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As luck would have it Cadence is not yet experienced enough with the ways of men to expect that anyone could mean him harm: he waits solemnly for a beat or so, then huffs a great big breath in Warwick's face as if that's the punchline that he's been waiting for. Then, stretching out his neck, he begins to nibble one of the rainbow bits on Warwick's clothing, tugging lightly at it. He just seems happy to have his company now.

Down below, Macaire looks mournfully over at Wren. "Oi donnae much care for this," he mutters to her, as if he -- like Warwick -- expects the other Guardian not only to understand, but to hold up her side of the conversation. "Dain't suppose ye can tich me lad not tae be so daft?"

There's a great big whuffing of a sigh below them as Warwick and the little Guardian come into sight: Macaire tips back to look at them, a grin appearing on his face. "There ye are, ye wee mad thing. Donnae give me friend any trouble, lad!" The big man's words are a low croon, such as might be used for a child; if the moment were less serious it'd be worth a good laugh or two to see him behave so.

Cadence peeps in response, as if he's just sighted his mama; he is pleased to be able to present Macaire with his new friend, who wears such wonderful things to chew on.

The only thing that protrudes from the roof here are chimneys; there is one a few feet from where they now stand, a little stone stack of brick. No smoke rises from it; it is not cold enough yet to be put to use at night, and it's far past the hour when most folk would be cooking their meals.

Coaxing a four-footed creature into empty air may prove more difficult than the rest combined. It will go about as well as convincing a horse or a cow to walk backwards down stairs: which is to say, not at all. Cadence puts his little feet down at the edge of the building, looks down at Macaire and back up at Warwick, and squeaks unhappily as if he cannot possibly understand what's being asked of him. Are they both mad? Do they want to hurt him for some reason he can't comprehend?

" .. mayhap," Macaire offers, slowly sobering up thanks to his Guardian's distress starting to leak into his thoughts, "ye ought tae give him a wee likkle push?" This is the fourth time he's tried to coax Cadence forward of his own initiative; the rope is already twisted around his arm in preparation, with both hands holding onto it.

Fortunately Cadence limits his flailing to trying to get some kind of purchase on the edge of the roof -- attacking Warwick still hasn't occurred to him. He goes over the edge with a heart-broken little peep of fear, and then swings out with a look of frozen shock .. caught by the rope before he can fall far, hanging in the empty air. Macaire will manage to hold his end of the rope steady, even though he makes a choking sound as Cadence abruptly begins to try and run. It does nothing for the little fawn, of course, except make him look ridiculous, as he determinedly tries to run back up towards the roof, his little legs motoring underneath him.

Macaire is grateful for the help; he keeps up his own reassuring murmur, and between the two of them the little Guardian is at least somewhat distracted. By the time he gets close, Cadence is stretching out his little neck and trying to run towards Macaire, fixated on the idea that his Chosen will be somehow able to repair his inability to find a solid surface beneath his feet. And he does! Moments later, with his new friend also on the ground, Cadence is set, wobbling, on the ground in between the two men. The poor little thing looks weak with relief, and does not seem to know whose hand to butt first in his demands for scratches.

Of course, within seconds he has forgotten his distress, nuzzling their hands, their legs, and trying again to eat the ribbons off of Warwick's clothing, although the entire adventure seems at least to have worn down some of his boundless energy.

Macaire, now considering the possibility and likelihood of another round of drinks, sighs down at the little bundle of trouble that has of late been causing him so much mental distress. Though he flinches at Warwick's description of Cadence he does not immediately contest it, in the way a doting parent might deny any fault with their child. Instead he just looks down at Cadence as he rubs at the little creature's ears, and when he responds his voice is low and mournful. "Kourage kin be learnt," Macaire mutters, his back against the wall. "But 'tis hisself being as dumb as bricks what's got me warried." He sighs dramatically, giving the tired fawn one more pat on his little head. "Ah, well. We cannae pick and choose our clans, can we lad?"

This last seems to be directed half to Cadence, half to Warwick -- in a way, a man chooses his friends, but in a way the circumstances do. And he and Warwick belong to an elite family now, for they share something which few others have had the privilege to enjoy.