Someone is dead.

        Caneo acknowledged the corpse with a bare interest, at first. He was far more concerned with the presence of the gods, the scent of burning and of wet earth, and the commandment of the sun. Why did they care if mortals keeled over? Didn’t it happen often enough? Weren’t they gods, used to the petty scrabble of the things below them? Caneo still regarded the strange beings with mild confusion. It verged now and then on distrust. They were not gods as he expected them to be; he did not care if some winged mare got torn up. It happened all the time.

        Maybe a small part of him, the same part withered under a desert sun, resented all the attention she got. No one but him had mourned his grandfather. No one here understood the sight of strange bones left behind on the thirsty ground. No one.

        Now away from the discomfort of that floating island, Caneo pauses to peer about. He clings to the fire girl just close enough to keep her in sight. He’s no wobbly colt, to be stuck at her side in constant need, but he is her friend and he reminds himself of this again when he feels doubt. Friends stick together, don’t they? If a murderer is loose – if the pegasus didn’t just die picking a bad fight – maybe he ought to keep an eye out for Tandavi. His ears twitch as the thought occurs to him. Is she in danger, then? Is he?

        Caneo snorts. His legs are longer than they’ve ever been. He’s good at running away.

        With nothing better to do he ambles forward, careful to keep Tandavi in sight. He has nothing to say, though, and this area is interesting. The air tastes a little off when he breathes in – it reminds him of the sea. The taste here is worse, though, and Caneo’s hooves clatter over hard earth. It sounds like rocks but looks like frozen water, black and filled with soft bumps and whorls. He peers down as he moves, every now and then. His pale eyes flicker up at intervals, though. It’s been a long while since anything dangerous happened. Maybe they’ll find another corpse?

        When he does see something, it is certainly alive. Caneo catches movement up ahead and blinks. It is a brown boy, winged, with horns like the earth man – but it is not the earth man. Caneo stops. He casts about for his friend, suddenly unsure. “Tandavi!” His voice is fine and light, a silver sound piercing the morning. “What is that?” He blinks with narrowed eyes, his ears pricked up.