Her warmth stabilizes him, grounds him where no other can. It's calming, stills the breaths that shake in his lungs, uncontrolled. Even when they sit in silence her presence is there, reminding him that each new inhale is worth the effort, that life is hard but there are glowing beacons of friendship that light the path intent on tripping you up. Slowly he matches the swell of her sides that signify her own breaths, calming the racing of his heart as he lets her body guide him into peace. Tries to shut down the hurricane taking place in his mind, instead focusing on the purely physical reactions, tuning them to Rasta's and releasing all responsibility; even that of his own body. And when he turns to look at her, their eyes meet, hers no longer sightless as they were when the two had first met and he had defended her from sharp tongues and narrow minds.

Soft breaths touch his cheek, emeralds shuttered behind pale lids as he leans into her caress. It makes his insides shudder with gratitude, free tears flowing down cheeks to replace sorrowfully created ones with relieved trails of fresh ones. Even when she presses tight, and he is lost on a road of sorrow and confusion, her touch is feather soft but sure as it sweeps the mark of his agony from his skin. Her crown shakes in disapproval, disagreement, in the silence that follows his plaintive cries for wisdom she cannot impart. Even if she had the gift of speech, he doubted she would have any answers for him. If they did not come from Midas, they could not be wholly truthful. Cera doubted he would ever be able to bury the matter, doubted Midas would ever be able to tell him in a manner other than what he'd just experienced.

Round his withers her neck pulls him close and tight, and he turns to bury his cheek into her flesh, breathing in her comforting scent deep into his lungs. Tears slow in their descent, for there is no use in shedding them. They will not garner answers nor relieve him of his emotional turmoil. All they do is waste energy that he desperately needs, and ruins all chances of speech uninterrupted by sobs. "I'm okay," he whispered softly, pulling away gently from the embrace and shifting his shoulders to steel himself against the emotional storm battering at him. He'd had his respite, his temporary relief, and he was ready to face the world again. Emerald eyes turned to Rasta and he smiled weakly. "Sometimes I wished you could call the desert home again, Rasta." Perhaps a bold and unfair confession, as he didn't wish to make her feel guilty or regret her choices, but it was a truth he could not keep inside any longer. Maybe she would take it as the compliment it was, that he so loved her company to wish he could revel in it daily.