Everything is white, like dust but worse. Caneo knows the name for it now: snow. The sight alone wipes all mirth from his features. "No," a breath, weary and disgusted. Isn't it early? His hooves lead him on regardless, mindless in their motion, like parts of a machine left running long after its masters have all disappeared. Time passes, and eventually the noise vibrating through the air around him penetrates the protective lockdown of Caneo's own unhappy thoughts.

        It sounds like music. Ears twitching, he decides he really ought to be more mindful. Difficult, maybe, when one's thoughts spin webs as intricate as Caneo's do. He stands outside them now, though, realizing he isn't cold. No; he expects to be cold, but past the anticipation is nothing. The air presses softly into his flanks. He breathes. His hooves turn toward the source of the music, now, drawn purely by curiosity. Helovia is home to many strange, wonderful things; following curiosity served him well in the past. So he goes.

        And that is how Caneo finds this place, and the... thing? At its center. The creature reminds him a little of a tortoise, and he stares longer than is probably polite. The nearer he gets, the more people he notices; quite a crowd has gathered. Now something snaps in his brain, a memory left unattended in the wake of awe, and Caneo rips his gaze from the strangeness around him to stare at the many mundane (and not so) faces. Maybe some are familiar; he passes them by. Only two creatures matter to him now. Blues eyes scour the crowd in search of flame-kissed orange, sunshine colors, warmth in the height of winter as both of Caneo's friends were. He regrets leaving, and he can admit it now.

        He was wrong.

        The beauty of this place is lost on him, so caught up is he in his own mind, but the spirit... The spirit of it maybe burns in the boy's heart still. A little cold, a little twisted, but salvageable, for the time being. "Please," he hisses, though whether he speaks to fate or lost friends or the gods themselves, he isn't sure. Maybe he'll get a better chance to look around when things clear out. Shifting his weight, he peers about. Perhaps he ought to be more reverent, but that is a flaw he may never outgrow.