Something's wrong.

Cera shifted from where he was knelt reverently at the Sun God's shrine, eyes opening to reveal worried emerald irises. Frowning face turned to where Ilaria was sitting, tail flickering worriedly. Rocking backwards he scattered sand as forelegs lifted from their previous position, clay clinging to his skin from where he had knelt for such a prolonged amount of time. What is it? he queried, frown creasing his boyish features as he moved towards her. Ilaria turned and waited until her prince knelt before clambering up his mane and onto his cranium. Big crowd. Commotion near the oasis. Cera's frown deepened as his eyes fell upon exactly what she'd been speaking of. With one last prayer to his patron, he kicked his heels and let his legs eat up the sand beneath his hooves. Massive wings spread wide and heaved his light body into the air, a sparrow's speed assisting him on the warm winds as his worry mounted.

The crowd had dispersed, but a wingless form was traveling alone, and in the distance whomever it was could not be discerned from sight alone. They had so few in the desert without wings, who could it possibly be? Ryuu was the only one he was even aware of, but the body was too large to possibly be the tiny colt, and moving too fast for his injured hooves. Disgruntled, he pushed himself harder. He knew their soldiers would not have let in an unwanted guest or danger, but he was the Diviner. It was his duty to know as many civilians as possible, to advise his superiors, and he desired to know the newcomer's aims and motives. At least know their name.

It was the glow of a familiar marking that first started the trickling of recognition. Ilaria's sharp eyesight discerned it and she transferred the image to her bonded. "Rasta?" What was she doing in the Throat? And to see her slumped beside the Oasis...worry swelled in his breast for one of the only friends he had left in the world. Diving sharply, he ignored the sting and the ache of his bones as he hit the sand far harder than he should, running for her prone form. Ilaria leapt from his head to his shoulders for better stability, chittering worriedly. Cera slowed drastically, ensuring he didn't kick sand all over the poor mare, and huffed harshly as he dropped his nares to softly touch her golden skin.

"Rasta, are you alright? What are you doing here? Ilaria has magic, she can heal you if you are ill." Ilaria cooed softly in affirmation, the pair watching the mare worriedly. Why had she traveled, alone, all the way from the Falls to the Throat? Fear clutched his throat and sapped the air from his lungs, making his knees shake and heart feel weak. Was his father in danger?

Panic is attempting to slither into his chest cavity and place its roots there, but Ilaria soothes him all the while as he runs to the golden belle in the sand. There is nothing that cannot be fixed with magic and faith. Breathe. Cera took a deep breath at her command as his emerald gazers swept over Rasta's body for any sign of physical wounds. When there were none to be found, puzzlement was imbued into his emotions as he dropped his head to her level to ghost over her in a caress of concern. Sadness and understanding dropped like a pitfall in his stomach as she turned to try and face him, and looked slightly off to the side, echoing his name in a rasp from her parched and disused throat. Cera clenched his eyes shut and calmed the tempest of emotions trying to rise at this new discovery. Sometimes...sometimes the Gods set forth stipulations on their quests that he found barbaric, but Rasta had agreed to their terms of her own will. He could not disagree with what she had accepted herself.

A physician had already patched up whatever had harmed her, and while that was a comfort to the young Diviner, he regretted having not realized she'd arrived sooner. Though he trusted his herdmates implicitly, Rasta was one of the only souls he had left to love and hold close as family. He did not place his family's life and well-being on someone's shoulders well. He would rather do it himself if it were in his power. He laughed softly, a little strained, and turned to press his face into her cheek. "I will worry for you whether I am present or absent, Rasta. You should know that about me by now." It is said fondly, for he is aware that she knows him likely better than anyone aside from Ranjiri.

Coughing shook her frame, and Ilaria had to stamp down the worry and the sudden desperate desire to get that Physician and make them heal her all over again no matter how it may exhaust them. She was the rock to his racing river, keeping him grounded, and his appreciation flowing to her received only a lovingly amused feeling in return. "Apologize? Rasta, you have nothing to apologize for, least of all to me. What do you need to explain?" Frowning, he knelt down beside her, Ilaria burrowing between the two of them as he draped his neck over her withers, should she allow it.

