It was odd how once upon a time, he had been an aimless wanderer of the sands, no job to do and boredom a friend he carried upon his shoulders frequently. There was nothing he missed about that life, aside from one tiny thing; free time. His duties often called him to the bank of the fires to tend to them, his most favored task. Yet it seemed more and more were visiting the Throat, demanding attention and calling for council. Cera didn't mind too terribly, he adored others, but it was still a little overwhelming with all that called for his attention. Still, if it took the weight off the shoulders of his Sultanas, he would do every meet and greet that would ever exist. So even though he was tired from exploring the island with Sikeax, and mostly just wanted to rest his wings and fall asleep, when the clear song drifted over the sands he rose to receive them. Ilaria chittered unhappily at him, clearly convinced the other Council members could take care of it, but he hushed her softly.

Jogging briefly he unfurled his wings, sunlight glinting off pale downy feathers as they embraced the skies, tugging and pulling until the drafts of the higher altitudes took the responsibility of weight-bearing from him. There was no real way of knowing who had called for them, but it was definitely male and by the sounds of it an adult at that. Was it a potential recruit of the Throat? A dull buzz of excitement flooded through his veins, electric, yet dampened by the lethargy of his own body. Instead of running himself down and exhausting himself further attempting to reach the newcomer as quickly as possible, he took his time, drifting quietly on the warm winds that caressed the undersides of his wings. He arrived in a timely manner regardless, dropping in a slow downward curl of pale wings.

Touching down with nary a whisper of hooves on sand, dancing forward until the momentum was spent within his limbs, Cera let a smile warm his face as he approached the stranger. Wings hung tired but respectably tightened at his sides as he paused the advancement of his walkers a respectful distance from the intricately patterned face of the stallion. "Welcome, sir. My name is Cera, Diviner of these lands. How may I help you?" Lyrics are soft and kindly, but they hold the strength that has helped the Throat weather every challenge it has ever faced. He is a soul with many layers, but he greets Lace with warmly glowing emerald irises and a pale face with an easy smile, burying his exhaustion in order to make the stranger feel at home.

After a fruitless expedition to the Threshold forest and a long night spent defenceless, Africa and Silas were flying south. They had spent a number of days exploring Sky Island recently (deciding whether or not its sudden existence was too good to be true), and many duties had been left for later. There were a number of new faces to meet, activities to organise for the oncoming season, and a tournament to plan- so that Dragon’s Throat might at last have a Gladiator to motivate troops who grew fat and weak in their idleness. At some point too, the ambitious mare intended to lead any interested herd members to the Island to join in the festivities.

...and we will need to hurry ahead with the herd meeting. she was explaining, hoping perhaps that her bonded might retain some share of the more important thoughts, so her overflowing mind would not burst its banks entirely. There are many matters to discuss, the alliance with Mid... Hidden Falls, rank changes- Oh! And of course Sohalia’s rise to Sultana. That was possibly the most important announcement to make and she scoffed out loud at herself for almost forgetting. Please, don’t let me overlook that... she laughed silently, and Silas watched her through the violet eye closest, overwhelmed, but trying his best to support her.

It was midday by the time parrot and Zephyr breached the unmarked border of their home. The sun’s potency was extreme, and the one-winged mare was keen to fall beneath the glorious shade of the oasis; to sink perhaps into the cool, invigorating waters of the lake to its centre. As they passed down the length of the sandy link to the mainland, Africa thought that even the frothing sea to each side looked rather inviting. She peered down vaguely, captivated by the rich dark stew of water, until Silas’s glossy black form just ahead pulled up sharply. Dragon... he warned, elaborate feathering flaring brilliantly.

Wait!

It was a memory hidden beneath the tangle of most recent events; a time that she rarely relayed, a white-scaled face that perhaps she had thought she’d forgotten. Don’t you remember her? The avian’s chest rumbled curiously, pensively, perhaps... They’d met when Africa was at her most vulnerable, when the scar still shining vivid pink across her wingless shoulder had been raw and burning red. But now, she only recalled the warmth felt when her eyes had collided with the Dragon’s bottomless blue; a soothing caress that had caused prickling, aching nerves to dull. The name was exotic, she knew, but for the time being it escaped her. Lace... she remembered suddenly, and grey parrot wings tucked to execute a rather hasty descent.

Silas swooped down behind her, the star-glitter trailing blunted by the intensity of the day.

