A new place.

        He knows many of Helovia's pockets now. Here and there, however, patches of mystery gather and beckon, pulling him yet farther from the Dragon's Throat. Rest finds him but fleetingly. No threat of duty pins him down; indeed, whatever has become of Ghost, her replacement possesses even less charm than she. He has not seen Ampere in very long; he does not love the other queen he knows. So Caneo wanders, loyal to nothing but his curiosity, free and unpunished despite his halfhearted allegiance to his home.

        Today, he wends through trees. Bloody light dapples his pale flanks, cast down by a spring sun and distorted by the laughter of water and the bristling branches of the many trees. The press of the forest, the thin chill of the high air, no longer chokes him as it once did, though uneasiness rests in the light fall of his hooves. He holds himself lightly, prepared to run if the need should arise — though Caneo is always prepared to run. In too many ways, he is yet to grow from the hunted child, yet to become anything more. From where she rests upon his crown, her narrow coils looped around his horn, the serpent agrees. She wants to hunt.

        She always does.

        Caneo tires of frogs and midnight vigils sat at water's edge, so he keeps walking. The serpent clings to the sparse cover of his forelock in daylight anyway, forgetting until she inches away how dearly she hates the sun and all its brilliance. Caneo is more interested in the water, now. He's never seen anything so red before which wasn't blood, but this smells fresh — no metallic tang to the air. Nothing bleeds upstream, or the liquid wouldn't be so vibrant. So.... He studies the eddies and whirls of the current as he walks, the ear farthest from the water twitching absently to track all the movement in the forest beyond. This would be a perfect place for predators to lie in wait, wouldn't it? He is no longer young or foolish enough to take that chance.

        With a sigh, he hesitates, his pale eyes scouring the trees. Was that a branch he heard breaking? Another traveler, a crow taking flight? He shakes his head. The serpent on his brow tastes at the air, then slowly inclines her face toward the water. They have made a circuit of the pool's edge, found no easy way to breach the water's source. Curiosity pulls him closer still, until the crimson depths threaten to wet his toes. Languidly, Caneo's neck stretches out, out. He sniffs at the water, his tail flicking. Watches as the serpent uncoils from his horn to tickle the surface with her tongue. They can't decide if they want to drink. Something superstitious holds him, still.

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