A soft sigh caressed the side of Rasta's face as Cera exhaled, smiling a little bitterly. "Don't punish yourself for worrying others. It's a symbol of our love for you." It was all he could try to construct to help ease her guilt, and while he didn't personally consider himself eloquent, he hoped at some point during this meeting he would be able to lay to rest whatever was eating at her brain. Ilaria lifted her tiny head to place it on Rasta's spine gently, purring softly in her throat to try and inspire peace and security in the mare's tremulous heart.

There was not much for them to say or do but listen as Rasta spoke, trailing on and on about what she supposedly had to apologize for and all the regrets she had since accepting the quest presented to her. Terror stabbed deep into his heart at the mere notion of losing Ilaria, and he grappled tightly to their bond, and she in turn as they clung to one another mentally. Ilaria had nearly lost him, and he her when d'Artagnan had nearly killed him. Neither desired to feel that ever again. They were all the other had, after all, and it had been Ilaria and Fina that had raised him and kept him company all his life. Cera would not have had the bravery that Rasta did. If he were ever to lose Ilaria, he would follow her into the afterlife, for no companion could ever replace her. He couldn't imagine the hole that must have been left in Rasta's soul, and so could not possibly judge her for a choice he couldn't fathom making from his point in life that moment.

He tightened his hold on her gently, keeping her close and taking on whatever weight she deigned to place upon him. It was the least he could do aside from avidly listening to all she needed to let out. When she began to cry and ebbed into silence, he hugged her tight and laughed softly, not mockingly but disbelieving. "I never once judged you for however you appeared to me, Rasta. Don't apologize for being mortal, for having emotions." It is said firmly, nearly fierce in how it is delivered, but it's a notion he is desperate for her to understand. "You have not been any sort of a terrible friend. I could not imagine you being a better friend, so cast that from your mind. Silence does not imply a lack of support or love. You have no apologies to make to me, Rasta. I never condemned you to warrant them." He smiles against her skin in his sincerity, hoping she can tell with how honest he speaks that he is in all intents truthful in his responses.

"There is much I may wish to know of you, Rasta. Do you have a mate, or foals? What is your favorite color? Do you like sweet grass or clover better? Rasta, my sister, you do not need to offer such a weighted question. What I know of you now? It is enough. I know your loyal heart and sincere ways. All I wish to know of you now, my friend, are the simple things." And he holds her close and smiles.

Anger threatens to kill his smile at the idea that someone, somewhere, had ever dared to call Rasta worthless. His voice is imbued with passion and ferocity when he speaks, Ilaria the only reminder that she may take his anger wrong as the words flow freely. "You are worth it and more, Rasta. Those who told you that you are not, or ever made you feel otherwise, are the worthless ones. Maybe you will never believe me, maybe it is too buried into your subconscious to ever find truth in my words, but Sohalia, and Africa, and myself...we would worry and panic a thousand times over for you. You are worth more than you believe. Would you not do the same for me?" He feared, and suspected, that she would never be able to grasp onto those words and believe them. But he had to try. He had to. He could not let her fall from grace with burning wings that evil souls had sparked alight, not when he could try to impede her fall with the buoy of his love and sincerity.

A soft sigh of regret escapes him, for if he had only met her earlier, if she had only been born in Helovia instead...maybe she would not be so defeated, so broken by the evils of the world. Maybe she would have more hope for the light. It had taken him a long time to find that light, and he prayed to the lord of the sun that he could lead her faithfully into its embrace. "It is not weakness to feel, sister. I have seen my father fight out of fear and love for me when I lay dying. I have felt the effects of magic driven by a herdmate who loved me and was afraid of it being too late. It is our love and loyalty to our homes that allow us to win our invasions. It is grief that drives us to grow stronger, to avenge. Emotions are not weakness, Rasta. They are a fact of life that nobody is exempt from. They are wonderful and painful all at once, but they are only a weakness if you convince yourself that they are." He recalls the latter portion of her objection, and shakes his head and baffled amusement against her shoulder.

