Hunting —

The serpent would call it that if she knew speech. Her thoughts are blue against his silver ones, dry and quick in the sharp clamoring sea of his head. And she ate before, so it isn't even hunger gnawing on their ribs. It's the search, the wanting — and it refuses to let him go. Caneo travels from the Dragon's Throat again. The fragile faces of new flowers push in against his hooves; he no longer needs the sands.

Not for a long time.

So Caneo puts the herd meeting behind. He shakes off the deep ring of their voices, shakes off the sensation of displacement (and lingering whispers of loss) and does what he does best: he wanders. For the first time in very long, the silver beast searches for nothing in particular. He does not wish to find Tandavi; he avoids even the thought of her, as if memories burn surely as flame itself. And he has given up Roland, and he has given up dreams of a home, and most of all Caneo is bored. His young self might laugh to see him now, wending through land too familiar, keening and keening for - what? For anything. He almost longs for the terror of youth, for the voices of the stars and the cruel, changing beauty of the moon. Thinking of her, he looks skyward, but day rules now and he's almost glad. He finds he doesn't love her so much, having met her. Gods are best left to imagination. Reality proves fallible.

And speaking of fallible —

He strides through the Thistle Meadow once again. (he met Tandavi in this place) But familiarity doesn't bring him. Boredom does; this yearning does. His tail is another long snake twitching round his hocks, expressing frustration in the only way Caneo knows how. He thinks about things to do and the snake suggests (frogs) but he doesn't want frogs. He journeys instead, amiable and unhurried, toward the sound of small hooves rushing in the grass, of some effort playing out which might at least be interesting to the smooth rush of his head.

And she's so small.

Caneo never was - never will be - a parent, but the sight of the girl makes him think of the snake. Fragile comes to mind. He slows, head tilting. And he's never quite known how to act around children. A part of him still feels a child, too, now and again (naive and stupid, never finding its true place). He smiles, though, vacant and insincere, guessing a child wouldn't know the expression from any other. Chances are her mother lingers somewhere nearby so he stops well clear of her, and the dance of tiny wings reflects in the pale blue of his eyes. It's a moment before Caneo realizes: she's trying to fly. Like a bird toppling from the nest again, again, again - her wings are much too small.

Points for trying, anyway.

"Ground bit you, huh?" he asks. He's not sure if she even knows he's here, with the crying and all. (was he once so little? so frail?) Caneo makes a sort of rolling motion with his shoulders, one that approximates a shrug. "It used to get me too, sometimes." He cocks his head, awaiting a response. As of late, he's become something like a scientist: act, wait, record. He's trying to get better at whatever it is he's good at, so he pays attention. And he has only a little experience with kids, so this is a good test. Even the serpent peeks out through his forelock, betraying mild interest. (could they eat it?)

Well, not yet.

just to watch them falling