Maybe Caneo's being odd, even for him, with all the staring and forgetting to talk. He got caught up in his own head, is all. Now the mare (Ghost, certainly) responds with surprise and triumph wells up to fill the cracks formed by uncertainty. Because it is her, isn't it? And he didn't even ask outright; he got her to admit it, herself. The urge to dance around her quivers deep inside the hollow space of his chest, never to be expressed. He can be clever, when he wants! In all this, Caneo forgets he's most clever when he doesn't try at all, but no matter. He nods once, sharply, tail curling around his long hind limbs in the only expression of exuberance thus far. "Nope!" he chimes, positively gleeful, though his version of such a thing displays so far subdued it may be read as nothing more than amiable cheer. Everything about him brightens now, glittering to match the stars at his back. He is smiling with his whole self. Perhaps this renders the final image altogether unsettling.

        "I'm new," Caneo explains. "Essetia brought me here." Still he makes no mention of his time spent in Helovia before; better to swallow the past than explain it. Let him be new, and guileless. Remembering Essetia,though, throws his attention just a fraction off track,and he wonders why she never showed up. She probably doesn't live just waiting to be called upon by him, and yet... Hadn't she offered? He must find her later. For now, he regards Ghost with those empty eyes of his, weighing his next words. "I want to be a spy," he says, because it's the truth and because he'd rather not dance around it all night.

        For the first time, his eyes drift down to capture the wolf with full attention rather than keeping it in periphery. Though he doesn't remark upon it, he finds the number of wolves in the Throat already unsettling; hopes he will not be expected to have one. No one need sleep near so many sharp teeth; certainly not Caneo, who had his fill of predators early on. He dims a little as he eyes the creature. "You're in charge of them all," he muses aloud. A quick flick of the eyes pins his attention once more on her face. "So how can I help?" Of course he must give something, though the idea of marching under anyone's flag still makes him want to laugh, or run away. Maybe it gets easier. Maybe he runs away one night, and disappears.