And what has become of his friends? Caneo remembers them all as bright and brilliant, their voices the color of sunlight where his wavered like the distant glow of a failing star. Has he grown so much more radiant? They dim now in his eyes — Lena, Tandavi, even Essetia — and he wonders if the dark thing curling in his belly is regret. He would remain dim and lost forever if it meant those voices he cherished never lost their vibrance. His ears cant to catch the sound of his name in her voice — not dreamer — and though he says nothing of it, Caneo thinks there is something subdued to the tilt of her words, maybe even to the way she turns to face him. Is he intruding? Should he have passed her by, just a ghost again?

        He doesn't often regret like this, but when he does it feasts its way deep into his heart.

        "Yes," he smiles, betraying none of his misgivings. "The Dragon's Throat has been a good home." Thank you, is what he means and never knows how to say. She may have saved his life, in an oblique way. He will never tell her that; she will never know. But he holds her name near his heart where Roland's resides. Of course, Caneo wonders now if his affection is misplaced; he wonders if he needs to excise such feeling before it proves treacherous. And he takes in her acknowledgment of the snake without much feeling, recording the words like a machine and, distracted, nodding. "Oh, my friend," he says, as stubbornly Ophiria refuses to emerge from the knot she makes of his forelock. "She doesn't much like the sun." There — the truth he could never give to Tandavi, even if he offered Ophiria's name instead. Here there is no negative entendre bound up in the simple fact; she is a creature of water and shade, precious and frail. He holds her name in his mouth like a secret, as if the word (such an arbitrary thing) holds power over either of them.

        Caneo's eyes sweep the sand briefly, and he wonders if he should remark upon the absence of the wolf. A part of him fears to learn of Romul's whereabouts. Perhaps Essetia will explain without prompting; perhaps it's nothing. How terrible the world is when one cares about its inhabitants; how terrible it is to be wounded through another. In the end, he decides not to ask. In the end, that's probably best, as Essetia meets his recent question obliquely. She loses his gaze, as well, and Caneo wonders again what has become of her, who stands before him now and why....

        "I was afraid the first time I came here." Caneo blinks at the water. "I never saw the sea before I reached Helovia." And his tone is light, even if melancholy circles his mind. It seems a shadow he's unable to escape, even here. Even in the company of one he knows. Caneo's ears tilt delicately askew. "It has been a long time," Caneo agrees. He wonders if he seems changed in her eyes as she seems in his. "Have you been up to anything fun?" And Caneo thinks not, though he feels he ought to ask.