Ilaria is first to notice Gaucho, as tired and distracted as Cera was. He was safe in the Throat, so his guards were farther down than normal. The panda glanced up as the familiar scent touched her little nose, and warm brown eyes sought out Gaucho's. Only, they were blank and staring into the distance, and she furrowed her little brow. Clarity only came as she recalled Cera's memory of when Gaucho had informed him of his oncoming quest requirements. Blindness. Instead she sought out Mara's serpentine gaze, her fondness for the snake odd considering their difference in species, but Cera's emotions and her own were intertwined so tightly they were nearly inseparable. Incapable of being determine whose belong to whom at times. Giving an odd mewing sound, a pitiful cry of help for her Prince, she scurried backwards to make way for the approaching Sultan.

Cera jolted weakly at the sudden commotion, limbs jerking uselessly as he attempted to lift his head and capture Gaucho's visage in his suddenly swimming vision. His name called him to attention, and he managed to shove one of his shoulders harder against the earth to prop himself up into a more presentable position. His head swam in protest, but at least he no longer looked laid out dead upon the sands. "Gaucho," he croaked, feeling shame creep upon him for appearing so pitiful. Only, Ilaria quickly amended that particular statement. Gaucho is blind, Cera. His heart jumped to his throat at the reminder.

His king dipped to kneel beside him, and though the shame was still strong in his little breast Cera couldn't deny that as one warm wing cast itself over him, he felt a sense of peace and safety fall over him like a cloak. Light danced on his golden skin, a phantom of the pyre that stood beside them, casting warmth upon their tired forms. It seemed Cera was not the only one running on fumes. Tentatively he brushed his nose towards Gaucho's, trying to give him a frame of reference aside from Mara's eyes. The worried set to his name called him to mind, away from his dazed state.

"I'm fine, Gaucho. Just...been working too much, I suppose. I was going to bring this to you...I'm so sorry, Gaucho," he fell to a whisper, the shame returning tenfold. He had failed him, and not only had he managed to stop working, he was laid out beneath his mentor in proof of his failure. Still, he weakly moved towards the heavy weight of the wing upon him, his own rucking up against the feathers dark and warm upon the ivory of his own. Seeking out the familiar touch, the comfort of his Sultan cast in the glow of the Shrine. He seemed just as tired, just as world weary and cast down as Cera felt.

His concern for Gaucho trumped all feelings of his own, exhaustion and self-concern included. "Are you well, Gaucho? You seem as tired as I feel," he murmured, concern like a beacon that granted him temporary strength. "Is there anything I can do?" Truly not the best time to be suggesting himself, but Cera's desire to help Gaucho was nigh instinctive.