Since my family had fled the warmth of our homeland, I had trailed behind. What was darkness, and lost innocence of infection, when compared to all I had already been through? I had seen all the darkness I'd ever need in the eyes of the fake father that had shuddered his last breath beneath my blows. Ilaria was curled at the nape of my neck, kneading my right shoulder, and I gave a sigh when she mentally defined her displeasure with my train of thoughts. I had managed to evade all Throat members- at least, the few that knew me- since my entrance into the Sanctuary. Ilaria was grateful for the darkness, being mostly nocturnal, but I ached for the skies above, the openness of the azures I escaped to so often. I missed it. How could I evade those that looked at me with blank, unknowing eyes trapped within the earth? Worse, the ones that watched me with pity or false admiration? I may be the son of the Sultan, and the once long-revered General, but I was not my father. Nor was I leverage to gain their favor. I was just...Cera. Nothing special. Never anything special. Not like Hototo, or Ranjiri, who could outshine me on any day. Regardless of how insignificant I was in comparison, I missed them so badly it drove me to quiet tears when on the cusp of sleep most nights.

Now, I wander. Ilaria sighs at me and moves to curl up on my hindquarters, idly pawing at my tail. She worries for me, and it hurts me to know that I cause it, but I can't even begin to consider the task of patching myself up. Where would I even start? I felt as if I had more cracks than substance, now, and so was just an empty black pit of nothingness. Walking through this plane of life like a ghost with no memories. Even amnesia would be welcome, now. Instead, I walk. I am sore from how much of it I have been doing, but I sleep when tired and drink when parched. My life is monotonous, but I do nothing to fix it. It will do nothing to fix me, after all.

Ilaria, with her superior night vision, spots Rasta first. My hearing, however, is just about on par, and the near-silent sobs that touch my audits concern me. Especially once Ilaria conjures an image in my head of the blind maiden, accompanied by the sad murmur of "It Rasta." I don't even have to think twice before I'm turning, moving towards the crumpled, flaming form of the lady I had defended from the verbal lashing of our herd members. I lower myself beside her, feeling my chest tight and bound at the sound of her agony. Is there anything I can do to help her? Two broken people cannot fix each other. And yet I must try, for her sake.

I fear the burn of those flames, but I would willingly let them eat away every trace of my feathers, burn the entirety of my wing before I let her suffer alone in this hellish world we are trapped in. I have been where she is, crying out for someone who will not show their face, cursing the world and failing to stave off the pangs of loneliness and betrayal that aim right for the weakest parts of us. Instead, I push away that instinctual avoidance of those flames, and I hesitantly- slowly, so that she may jerk away if she desires- lay my wing over the indent of her spine. It is no less gruesome than the wicked scar across my chest, and so I do not fear it like others may. We are all broken in some way. Sometimes it just shows on our skin. I slowly bring her close, if she shall allow me, and Ilaria jumps off to curl beside Rasta's heart, big green eyes looking up at her in concern that is sure to resonate within my own features.

Moving closer, I reach to brush my muzzle across the fresh trails of tears on her soft white cheek, hoping she will accept my touch. How do I comfort her? I don't know what to do, and when I open my mouth, the only thing that tumbles out is not what I'd expected. "Do not feel as if you are alone, Rasta. When things are dark, I will light your way. When you are cold and feel as if you have nobody at your side, I will lay beside you and keep you warm. When everyone else has failed us, I will be here to chase away your demons, and I will keep you safe to the last breath I hold in my lungs." I keep my voice a soft, low murmur directed towards the delicate curves of her ears. I don't even know if this is the right path to take. I have been alone so long, I do not know how to comfort anyone other than myself.

"Memories I may not be able to defend you from, but I will always be here to make new ones with you. Happy ones. I will act the fool to make you smile or hear you laugh. There is nothing I would not do for you, Rasta. I cannot calm your fears, or heal your pains. I cannot erase what is broken on the inside. I cannot even heal what is broken in myself. But two broken souls together, perhaps, can heal one another. I will be here, forever. Until you command me from your side, you have me." I know not what else to say, and I trail off into quiet, frowning softly- if sincerely- towards the pale woman beneath my wing. Not knowing what else to do, I begin to hum. It's a made up song, one I spin as I go along, but I lean to hopefully press my cheek to hers as I let the chords within my throat vibrate slowly. If only I had some sort of magic to help her, calm her. I would do anything to take on the darkness that haunts another mortal's soul. Despite how it corrodes me, it could not hurt worse than seeing her like this.

I realize with a jolt that Rasta can see me. The confusion on her face is evident, and I wonder bemusedly how she'd recovered her sight. I don't question it, but my heart still aches when she leans into my touch. Her tears flow faster than I can brush them away, but I don't give up, because if this simple motion can in any way comfort her then I will do so for as long as she allows me to. Her eyes don't open, after they see me, and I can't find any objection inside my thoughts. Ilaria is well-received where she curls up against Rasta's chest, her fluffy tail curling around the ivory maiden's nearest leg, chirruping quietly in hopes of helping me comfort her. My affection for my bonded is almost overwhelming, and a gentle, knowing wave of love is returned from her. I take strength in that, returning my attention to the crying mare beneath my wing.

Every word I speak is unanswered, and I realize once more that she is mute. Has she somehow switched her ailments? Been granted sight, but taken from the gift of words? I steel myself, because I will be her words. I will tell her everything she needs to hear, because I know she cannot let them flow eloquently like they used to from her own vocal chords. I find myself missing the last time I heard her speak, even if it was during the herd meeting when I'd had to defend her choice of not wanting Gaucho as lead. It was not the best of times, but I would take it any day over this hell we were trapped in.

As I begin to hum, knowing no other way to comfort her verbally, she turns and her lips gently caress my cheek. My own eyes come to a close, focusing only on the vibrations that I share with her, wishing I could be wiser. Smarter. More eloquent. Anything to construct better words with which to reassure her that she is loved and wanted. She may no longer bear the smell of desert flowers and clay, but she is still my sister, my kin. Blood may not be shared between us, but I do not need it to love her as I love my father or Hototo. Ilaria gives a soft, pleased sound when Rasta dips her head to pull her closer. Tiny, soft paws move to wrap around Rasta's features, far more gentle than others give her credit for. Ilaria has always been so gentle, so wise. Sassy and commanding she may be, but she has the heart of a lion, and she gives soft, sweet sounds to soothe the lass we are determined to comfort.

She hides beneath my wing, which are so large in my age now- they had been pretty massive as a foal, I had been both blessed and cursed with them- that it nearly completely conceals her. "I am not good with words, Rasta. I do not know what else to say. When I was a foal, I could barely even speak, abandoned by my mother as I was. But I can always offer this. Ilaria and I, we are always here to hold you. Even if you don't want to tell us why, even if it's just to come and lay with us only to leave again. We will warm you with our love and touch. It's all we can offer. But we offer it gladly, with no reservations or rules." I murmur it into her ear, bending my head beneath my own wing, and lip gently at her forelock should she remain where she is and accept such an action. I just want her to smile. I doubt that she will. I don't know why, but I know I'm not the one who is the reason for her smiles. That is not the role I play.