I am still but a child, Ilaria. How can I help her raise a foal when she is younger than even I? The murmur came back, soft but sturdy with the weight of her love. As you always have, Cera. With love and patience. Comfort washed over him as surely as the water cooling his already chilled hide. The desert was cool at night, a common misconception to those who dwelled outside its sandy clutches. The temperature was unnoticed by the painted cherub, instead letting head droop wearily to the water until lightly whiskered muzzle kissed the surface, ripples expanding from the point of contact. A soft sigh spread the water in a quickening away from his nares, sleepy emeralds staring dully at the liquid being disturbed. Despite the exhaustion clinging to Cera's form, sleep would not come in the oasis, not that he intended to depart just yet.

Worry will end my years sooner than I desire, he chuckled aloud, though the words were sanctified and corralled into the secure link between himself and his companion. Ilaria cooed understandingly, braiding his hair idly with soft, practiced paws. Much as she had for Rasta that horrible, wonderful, conflicting day. On the shores of the Oasis, in fact. Ilaria patted his shoulder at the end of one such braid, snuffling softly against his skin with a blackened nose. Worry is a sign of love, as you told Rasta. It makes you stronger, but it is a tiring emotion. Cera smiled against the water, eyes slipping to a gentle shuttering. Ilaria had always been wiser than he, and truthfully he often entertained the notion of her becoming the Wise One instead of himself. She would surely be more fitting, had she the body of an equine.

Someone approaches. Fine, fluffy ears catch the intrusion before his own. Turning at the scuff of hooves on sand, discordant and chaotic, eyes blink open in a hurry and crown lifts from the surface of the mirror substance. Concern welded itself into his features as quickly as a shooting star, only further proving Ilaria's words. Tandavi's face is a beacon in the darkness as she stops, abrupt and shaken, and stares. There is silence between them, Cera's brow crinkling with worry as he turns and begins to slowly approach the Physician. The maiden is a familiar face, but they have not been properly nor personally introduce.

"Sister? Are you well?" Lyrics are soft and full of attentive care, for any troubled soul that walked across his path both deserved and warranted his best attempts at consolation. Water sloshes over ivory legs as the lad approaches, slow and tentative, not desiring to scare her off in her seemingly fragile state. "Would you like to join me?" Perhaps an offer of company and stability would entice her? Ilaria cooed softly at the lass from the peak of his shoulder, paws still moving over moonlight tresses and weaving them into braids to fall like shimmering silver across slim shoulders.