The realization of how much he's lost dawns gradually in Caneo's mind as he recalls just how bright Lena is - like a songbird - like a dream. Nostalgia (or regret?) blooms in his heart as her voice blooms between them. He wants - again. Feels the first pricklings of anger at his younger self and all that narrow, aching boy did leave behind. What could he be, now? If the desert never spat him out? If Grandfather taught him sharpness instead of fear? He smiles, and its half empty and half true, and the serpent mirrors this odd, slick feeling in his breast. Lena smells of warmth and liveliness, of soft and safety (good). Withdrawing now, a little smug, Caneo reflects that he has never met anyone so wholly deserving of the word (good).

        Lovely, she calls the creature, and Caneo nods. "Yes," he agrees, and adds, "She's mine," quite unnecessarily. "Like Imogen." With a slight tilt of his head, he acknowledges the kitsune, until now merely observed in passing and largely ignored. However much Caneo respects the companions of others, he feels odd addressing them as one would an equal, and prefers to ignore, to observe without being seen to do so. He remembers Imogen though - his first. Lena had taught him much in very little time; he realizes he thinks of her as a friend, too, though she inspires nothing like the feeling Tandavi does. Like Essetia. He doesn't feel like dwelling on the difference now.

        Politely, he listens as she carries the conversation on. There are things he wants to know - things he will not ask - so he thinks a little harder than he sometimes does when others run their mouths. The scarcity of her response strikes him with force - it's odd. To think she does no more than skip through the snow, singing to flowers, gathering leaves.... Here his gaze narrows just a bit as he contemplates the reasons for Lena to lie. It can't be for a nefarious purpose because he's just recalled how good she is, so... The snake atop his brow cocks her head too, watching, patient. "Herbs don't make very good friends," Caneo observes. It's a prodding statement, testing. He doesn't speak like this (with purpose) very often. His tail flicks then, and he blinks at the peaks surrounding them, at the lonely sentinel in the distance. Less terrible the longer he looks, the more decrepit he thinks it may be.

And because he's older now than he was when he first set foot in the peaks, Caneo decides he can show a little honesty if he wants to get some in return. "I miss it here," he admits. He thinks of his new brethren, of the scent sand leaves upon him, and it isn't new and clean like the snow. It isn't Deimos, towering and dark, or Roland, wise and secretive. It isn't home in any way except it's where he happens to live. And the snake recalls the way he fled when last he met Ampere, and she prefers the smell of Lena, even maybe of the cold. "I wonder if Roland would accept a failed sneak back."