By the time the morning rolled around on the Avagean sands, the Demon and his newly bonded dragonet had already left; vanished into the void of Feruth's teleportation abilities, probably never to be seen or heard of again on such a place so far from home.

The Victorian streets were as murky and cold as always and the Demon traveled them in the same ghostly garb as he had the night before. It was not particularly wise to walk about in public in his natural form, after all, and even less profitable to do it in the nude. The ghostly whispers of cloth dangled from his wrists, fluttering lightly in the breeze. His mask, unusual attire for November, was tucked safely within the confines of his many layered robe.

"I can't ask what your name is, can I?" Feruth's voice, quiet and peaceful, arose from somewhere near the Demon's knees.

He shook his head. Feruth already knew the answer. The Demon wished deeply he could tell it (although Feruth was female, it was decidedly adamant about being referred to in an androgynous manner).

Feruth hummed softly to itself, nodding a little. It was all that was said for quite some time. The pair rounded a corner and the streets opened up to reveal a small river. The very bridge the Demon had been...called from loomed ahead of them. The Demon momentarily squeezed his eyes shut at the sight of it.

He had not known - the words themselves were enough to make his hands tremble. He had known he would bond, he had known it would be to Feruth. Knowing everything at once was a messy process, so he deigned not to focus on anything but the present (life was tedious enough as it was). But as soon as the connection was made between his mind and Feruth's, not as deep a connection as could have been made, if his mind did not consist of so many psionic blocks, he has been left in a state of confusion. His knowledge was incomplete. It was not as if he did not know the future, or what would come from being bonded to Feruth, but there was an emptiness, a hole, an unknowingness. Something, and the Demon was not entirely sure what (which merely added to his nerve-wracking state), was missing from his limitless knowledge.

There was hope, for something the Demon had never been able to hope for.

Feruth had gotten ahead of its bond. Sensing the lack of his presence it paused, casting the glance of all three heads over its shoulder. It did not speak nor attempt to address him. It didn't have to.

The Demon pulled himself out of his reverie, and with a tilt of his head he crossed the bridge. Their footprints lay deep in the wavering snow, before the wind picked up and blew them away over the river.

"You'll tell me your name one day, won't you?" asked Feruth.

"Maybe,” said the Demon. He could not see the transgression, the passing of his name to his bond, but who knew? Perhaps his knowledge was not as perfect as it seemed.

"Maybe,” he repeated, and the ends of his lips curled upward in a faint semblance of a smile. Feruth smiled too.

They carried on through the city in contemplative silence.