"You are allowed to be weak, Rasta. Maybe not in the past. But that is what friends and family are for. Now, with me and Sohalia and Africa and everyone else...you can lean on us now. You don't have to be strong. I leaned on you when I was weak, and you on I in the caves. It is okay to be weak, Rasta, when you have others who will take the weight from your shoulders." His words drop to a murmur, whispering the words like secrets into her ears to give her strength and lend her hope.

"As for Alleo...do not fear ruination on your part. A relationship based on fear of it falling apart...it is not a relationship. Let yourself love him, and embrace everything that comes along with it. You will find yourself ten times happier." Cera had never truly been in love, not romantically, but he had watched many relationships thrive and die in different ways. It was all he could give her. He was no expert on love. He only hoped he hadn't said the wrong thing. Rasta certainly didn't need that right then.

Soft lips wipe away errant tears, tasting in them the desire for freedom, for the comfort she feels is not within her reach though he offers it to her so eagerly. "Rasta, you are not something I must deal with. You are my sister and my friend, a companion of worth to be treasured. I wish to know your habits, your likes and dislikes, your dreams and desires. I do not wish to know what you find broken or lacking in yourself, because maybe if you tell me all the things unique and beautiful about yourself, you'll start to see them more than the darkness you think exists within you." Tenderly he draws the tears from her cheeks, lets them lay upon his lips and stain them with the memory of this encounter, a promise as they dry forming; he will spend all his days with her in simplicity, in happiness, for it is all that she deserves and more. He will relay to her all the stars in the sky, and muse over why clay is only in certain places, and whisper to her how cute that little mare over there is and should he talk to her? He'll braid her tresses and kiss her cheeks to surprise her, he'll make up nicknames and stretch his voice into noises he's never made to make her smile. She was worth it. If he could pull every star from the sky and weave it into her mane, he would do so immediately.

"My favorite color is pink. Midas raised me beneath a magnolia tree, and it would always have the brightest pink and white buds. My fondest memories were made beneath that tree." He finds it only fitting to tell her his own answers as well, to drive into her mind that he really wants to share these simple pieces of knowledge with her. "I personally prefer clover. And I've never been in love. Though...it's the one thing I have always wanted." He is careful to keep the wanting out of his voice, for he is raising her up slowly, and he will not let her down because of his own desires unfulfilled. "What is your favorite season? Do you like to swim or wade? Would you like Ilaria to braid your hair? I'm tempted to have her braid mine, do you think I'd look good with it?" He hummed softly in his throat, trying to come up with more questions, though he was finding a multitude of them blocking the singulars from becoming apparent. "Do you like the night or the day? What is something you really want to do someday?"

No matter how much time he has to spend with her on that lakeside, he will never regret letting it tick away with questions others may deign meaningless. People so often forgot how the tiniest of things could be most treasured by someone consumed by pain.

Soft face is pressed to a slim chest, and he holds her there in a darkness she cannot create for herself in a desire for comfort like most others. If it is his touch that calms and soothes her, he will never remove it from her list of havens to run to when the storm weathers her soul too rough and jagged and cuts into her canvas like a vengeful assassin. There is nothing for him to reply to her with, as he holds her close to his heart, hoping she will gentle at the sound. Her mind is not an open book to him, even if her face were not hidden he likely would not have discerned the degrading thoughts slipping like slimy eels through her mind.

Her tension hurts him, and he nuzzles her slowly to reassure her that it is not through any action of her own that he is sighing. When he speaks she seems to slowly come to that realization, of which he is grateful. It is painful to think that she could ever be frightened of him. Even more frightening to imagine he could ever be so angry to inspire such an emotion permanently. His suspicions confirmed, he is careful not to sigh a second time as he breathes gently onto her cheek. "I know, Rasta. And it will take a long, long time for you to overcome that instinct. But know that I am not upset by that waiting time, sister. I will be here, always, to help you burn away those memories that keep you from the happiness you deserve. I will do all I can to help you see the light that draws so many to you." It is perhaps more simplistic than his previous spiels, but there is nothing more truthful that he can conjure up for her ears.

Shaking his head in soft denial, Ilaria snuggled closer to the golden girl and hummed in her throaty way. "You are meant to be what you wish to be, sister. Do not construct yourself around the whims of others. They have told you to be obedient, to be invisible. But they cannot touch you anymore. Spit on their memory and be what you want to be. If you do not want to be obedient, then don't. It is not easy...but like I said, I will be here, always." Would she ever be free of the ropes placed around her by others? Even with so many others aside from himself trying their hardest to saw through those bindings?

