Familiarity rings through his body as Caneo moves. He knows this dance, so well it seems innate. Quietly, he matches the burning girl’s pace, his pale eyes turning every now and then to watch the dance of sparks along her flanks. The warm light of her presence laps at him, illuminating the pins of his silver legs, the frail strings of his mane, but never all at once. A strange sort of anticipation hangs cold in the air, thin like bird’s bones, light as flame. Its name is winter, and it curls out from his lungs in silver plumes.

        But he does not shiver for want of heat.

        When Tandavi hesitates, Caneo’s eyes turn upward to cradle the shadow of some great, unknown thing in his attention. It blots out the stars like a bird in flight and yet it hangs, vast and unknowable, a dream half-glimpsed from far away. Something light burns in his limbs; his tail moves, twisting against bony joints, but the girl at his side shows no fear. With a glance at her, Caneo quiets, intensity simmering down into a tightly knotted coil in the base of his chest. One ear cocks toward the thick shadow of his companions voice; she speaks of gods, and part of him still laughs at the term, and part of him responds to it with a pang like fear. He thinks of the moon.

        His breath furls around his lips, the only warmth in the night. When they move again, the move up. His hooves clack on the naked rock, here and there, but carefully some intuition born of his only purpose guides each step. If Caneo knows anything, he knows traveling. A strange peace inhabits his body, lingering in his long, graceful stride, even as he cocks an eye back at the earth just beginning to fall away. It lies in shadow, now, bathed only in the muted starlight. He watches it briefly before his attention swings forward again, to Tandavi’s voice and the curl of water vapor at the edge. Something thrums in her, too; it shivers with her voice in through his ears and Caneo watches her as if they have both, suddenly, just come alive.

        Fly. Curiosity moves in his breast. His neck snakes out, narrow and sinuous, as the girl steps away from him. And she is retreating heavenward, the clouds holding her feet somehow, and with a haphazard leap he is just behind, craning his head to peer down, down at the sleeping earth and the silence of it all. He ascends; his bright eyes watch the ground go as only the wind moves through his ears – the wind and the noise of a frightened heart.

        The trip ends after a brief eternity, and with a grunt Caneo leaps again to solid ground, though he stands for a long moment peering over the edge, one ear tilted back, eyes narrowed in concern or disbelief. This – this is a story. It cannot be real, and yet he feels his body living still around him, too vibrant and too frail to be a dream. Caneo draws in several deep breaths, and the high, cold air cuts at his lungs. “Of course,” he says at last, his long silence broken. He turns to Tandavi then, and something like a feral grin splits his face, half fear and half exhilaration. He steps forward then, past her, as his lungs drink what they can of this new air and his eyes scour the shadows, seeking, hungry.

        “You’ve been here before,” he surmises. The thought skates past his immediate scrutiny – what does she do away from him? Who does she know? He frowns at the sky, at the shadows, at the trees. He wonders if the Moon is here, somewhere. He wants to see her. His attention trembles like a spider’s web, pulled suddenly in all directions. “Did you talk to the moon then?” he wonders absently. One pale eye blinks back at Tandavi, softening, perhaps for her benefit. “Or was it someone else?” Still, as he speaks he moves, and his attention flits from one thing to the next, his senses wary as they are keen.

God of the Moon

        Something like unease cuts through the boy’s excitement. In answer to his question, Tandavi utters little more than a low syllable. He blinks at her, confusion written in the bright lights of his eyes. Does she mistrust the island? Or whoever she came with last time? A needling concern interrupts his cheerful thoughts and Caneo, too, draws inward. He paces alongside the sunshine girl with measured stride, his gaze a little more wary, his features a little dim. He pauses when Tandavi pauses, his eyes on her but a little distant, now.

        When she speaks, the boy’s eyes slant from her bright figure toward the shadows. Is it his imagination, or does the world grow darker? Instinctively, he sidles a little nearer to his friend. Caneo does not speak; her words seem like enough, and anyway, whatever sentiment he might throw out now crawls back down his throat. The night around them thickens, no longer natural but something else, some other darkness overtaking the distant gleam of the stars.

        When it has finished, when the shadows had mingle together and give purpose to their advance, a single lady stands before them. She is dark. Caneo had expected brighter, maybe; his ears twitch, but his pale eyes rove hungrily over her form, studying, watching, waiting. She is the moon – he sees it in her eyes, in the grace of her stance. His tail twitches, and suddenly he isn’t sure what he ought to do. She regards them with a sort of failing interest, and he wonders if he is very foolish, very wrong to think of calling a goddess at all.

        He bides his time while she speaks, something in the back of his mind wondering about Tandavi’s mother – but he knows next to nothing about mothers, and now seems hardly the time to ask. It is only when the moon falls silent, her last question lingering on the air, that Caneo steps forward one tiny stride, his tail twitching, his head up and blue eyes wide enough to roll right out of his skull. “Moon....” his voice sings gently, silver and attentive. Something like a shiver rushes down his spine.

        He knows nothing of speaking to gods, but he recalls from years ago hard lessons on courtesy, and he dredges them all up now, ill-preserved and corrupted by time. “May I serve you, also? May I.... earn something, from you?” He glances away for a moment, unsure of himself. Perhaps that heavy feeling in his gut is sorrow; he regrets he has nothing more to offer. She is the closest thing to a god he was ever taught to revere. “My name is Caneo,” he adds when his attention returns to her face. “I wasn’t born here, but in my old home, you were the only beautiful thing.” For a moment he is a child again, anxious and so terribly sincere.

God of the Moon

        He feels strangely alive in the light of this goddess. Something in him snaps and burns, a cold light dwelling in the pallid brilliance of Caneo’s eyes. She is pleased... He nods shallowly in answer to this. She approves. He knew, somehow, she would. He forgets his previous uncertainty and watches her with rapt attention, an eager pupil now that something interesting manifests before him. There is potential in his eyes, in the earnest singing of his heart. He has never known the liberty of ambition, but he has grown careless and rambling without the comfort of a guiding hand.

        While she speaks, he listens.

        One of Caneo’s ears flicks back, betraying disapproval when the goddess mentions her siblings. He has already formed his own opinion of the burning man; he supposes others of them may be disappointing, too. He likes the sweet voice of this goddess, though. He does not trust her, but he feels respect, and surely that is worth far more. He is silent until the last words fall from her mouth. Even then, he takes a moment or two as he internalizes his task, and the events at hand. Surely the moon would never waste her time in killing mortals...?

         “I will do it,” says Caneo gently. His face is open, his gaze like that of a child – eager, almost vulnerable. He looks his age now more than he has in a long while, and his tail curls almost nervously around his hocks. He seems to come back to himself when the goddess speaks to Tandavi; the wide eagerness of his expression slowly closes off. He thinks, her patron is the sun, and though he fails to understand, he would not force her to act alongside him if she so fears the dark. “I can do it myself,” he adds, more quietly, and attempts a smile at his friend. You don’t have to. Perhaps he feels a little protective, as well, of this task. The sensation this goddess evokes is unlike anything he’s ever known. It burns in the marrow of his bones.

        He returns his attention to her. “Thank you, ma'am,” Caneo adds, recalling his manners at last. The words are heavy with sincerity. He will find the others, and make them understand. If nothing else his voice is light, well-suited to the art of song.

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OOC :: So, to clarify: I need to have three separate threads with people who have posted in the most recent Murder Mystery clue? Or do I need to sing at the clues?

@[Tandavi]