Cera arrived quickly, although Gaucho knew he would. The boy had never let him down, regardless of how many times he had failed the golden boy, knowingly or not. As the paint arrived, landing easily and still with a youthful vigor in his step, Gaucho was visible stirred by just how much he had grown. Although he had interacted with Cera in the Woods, his lack of memories made recalling the event difficult. When the Sun God had restored his memories it was almost as if a haze had fallen over everything else - he remembered seeing Cera ... speaking briefly? And then .. it was like watching a movie, but one that took place underwater. Things were blurred, distorted, and without sound or colour. He had flown away? Had he hurt the boy? Gaucho couldn't remember, yet as the youth (although he no longer was) spoke, Gaucho wondered if he truly was angry. Had he just imagined it? Was his huffing away at the herd meeting fueled by something else? His primitive mind wished that to be the case, to simply move on to the message that the Sun God had given him, but Mara advised against this. Telllllll himmm She urged softly but demandingly in his mind. Although Gaucho huffed, he complied.

"Gaucho ... " He began, unsure of how to start. For a moment, his mind spun a scenario where Cera was his son, trained in the use of his language as Rhoa and Ivezho were, where all could be explained easily. Whatever bond was between the two felt broken, fragmented. Language wasn't the only barrier the he felt between himself and the golden youth, but it was the most obvious one. "Gaucho forced to return ... place before Throat." He almost described it as home, but it hadn't been that for a long time. Not since Gaucho had bled for the Throat, and fought and pledged to protect its sands and its citizens. "Gaucho tricked to do something there, then memories taken away. Gaucho find way back to Helovia, but not remember anything or anyone." Awkwardly the WildFire tried to find Cera's gaze and hold it. Explainations weren't his strong suit, and apologies were even harder. Was the boy old enough to understand? Was Gaucho even conveying what he meant to say? That he was sorry? That he would never leave the Throat, or anyone in it, willingly? "-Not remember Cera in Woods.."

Unable to think of how better to explain himself, the WildFire lowered his head into a posture that was nearly submissive. He did not need for it to move very far down however, for Cera had grown nearly as tall as He. The Sun God's symbols glowed softly, colouring Mara with a warm golden light as the stallion repeated the words Mara urged him to say. "Gaucho sorry he left. Sorry he left Cera."