Shh, shh.

        She speaks long before Caneo catches the vast curve of her shape, or the pale flickering of her many tongues. Her voice conjures memory, and like static on a screen, images of the past reel through his mind: himself, a glint of pale light like a fallen star; the bite of salt in his nose; the fear of the unknown and the soft curls of red surrounding another figure down the beach. Roland had worn autumn well and carried the sea in his eyes, so it is to the autumn sea Caneo journeys now. Uncertainty haunts his footsteps as it never did before, a lean and hungry thing grown huge by time and fat from loss.

        He is alone on the beach.

        Moonlight catches the narrow tip of his horn when at last he crests the dunes. Through several long breaths, he is a ghost, a creature of the present staring through the eyes of the past, and the sea crawls black and massive up ahead. Instinctive fear squirms through his body at the sight of her, but age and wisdom temper it to such a narrow sliver it all but disappears. Salt water means no harm; it is an empty body devoid of intention, moving only because the moon commands. And the moon is a hook in the sky above, and she laughs at him. For a brief instant, Caneo's eyes narrow and a sour expression flashes up through his pleasant features, but then it is gone and he tilts forward.

        No implication of intention forces urgency into his gait, so he meanders a while through the sand, gazing up every now and then at a star-studded sky. Eventually the frothy tips of the waves bite his toes and Caneo turns to move parallel to the ocean's course. She would grab him and pull him into her darkness if she could, but he does not fear the mindlessness of her grasp, and he stays well beyond its strongest point. He didn't come here for the ocean, anyway.

        When he tires of watching the moon rock on the waves, he turns his attention up the beach. The blue of his eyes is a little too keen for a casual observer, though he isn't certain if he expects what he wants to show up. It seems Helovia is full of other faces these days, things he learns without passion and eventually turns away from. Maybe it's a symptom of growing old, that he looks so fondly backward now. Maybe it's a terror for the future, and what awaits him. Caneo isn't philosopher enough to muse upon the topic. He only feels drawn to the places he once knew, as if the people he cherished will be there, as well. As if their ghosts are enough to pacify his heart.

        He isn't alone for long. In this land one rarely is. Whether this comforts or annoys him, Caneo still isn't sure. His head tilts when he first glimpses movement near the surf, and slowly the beats of his walk fade to nothing and his body turns just enough to tell the mare he notices her. In the dark and with the distance, his eyes pick out little but the pale stripes of her coat, the horn like a spire of bone jutting from her brow. She is a little thing with a color suited for daylight and the sway of autumn grass, but Caneo doesn't begrudge her his company. No; intrigue is a cool light in his gaze.

        "Good evening," is all she says, and because Roland lingers in his mind, Caneo smiles at her. It sits a little sharper on his features now than it did in youth, but conveys no ill intent. "Is it?" he returns, mild laughter playing in the smooth notes of his voice. Caneo's gaze breaks from the mare to the restless writhing of the sea. As for himself, he isn't sure; he failed to find what he wanted, but he has found something - someone - else. "Can't sleep?" he wonders. He has yet to meet one in Helovia who embraces his habits with any regularity. Sometimes they wander at night; sometimes they can't sleep; but he blinks now at the stars and thinks, with sorrow: no one hear know what they means.

        It is still a foreign sky. Only the moon is familiar, and he frowns at her, no longer stricken as he once was by love and wonder. Caneo has found better things to stake his heart on; warmer things. He's about to look at the mare again when something catches his eye: a darkness against the night, a quick-moving void in the stars. His ears stand up, and his tail twitches, betraying the quiet draw of tension all along his spine. It's too big to be a bird. One ear cocks back at the other unicorn, as if to ask you see that? but alert keeps him silent until the anomaly banks and begins to descend.

        And it is a winged horse. He ought to be accustomed to their oddness by now, but Caneo fears he will never be. Still far from relaxed, he gazes at the girl with something between concern and curiosity. Even in the darkness, she looks young: small, bony angles, awkward in all the ways of youth. Younger than himself and the other unicorn, for sure. Caneo's head cocks when she speaks. "Join us?" he repeats, clearly surprised. He turns to the other unicorn as if asking permission. When he looks at the winged girl again, his face is all concerned confusion. "Does your mama know you're out here?" And it might sound like genuine kindness to them, because they don't know how much Caneo hates mothers - or at least, mothers' propensity for trampling all perceived threats to their offspring. He has no desire to be a threat, or be trampled, so he regards the girl with an ounce more caution than is strictly necessary. If he's lucky, they'll think him a gentleman.

        The best thing to do with strangers is to let them give themselves away. The mask he wears now is the one he's worn most of his lonely life: still, vacant, and polite. Night softens the knife-edges of his face into something almost winsome, something that might be friendly, and Caneo takes in the stranger's words with genuine interest, even if his face reflects very little.

        She likes the ocean, she says. Maybe she grew up near it. For the desert creature, such a thing is half nightmare and half wonder: too big, too black, too ripe with the scent of salt and all those churning waves harbor. Caneo watches the sea now, and it sounds like too many voices speaking, smells like -

        no.

        He shakes his head once, as if doubt can be shaken off, and forces his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. Something he said has upset the younger girl - maybe about her mother. And Caneo isn't certain how he became the leader of this little.... band.... but he feels both mares looking at him and for just a moment, he wants to bolt.

        "I'ts okay," he says automatically. His features brighten with a smile soft as starlight. "I was afraid you might be lost," Caneo lies. That's an easy one, because it was always getting said to him when he was - well, not lost, but not found, either. He supposes it doesn't matter, if he isn't about to get run over by an angry pegasus mare. "You can stay here with us." It's been a long time since Caneo dealt with children. He still isn't sure what to make of them - still feels half child himself - but he supposes there's no inherent harm in just the girl. He recalls being a lonely youth himself, and something in him bares its teeth at the thought of inflicting that upon another.

        But now he's forgotten what they were talking about, and he's beginning to get itchy. "We might be sort of boring, though," he admits. The end of his tail twitches, as if that particular honesty chafes. "I" (he cannot speak for Eldala) "was just looking at the stars. They're different here than where I used to live. I'm still learning them." Eyes flicking back to the small girl, to the other unicorn, he asks, "do you know much about them?"

        He doesn't mention Roland. To do so would be dangerous, but he has mentioned stars before, so he deems it safe to talk about those. And anyway - maybe he'll find someone in Helovia who does know this foreign sky, who can map it properly.