She walks through the night, and she is unafraid.

Or so she tells herself again and again, the words a mantra chanted by saints, a pounding rhythm marching through the murk of her dismay. She does not like to be out at night; so why does she find herself here so often, a frail candle flame tossed by wind through the infinite dusk? On slender legs of crimson and gold the slight waif proceeds, dancing and swaying to the music of terror, her partner the courage she wears on her sleeve. Tenacious and certain, she must overcome, conquer the demons who play tricks on her mind; for only through defeat can she rise up victorious; in facing her foe she shall find its defeat.

Or so the girl counsels herself, denying the flutter of fear in her breast, ignoring the tautness of sinew and bone. A flicker; she jumps, heat drumming on ribs, but it is only her brother return from his hunt. The boy calls softly, his voice a relief; she lowers her neck and he touches her nose, no longer a shadow in the light which she wears. Alright? he questions, and she nods her ascent, though both parties see clearly the mask and deceit. His warm vulpine body rubs against her hock: Let's go, Natraj whispers. I smell someone near.

She looks down, uncertain, and he clarifies- Friend. The image of sunlight and the roof of the world in pushed through their bond and into her psyche. Dim memories surface: great radiance, flowers, and a boy of blue. Caneo? she asks him, and he shrugs his ascent. She remembers pale eyes behind vast, ceaseless clouds, the sound of his voice and the threat of his smile. Long legs press onward, pursuing the fox; she follows him gladly, keen to find company and respite from her fear. Grass whispers secrets and cautions of threats, trees sing of time passed and danger they've seen. None breathe, none smile, none would aid in a fight. The warmth of a body; now that would be safe.

He appears as a shadow at the rim of her sight, a still, gentle form, and she pauses, unsure. She is followed by sparks and wears light round her neck; she is obvious, visible, but he remains a mirage. Above grasses and flowers she catches his scent, the traces familiar but not quite enough.

"Caneo?"

It floats from her lips like a leaf on the breeze, question, quivering, less certain than she thought. She is aware of the danger, the possible threat- he might be a falsehood, a wolf dressed as lamb. Better to wait for the proof of his hear then to fall prey to hunger, to wraith and abyss. Beneath her legs her brother guards, a sentinel, a lion, in a world ever cruel.