And maybe he was naïve in hoping to help the girl with the smokey voice. Maybe he overestimates himself still, assuming he is strong enough or wise enough to give her aid, at all. He watches sorrow and confusion dance behind the darkness of her eyes and he knows of no way to cure such things. It seems to be the nature of life; it seems all creatures are broken in their own way, so sharp they scratch those near them accidentally, catch their own hopes on the jagged edges.

        She smiles, though. “I’m afraid of the dark.” Surprised, he blinks, but wisely swallows the why? crawling up the back of his throat. She was born to a different world; she knows only danger in the muted light of the stars. Tandavi keeps talking though and Caneo listens, his ears twitching in answer to the next statement. A friend. He hasn’t had one in a long time. He smiles, too, and it is a soft expression, almost childish, and somewhat lonely. He isn’t certain he believes her, yet, but she is kind, and so fragile. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” he says quietly, hoping the words reassure and don’t sound condescending. “If you want, you can stay close to me. Where I used to live, we only walked when it was dark. And friends stayed together as long as they could.” He feels a bit strange sharing that, but his time in Helovia renders the past ever more distant, like a strange nightmare or a fairytale. He no longer fears it when his mind is clear.

        Caneo blinks at Natraj briefly, studying the kitsune again in the brief time between Tandavi’s words. The creature intrigues him; it seems to be its own self, separate from Tandavi, and yet it does not speak and lingers ever close to her. Caneo blinks again and looks away, his attention drawn by the girl’s words, though she gives him little hope, at first. Her answer reminds him of Lena’s; both have managed to attract companions by some virtue he lacks, or by luck – which he also lacks. The tip of Caneo’s tail flicks, betraying minute frustration, or maybe just the turning of his mind. He sighs and peers into the dark.

        “They can be earned, I think,” Tandavi says. One of the silver boy’s ears turns to catch her voice. “From the gods.” And what use was the burning man, to him? What use is a god to a creature born ignorant of law, of safety? Caneo mulls this over for a moment, his face delicately withdrawn. “There are more gods,” he wonders slowly, “than the sun?” A thought occurs, and his ears prick up. “Does the moon have a god?”