Orders swam in his mind, like blueprints spelled out before his mind's eye, convoluted, converging. Tired hooves drag him along across the sands, dragging furrows in the clay of the soft banks of the Oasis. A terrible habit, one that drew him to the waters when his mind was hectic and he needed the peace and stillness that embodied the waters of the Oasis. He is tired, beyond in fact, having slept little aside from snatches due to the events of the past few days. Patrolling with Amani, helping Ampere with the festival, helping Gaucho with his quest, patrolling again with Rhoa and Tandavi, receiving orders for the item box, worrying over Ryuu and Ranjiri and their patrols...his mind was as weary as his muscles, his hooves ached and his body creaked in a fashion not suiting his age. Ilaria chittered softly from his hips. You are running yourself ragged, Cera. Her admonishment was surprisingly soft. Ilaria knew that Cera did it out of love, that he would sooner break his own legs and never sleep again than feel as if he had somehow failed his herd and his family. She was also aware that he often didn't listen to her, and likely would continue to ignore her reprimands.

True to assumption, Cera softly snorted and a wry smile twisted his lips, exhaustion heavy in his eyes. I must, Illy. My family needs me. Wandering away from his rather disheveled reflection, Cera let his magic seep halfheartedly into the ground, searching out the best metal deposits for the box Gaucho had asked him for. Ilaria snorted inelegantly from his hips, where she was sprawled lazily despite the constant rocking of his steps. Surely you cannot help them when you are half dead, she refuted. All she got was a quiet snort once more from her Prince. Together they traveled from the Oasis to the pyre of the Shrine, staring into the dancing flames with a melancholic thread tangling in his soul.

The actual creation of the box was rather easy, but he exerted himself far too much as his magic drew and torched the sides over the fires Tandavi tended so carefully. Cera sometimes missed that particular job, but he knew better than to fall back into his old emotions of despair and agonized questions over why he had been thrust from his rank. Had he somehow failed his Lord?

There was little time to dwell on that, because his knees were buckling beneath his own exhaustion and he collapsed beside the box he'd just made. His breaths came hard and heavy, little trembles quaking on his skin and deep into his muscles. Ilaria squawked as she was thrown to his shoulders, only to jump from his body to the box and then to the sand, squealing in worry. Cera huffed a pathetic laugh and slumped to his side, his brief chuckle stirring the dry sands in a small cloud. Peace, Ilaria. I'm just...tired. Just tired... even his thoughts were muddled. He lay beside his new creation, too tired to move, but reluctant to allow his eyes to shut.

Have to tell Gaucho...it's done... Ilaria chittered angrily, clearly frustrated with him as her little paws stamped on the earth. You are no good to Gaucho dead on your feet! Cera narrowed his eyes dangerously at the mere insinuation that he was not capable of helping his Sultan, no matter his physical state. "I will always be of use to him, until I really am dead on my feet," he hissed aloud, eyes glinting tired, manic emotion. Ilaria sighed, her frantic emotions dulling into something resigned, something understanding. Gaucho is proud of you, Cera. He wouldn't want you doing this to yourself. Cera tore his gaze from her, unable to believe it, unable to see her looking at him with such sadness. "It's not enough. It's never enough." I just have to work harder.