

attack: 1/2
word count: 787 words
notes: Caneo is dressed as a princess. He is wearing a narrow silver circlet across his brow, fastened to his horn. A fine veil of mostly transparent white material hangs down from it and over his nose, with an opening around his eyes. A half-blanket of similar material drapes his haunches, and connects to his tail via a series of thick silver bands.
--
He made a feint with his horn toward Biru's left shoulder, then actually attacked farther back, aiming to draw the point up Biru's left flank. He intended to keep moving past Biru's haunches, and aimed a kick at the ribs on the left side, as well. I am assuming Anabelle is present, but your profile says she usually sticks to the sidelines in fights, so Caneo has not noticed her yet.
--
@[Biru] do you want to be tagged throughout?