Knelt beneath the warm glow of Gaucho's wings, Cera smiles to himself, basking in the flickering light of the flames upon his skin. Temporary, delightful tattoos. You are strong, Cera. It coils beautifully inside his head, drawing the poison from his heart like an anti-venom. And as he opens his eyes he sees Mara upon the sand, exhales gently upon her as she nudges against the velveteen surface of his muzzle, unable to help the smile that creases his pale lips at the kinship she displays. Despite his reluctance to pull away from her, he must, for there is business to attend to. Business that, according to Gaucho's words, involved the Lord of their lands. Curiosity definitively piqued, the young stallion peered attentively at the painted warrior. Ear slicing halfway backwards at the bellow of a name, some sort of 'Buce' fellow. One who arrives in a scream of feathers and a spray of sand. Cera nodded his greeting in silence, far more intrigued by Gaucho's news.

The idea of an island was shocking, to say the least. But as Cera quietly mulled it over, he found himself liking the idea. As a native of the Throat, his ties were definite, and his experiences with watching his father march off to war and invasions alike were incentive to agree with the Sultan. As Gaucho dropped an amulet to the earth, Cera watched as it began to glow and heat, watching in awe until the process was over. However, to have it placed upon his neck...pride bloomed like a desert rose inside of his breast, glowing as surely as the amulet had. His worries over his failure as a Diviner washed away, reassured by a few simple words, until he was left certain in his task once more. Crafting had been in his blood since he was a colt, making blueprints in the soft clay for his father to review.

"Thank you, Gaucho," he at last managed to whisper, overwhelmed by his own relief to have not failed his herd and Lord. And with a task set upon him, his grin became eager, a fire flickering in his face. Passionate. Turning to Bucephalus, he cast a glance towards the fires, preparing himself to teach. "Here, let us move closer, it will make it easier on your mind and reduce the fatigue of your magic usage." He was familiar with the magic, especially since he'd had it as a Diviner.

"First we need the metal, which exists below the sands. Use your magic and concentrate towards your hooves to start, and then expand farther down to find the metal. Grab onto it, and draw it up. You may need to do it a few times to get enough metal." Cera then began to do exactly as he'd just instructed, closing his eyes briefly and summoning his magic, clinging to the metal below and dragging it forcibly upward to the surface of the sands. Already his neck and flanks were beginning to dampen, but he merely grinned at Buce and continued his lesson. "Now that it's on the surface, it'll be easier to grab and manipulate. Hold it towards the base of the fire, near the coals where it's hottest, and begin to envision what you want it to become. It will respond to what your mind portrays. Make sure to drag it up through the flames slowly when you're done, or the cool frostfall air will make it crack and weaken at the sudden temperature change."

It felt so natural to teach him, to impart knowledge that Cera had been tempering and evolving since foalhood. He trusted then that the God of the Sun and Gaucho really did know where he fit best.

Concentrating, he began to lift the metal to the coals, shaping and twisting it, spending a good deal of time reinforcing the handle and where it attached. Surely Gaucho was going to be carrying something important if he was asking for such a simple item as a bucket, and Cera wouldn't let him down by giving him shoddy work. Lifting the finished product from the coals up through the lick of flames, he huffed breathily and set it gently upon the sand to cool. It was perfectly smooth, beautifully crafted. Then again, Cera had perfected the technique as much as he was able. Turning back to Buce, he smiled encouragingly, letting him be to make his own. Cera knew exactly how nerve-wracking the first use of magic could be, and he didn't want to pressure him or make him nervous by peering over his shoulder.

Turning to Gaucho, he grasped the bucket in his teeth, still warm but cooling quickly in the winter air. Depositing it near his Sultan's hooves, he straightened with a proud gleam in his emerald eyes. "It shall hold a decent weight, I ensured so." He was back in his groove, at last.

@[Gaucho] and @[Bucephalus]