Command.

He watches from a distance as the beacon burns, daring him toward insolence. He could turn away, but never lie about mistaking its meaning. Could leave, but it would be the last time. One of Caneo's ears tilts back, and he resists the call to gather for a bit longer. Thoughts of the pressing bodies, the many strangers gathered like a feast for starving wolves, jumble in his head. Still the thought of herd rings strange in him, and of this herd, specifically... Caneo sighs. He'll play the safer game, for now.

He goes.

The lanky silver spy draws no unnecessary attention to himself. He steps quietly, his gait lithe and carrying. Others have arrived before him; his cold gaze slides over each briefly before he takes a place somewhere in the middle, careful to touch none of his comrades (burly, sweat-stained creatures). They reek of testosterone, of a hunger different from his own. And they remind him of jackals, truly - not of the jackals' prey. He swallows. Upon his brow, the serpent peers out from below an ear, her black eyes glittering, tongue tasting this assembly of names. She finds them interesting, these aliens, perhaps moreso because her silver one shuns any promise of family they might offer. He cringes so slightly at the sound of the big grey's voice, twists his head to search the crowd when the black answers. Barbarians, breathes a thought that is not quite a thought. His tail twitches. Only the snake knows how much it betrays disgust.

But he's quiet.

He doesn't see Ghost; he wishes this surprised him more than it does. Instead, he searches for the visage of Misael - a new name. A worthier sleuth? A mentor he might welcome? Caneo might laugh at the thought, were he in private. But his face for now remains a mask of calm, blankly and politely curious. He has nothing to say, of course. It doesn't matter to him if the Dragon's Throat herd ascends to greatness or burns to ashes down here on the sands. So long as he makes the sands his home...

A quiet nod. A cocked hip, suggesting ease with the meeting itself and the swarm of big, ugly creatures around him. Caneo pretends he likes the scent of feathers and remains ignorant of his disadvantage here. His key hangs heavy on its chain.

just to watch them falling