I miss Riri.

A twinge goes through the young stallion's chest and he bows his head, lids fluttering to a close as the words touch his mind. Ilaria stares up at him with solemn emeralds, imitating those he hides from her. Memories flood back to him, of his darling princess, tiny and curious. So easily hurt by the world around her. Midas had told him of her time as a wraith. Cera knew she had changed. He had not been in her life for so long, torn apart by their father's stubborn nature and their differing herds, only to be so cruelly separated when the darkness fell upon Helovia. He hadn't known until it was past that she had been consumed. Cera couldn't even keep his princess safe. What kind of a big brother was he? He did not deserve to bask in the perfection of her being. He deserved to suffer, for allowing her to fall into the pits of hell and not be there to take the blows for her.

Jerking away from the creature peering intently at him from the ground, he began to stalk away, rhythm harsh and discordant as his hooves hit the sand. Moonlight streamed over his canvas, and he ached for his Lord to return to his mantle. It was in those heavenly rays that he found solace, understanding. His true guiding light. Ilaria was persistent, however, racing to jump upon his plume and climb her way stubbornly up, uncaring of the tendrils she rudely ripped out in the process. Cera winced and huffed softly, frowning as she clambered to his shoulder to pull angrily upon his mane.

Riri not hate us. Not abandon, Cera. We not mother.

Cera could not help the agony of his chest at those words, turning to snap his teeth in her face. Ilaria dodged and hissed right back at him, claws sharp and punishing in his shoulder until they drew blood. The stallion sobered, a soft apology replacing the outburst of violence. He did not recall his mother at all, and even still she was the sorest subject anyone could prod at. But Ilaria held a point. He could not abandon Ranjiri, not like his mother had abandoned him. Cera could not condemn his beloved princess, his beautiful baby sister, to the crippling loneliness that he knew so intimately.

Before he even took to the skies, Ilaria's smugness was practically tangible, already aware that she had won. Cera rolled his big green eyes and sighed softly into the warm desert air, already thankful to be free of the grip of Frostfall that haunted his weakness to cold climates. Angel wings lifted, barely a step taken as he lifted into the air with great ease, lithe body rocking on the winds gently. The southern skies would turn, as he traveled, becoming colder as he drifted lower to find warm drafts to hold him aloft, hooves brushing against treetops and catching branches. Hours would slip past, his only comfort the rising sun on the horizon. Looking down, head hanging between loose knees, he could see the cool blue of the rivers below. See the branch of them, the way the water glimmered under the new sun.

Tilting one wing, he began to glide in the widest circle he could, encompassing the meadow below. And he sang, soft and mellow, but clearly audible. Wordless lyrics woven through the land below, beckoning the beautiful lass he loved more than he ever thought one body could contain. And when his voice had run its course, when it was sore and aching for a break, he allowed it. Drifting, lost, on a sea of currents he did not attempt to control. Gave up all independence and let the wind take him, hoping the princess with the golden tiara would grant him one glimpse of her royal form, no matter how much of a frog he was. She deserved his apologies. She deserved so much more than him, heart aching as the thought whispered maliciously inside his mind. She deserved so much more. So much that he'd never had the chance to give. Would she even receive him on blessed terms? Or would he lose the one beautiful thing he'd ever been granted in his lonely life? Doomed to watch her walk away, untouchable as she'd ever been to him, and know he was not worthy of chasing after her?