It is another blow to know that Coris has left them, and Cera is beginning to think his desires to build will never be actualized. The turning of seasons bring two new ones to the mantel, and though he has finally reached the age of a task, he is no longer able to fit into the timeframe of applying. Though he is no longer the age of an apprentice, he cannot yet assume another job and so he stubbornly seeks out these new forgers. Passion blooms in his spirit for the massive wall they had created. He has memorized every plan Bazilisk ever showed him. Created layouts of his own, ones he is desperate to share with those who are able to make it a reality. Ilaria is perched, for once, upon his hindquarters instead of his shoulders. She is half-asleep, sprawled lovingly over his skin as she watches the land disappear behind them. Though she is not as loving when it came to creation, anything her bonded loved she would support. Because of her new positioning that day, Cera didn't take to the skies as he often did these days. Ever since finally getting it down, he had been in the sky more often than standing on the ground. But today, Ilaria had quite firmly told him no flying. She didn't often ask for such things, mostly because she enjoyed it too for some odd reason. So Cera had lovingly agreed to let her rest today, and kept his odd forever-jogging pace to a minimum in order to disturb her as little as possible. With such long legs he often looked to be ambling at all times, and the sway of his backside was not going to make it easier for her to sleep.

The gleam of the partly finished wall made his synapses start firing like crazy, endorphins putting him on a high he felt every time he saw the precious metal of the Throat gleam beneath the sun. Ilaria stirred as these feelings came to her in a rush, the night-dweller yawning and curling herself to face his right wing instead of behind them, sleeping green-red eyes blinking open. Cera loved that the magic of their bond had placed that ring of green on the outside of her irises, an emerald sphere that would always surround her deep auburn gaze, forever connecting them in the simplest of ways. Luck was smiling on him that day, for a pale form was upon the half-made wall that Cera had never seen. As he stood there, he watched her lift and connect sheets of metal, and he knew that he would have to beseech her to let him apprentice beneath her. Beyond excited, he nudged Ilaria up with one hip until she huffed and moved to his shoulders once more without complaint. She couldn't hold his excitement against him, after all. With this new freedom, Cera raced to meet his hopefully new mentor with a bright smile and gleaming emerald eyes.

As he came up towards her, he tried to look presentable, but the eagerness on his features was a little hard to extinguish. It was obvious to anyone who cared to look how much this child cared for the art of crafting. "You're the new Forger, aren't you?" he gushed, breathless with excitement. "I'm Cera, Midas' son. I've been apprenticing for Forgers since Bazilisk!" It wasn't often he used Midas as a distinguisher, but he didn't know this femme and hoped she would at least know his father. "I'm so excited you're here! I've been waiting so long for a new Forger, and I was going to apply but I had only just turned a year," he babbled, face as bright as the sun overhead as he gushed so obviously to this nameless fae. Hopefully she would not be like Bazilisk, impatient with him for being so outgoing and exuberant. "I've been working so hard, hoping for someone to take up the position! I...I memorized all of the layouts for the wall, from when it was first created, so I can help you! And I've thought of a few things too, but that's just me so you don't have to listen to them. Oh please, please can I be your apprentice? I don't have magic but I can work! And I can sketch and help, and gather things for you! I'm really good with drawing out models, please?" Desperation seeped into his vocals here, positively begging for the buttermilk mare to accept his words. He tried not to flaunt his own abilities, knowing she would be the main decision maker and builder, but his passion for building was glaringly obvious in the excitement with which he spoke. Ilaria poked her head over his right shoulder, studying Sohalia with judging eyes. She always did this with newcomers, judging if they were fit to be around Cera. Young she may be, but she was a good judge of character and would never allow Cera in the presence of someone who would harm him emotionally. Ilaria was fiercely protective of her child, despite Cera technically being older than her. Mentally, she was far more mature, and she was unsure if she would approve of this mare becoming her precious child's mentor. Only time would tell. Cera stood there nervously, awaiting judgment of his own, and prayed that Midas was right when he had encouraged him to seek out his mentor and show them his work.