Her reassurance makes him laugh, soft and a tad dismissive. "I have much in my life already, Rasta. My Diviner duties, my sister returning from the shadows with a colt at her side, the wall to build...I do not have time to meet anyone whom I can fall into love with. And I'm not too special, all I have going for me is a good ear and some sincere words," he laughs, keeping the mood light despite how the truth resounds within the words slipping off his tongue. What he didn't truly reveal was the doubt that poisoned him from the inside. He wasn't worthy of love, and that fear was something he and Rasta shared. He wouldn't let her know of such things and bring up bad memories. Rasta's voice is rough but just as soft as he recalls before her quest was assigned, and at the allowance Ilaria gently places her paws upon the dame and begins to braid her mane with dextrous paws.

Cera's thin form shook with a laugh and he smiled into Rasta's shoulder. "I might just have to ask her to do my own after yours, then. Though I'm certainly not deserving of a crown, silly girl, even if it is made out of flowers." He likely would never rise above the rank he claimed currently, and he was rather okay with that. It suited him well. Internally he sighs when her voice drops. "Rasta, you will have your family. Even if your body does not agree, the Gods are favorable, and I will do all I can to aid you if it means they grant you the gift of a successful pregnancy." Maybe it's a bit of an abuse of his rank to say such a thing, but he would sleep night and day at the Veins, praying endlessly until he was granted an audience.

"Do you like to sing? What would you want your foal to be, a colt or a filly? Do you like songbirds or find them annoying?" He would ask a million questions, senseless though they may be, if it took her mind off all that had harmed her in the thousands of years she had apparently lived.

It's saddening in a million ways when she speaks, to know she thinks of them angels when they are merely decent souls. It was clear she had not seen nearly as much kindness in her long life as she deserved. Cera had several lifetimes to span in order to make it up to her, but it didn't mean he'd give up trying to show her that the world was so much more than the bubble of fear she'd built around herself. "No, my friend. We are not angels. We merely are aware of them when we see them, and treat them as carefully as we can." He shifts it around to compliment her, tone sincere and sweet. She was selfless and loving, and deserved every kind word and flattering compliment available in their language. Cera didn't claim to be a master of the art of language, he may be eloquent but he was no creator of divine phrases and breathtaking sonnets of devotion. Even so he would weave words around her until it became a bandage, healing the wounds so many careless hands had left upon her skin.

As Ilaria braids her hair with gentle paws, tail flicking in a soothing repetitive manner over a golden shoulder, Cera recalls that he had never told Rasta of his new position. Laughing softly he hugs her closer, shifting his wing to better conceal her from the sun. "I'm honored that you think so highly of me, sister. It is a position I never anticipated, but one I thoroughly enjoy." Though he is mildly displeased at having become the focus of attention once more, he will not allow her sweetness to go unthanked.

Cera frowned to see her tears return, brushing his lips across them gently to wipe them away from existence as they fall from blind eyes. "Blessed or not, I will do all I can to grant your wish. What is but one foal to make someone happy in the immortal lifetime of a God? If required, I will take it upon my own record of collected favors." He would rather she be given a foal in good health than one extra possibility of magic or supremacy. Would gladly forfeit such a thing in fact if it brought to her the joy he suspected it would.

"And perhaps one more stallion to be raised to treat them right," he said softly, trying to put a positive spin on the darkness of her thoughts. "You are never truly alone, even when you travel in solitude. All you need do is call, and I will come to you. Africa, Sohalia, Alleo. That is four already, and I know there are more. The birds need not be your only comfort." Her heat seems to resonate from her body, and he frowns down at her in concern. Why is she still so overheated? Cera's presence could partially be the reason of course. "Rasta, would you like to move further into the water? Perhaps a drink? You are dreadfully warm, and your body is not used to our climate." Worry erases any potential questions he could ask her as Ilaria finishes braiding her mane, taking the clip and fumbling with it momentarily before securing it near her nape. Glinting prettily in the sun.