And Caneo doesn't know what he seeks, anymore. He is here, maybe drawn by the memory of when he last felt purpose. The last vestiges of a life dedicated purely to survival fell apart here. The last of Caneo as the boy knew himself... He stands quietly, his thoughts drifting, and doubtless he carves a strange shape against the sky: neither coming nor going. He wonders if anyone here still remembers him, if he is missed. And his thoughts curl very tenderly over the name of Roland and the specter of disappointment Caneo felt upon the beach. Say he is dead. It's happened before. But he met Tandavi in the meadow and the joy she gave him left Caneo wanting, aflame but quickly burning out, unable to grasp the insistence of her glow. He feels now she is not for him, and fears Roland is no longer for him, and like the child again watches fear trickle into his mind. Something interrupts it, though.

        It's a familiar something, though his thoughts grind for a long, silent moment as he struggles to place the pang of remembrance. She was long ago, significant only because of the one who introduced them (and he cannot know she thinks this same thought as she now approaches him).

        "Caneo!" And in her voice his name is a bell wrought in silver, a joyful echoing chime. He remembers Lena; he remembers her with all the fondness of nostalgia for an era past. Now the silver creature's ears twitch forward and something in him shifts, like a cloak falling away. He says nothing for a long moment, but the light in his eyes is bright, and he simmers with a quiet brilliance, a warmth so often missing from his gaze. He doesn't recall the last time he felt this (safety) but he is glad. Intrigued, the serpent crowning his head pushes her blunt nose past his ear to stare. Her little tongue flicks out, tasting the air, tasting the scent-name of this creature her silver one knows as safe.

        (such a rare, such a treacherous word)

        "Hello, Lena," Caneo says at last when they stand near enough for the quiet of his voice to reach her ears. The words are soft but full of feeling, as if they are old friends and not hardly acquaintances; as if acting can make a thing true. She asks a question of him, and so many things have happened - Caneo falters to answer. The polite thing, he knows, is to bring up something good. He learned a long time ago how to make empty conversation while searching out weakness - learned, but never perfected the skill. Now he feels the serpent on his brow slipping down, resting the front part of her body across the dip in his horn as she strives for a better look. He'd smile again if he wasn't already.

        "I've been away," he says obviously. Even while he says it, he thinks she isn't quite looking at him. And maybe she's making empty words, too, waiting for... something. One ear cocks toward the rear but nothing moves there. Spring blooms peacefully around them and ahead of him the Sentinel is silent, terrible and behind is only the road. He wants to frown, but he keeps his features pleasant, instead. Gesture forward with his head, bringing his nose near enough horizontal for the snake to travel along it. He's almost surprised to find he likes her, bends to her whim without even questioning why. "I found this," he says cheerfully. "She's mine. Have you found anything good since last time?"

        He wants to ask her what she's looking for, but he won't.