“It’s afternoon.” The creature speaks dismissively, as if the effort of paying attention to Caneo falls below its dignity. The silver boy takes no offense – he has endured far worse – but his bright eyes shift to watch the others as the fiery man greets them each. For some, warmth resides in the impressive voice. For others – disdain. Caneo wonders how the creature knows them all; his own thoughts move quickly, whirring like wings against the insides of his skull. His eyes again shift to the burning lord, studying the dance of flames. A part of Caneo despairs that he is dreaming – none of this can ever, ever exist.

Or he is dying – feverish – which is much worse.

“Okay,” he mutters in response, tail flicking idly between his narrow legs. He peers with interest at the shimmering air, the distant glitter of far-off water, but he understands the nature of heat tricks and ignores the promising gleam. Perhaps somewhere in the distance, true water does lie under the sun, but he is hardly too thirsty yet, and wariness moves in his brain as he listens, and listens, and the lord continues to speak.

“You are all aware of the power of the sun.” Is Caneo aware? The stringy hairs on the end of his tail flutter again as it twitches. He only came because the others came, because he wondered... and perhaps things do reside within him – wants and desires – but few have ever deigned to help him in the past. He has no reason to believe this being with the mighty aura would ever grant a thing to him.

He listens as the task is announced, and Caneo’s face furrows with confusion. It is a cruel desire; he remains still as eagerly the others begin scattering, leaping to the lord’s bidding. And why? Do they love so blindly, so thoughtlessly, they would trip over themselves struggling against the impossible? To the silver child, who has never understood devotion, their actions reek of childish naivety. He watches them for a moment, laughter bubbling softly in the bottom of his chest. “They’re not real,” he says, disdain alongside the amusement in his voice. Then slowly, shaking his head, he returns his attention to the lord.

Maybe he ought to leave; he feels unwanted here and unnecessary, but his mind is moving on its own and he stares at the flowers, those brilliant, bright, and lovely flowers. Surely they belong to the man with the flames; surely he may do whatever he wishes to them, regardless of any aid from lesser beings. But if he is a creature of flame, of light, of the awful, brilliant dancing in the air....

Caneo waits patiently while a hornless stallion speaks, making no effort at the task but polite conversation instead. The silver boy internalizes this. Polite, he thinks. Have manners. And slowly he blinks at the god, that being quite distant and unknown to him. His cloven hooves move through the grass; his velvet skin shimmers and shines in the oppressive light. “If you want water to come...” Caneo tilts his head. He pauses still many strides from the creature, wariness pulsing with his quickening heart. “Maybe you should leave?” In this he sees the simplest, most obvious solution. His voice is honest, light, confusion rattling in the gentle tones. Caneo suffers no compulsion to pretend at being Tantalus, but he feels a smidge of sorrow when he imagines those lovely flowers wilting.