Loose eddies of wind curl in every now and again, pushing at the drapes with invisible hands. They sing like unseen wolves: a mournful undulating cry, a voice as hollow and as desperate as the cold. Caneo watches the snow intensify beyond the curtains, his glimpses of the outer world all brief. He prefers the relative peace of the rotunda, even if it does moan as if haunted. Even if he shudders still, his stringy body twitching in the cold.

        He should not have wandered off.

        His thoughts move sluggishly, content for a long time to follow the noise of the wind and the muted play of color on the floor. This place was splendid in the summertime; like the silver creature sheltering beneath its arches, it stands muted now, its glory patient. The drapes flutter mournfully; bored, maybe? They catch Caneo’s attention now and again. He has grown accustomed to their movement, though, when at last they part in answer not to wind but to another creature like himself.

        Her hooves strike the floor with a sharp noise. It jumpstarts something in Caneo’s brain; he twitches upright, his narrow body quivering with more than just the cold. Inside, in this little space, he feels immediately trapped. Blue eyes roll his his narrow face, jumping from archway to archway, and only in between the hasty naming of escape routes does he bother to look at her.

        “What a shame...”

        Her voice is soft. Her attention, much to his surprise, lingers on the ceiling. For a brief moment, Caneo realizes he is unseen, a ghost, and a strange disquiet spreads through him. He has not died? He is here? His body quivers insistently; the pain of cold reminds him yes, however unwelcome its touch.

        When the girl does look, a flash of something – fear? – leaps through her eyes. She is larger than Caneo; as caution runs across her body he watches with careful eyes, no longer afraid himself but measuring. He will not run, if he can avoid it. He is too unhappy out there... so he merely looks instead, and waits for her to act – except she doesn’t.

        Someone else appears, instead: a flash of white, the gleam of long, sharp teeth. For a moment, Caneo mistakes the wolf for a burst of snow and merely frowns. Then realization strikes him, burning through his nerves, and no longer feeling the cold he steps back, lightly, on his toes. His ears twitch. “Good morning.” It comes out a little dry, not an attempt at pacifying either of the strangers, but a subtle venting of his mounting frustration. Of course, this morning is not good. It is the worst of mornings, and it promises to be no better in the foreseeable future.

        Caneo’s tail flicks, the scant hairs at its tip wavering. He is no taller than the girl, but he stands at his full height, his head just slightly lowered to regard the wolf. He is surprised to hear its growling taper off after a moment, though he feels a pang of optimism when it does. Maybe he won’t need to run off, after all. Maybe he can even coexist with this strange, burly mare. She speaks at last, though it is only to give a name, and the name of the wolf, confirming Caneo’s suspicion that they come together, paired. He regards this Romul a moment longer before his pale eyes turn again to the mare. Essetia. It’s pretty enough.

        “I don’t live here,” says Caneo. His attentions shifts to the colored roof, the glass buried under sheets of snow. “You can come in if you want.” He doesn’t move, though, instead maintaining his unhappy stance in the center. Interested by whatever it if she refuses to tell him, and by her earlier disappointment, he cranes his slender face toward the girl, his ears alert. “Caneo.” He has given it so many times... he wonders if he will even see her again – if she will even bother to remember it. His tail twitches once more. He wonders if the shivering will be a constant until the cold gives up.

        Caneo opens his mouth to speak again, to ask Essetia just what she seeks here, and what disappoints her, when another girl arrives. This one is small, delicate; her lines are utterly familiar to Caneo’s mind, though he has never known her, specifically. Her blood is desert blood; his interest piqued, he blinks at her, too. The day is quickly becoming a day of oddities; he might enjoy it more if he weren’t so cold.

        Drom. She gives a name – and nothing else. For a moment Caneo blinks at her; she stands apart from Essetia and himself, as if she wants nothing to do with them. “Nice to meet you.” There is nothing warm about his smile. With a sort of shrug, he returns his attention to the bay mare. Maybe, if he moves in close enough, at the just the right angle, he can use her to block the little eddies of wind... Caneo steps forward gingerly.

        “You were looking for something,” he guesses. “I met a lord here once.” The boy pauses, glances about carelessly, though his gaze does flicker over Drom. He doesn’t forget her, but he does ignore, deciding that if she wants something she will have to ask for it. He’s too cold to be begging affection today. “I guess he’s sleeping now, or something.” Caneo glances sidelong at Essetia instead, hoping he has caught her interest, at least. Hoping she will relax, and forget whatever fear first gripped her.