Standing below were two stallions; the unforgettably webbed face who had called her Nell, and Cera, their beloved Diviner, and they grew steadily as she neared. A small distance away she slowed, fluttering with reaching naked legs to find the blisteringly hot sand. As she landed, the parrot’s concentration was already narrowing, and her eyes had closed. She began the painful transformation to her Pegasus form, and minutes later, was striding wearily towards them upon sound, hard hooves.

“Cera,” she cooed a little breathlessly, the nature of her voice ever peaceful and warm. Africa moved to his side and closed her eyes again for a moment, to recover entirely. The act of shape-shifting was completely unnatural; bones twisting and merging together, feathers sprouting far faster than was normal, and limbs both vanishing and growing in rapid time. It was wearing, though the one-winged had learned to appreciate the bad with the good. After a minute or so, as Silas landed carefully upon the silken robe draped across her, lashes parted once more and she smiled in turn, to each stallion; regarding Cera especially with a fond bump by her nose.

“Lace,” she beamed with some tenderness, “Do you remember me? It’s been so long.”

Intrigued by how the grullo had responded, Cera's eyes took on a shade of curiosity, eyes widening and face opening farther than his already kindly natured allotted. Ilaria cooed, still upset that her bonded was pushing himself needlessly- in her eyes- but taking in stride her own cheerful nature that warranted the name she'd been given and greeting Lace in her own fashion. There were no words forthcoming from the pale kissers of the young painted lad, allowing the comfortable silence to pervade as they observed one another with lurid orbs. His patience was boundless, and the words were clearly collecting in the pale one's throat, so Cera awaited the moment when they formed and slipping from tongue to aural respectably. It came in time, and surprise widened his eyes before shocked laughter tumbled from his lips. "You are not the first. I am pleased he has such faith in me," he chuckled, smile becoming looser and more familiar with the other stallion, a sign of budding trust. Cera's already trusting nature was always put aside when greeting anyone at the borders, for he was still a General's son at heart, and his skin though young bore a multitude of gruesome scars to show the warrior behind the faithful Diviner.

So long as the fires of the Throat burned within his chest, a secondary heart for any dragonkin in the desert, no harm-wishing being would cross the borders on his word.

It was almost relieving to hear the same conflict that had echoed in Hector's tone, to know that he was dealing with the same affliction in this stag as his brother. At least that cleared up his confusion, and guided him down a much narrower web of paths concerning helping the lad. Introduction came shortly, an apologetic expression mingling with hope and, at the same time, hopelessness. For where else could Lace possibly go if turned away? But Cera had no such intentions, and his smile was warm and beckoning in many ways as he responded. "The Dragon's Throat would be happy to have you, by order of our Lord or not, Lace," he comforted with gentle tone and kindly face, Ilaria cooing her agreeance askance his shoulder.

Wingbeats tear his attention from Lace, and crown turns skyward with a pinch of brow defined more by curiosity than wariness. A familiar grey shape, small and accompanied by another birdlike creature, greets peering emeralds. Africa! Ilaria chirped in his head, assigning title to what Cera had already gleaned from the form overhead. Watching as the transformation process began, Cera hurried over to his Sultana, offering shoulder in silence as her breath came in soft pants. "Africa," he greeted softly in return, even as his eyes expressed diluted concern. Cera knew that she was used to such a process, but he worried nonetheless. As her eyes closed and she collected herself, he half-shielded her from Lace automatically, for though his mind knew the stallion was no threat, the warrior within him demanded protection of the Sultana at all costs.

When at last the magic had released its grip on his dear friend, he was greeted with a soft bump of muzzle against his skin. Smile returning as easily as breathing, the young Diviner reached in an attempt to slide his muzzle over Africa's elegantly curved neck. It seemed his worries, unfounded though he'd recognized they'd been, were needless in all ways. Africa seemed to know Lace after all. "The Sun God has sent him here to us," he explained softly after she spoke. "He would like to craft with us, perhaps stay a while. He has my approval, Sultana." Though he had the power to grant membership, and was normally not so formal with his friend, it was still a duty and one he would not overlook. Turning to gaze between the two reuniting friends, the youth quieted, deciding to stand back and watch over the two instead of speaking for once.

She considered the stallion quietly, her expression thoughtful, mild gaze embracing too his bonded. Lace made no secret of his surprise- cheerfully so she hoped boldly. With a coy smile she accepted the reality of his kind words, preferring not to rummage through the clutter of memories that he referred to. Those troubles were long past, and Africa’s nostrils rattled softly instead as she nodded. “Ay, ” she grinned, “Many things have changed since then.” There was no time to mope these days, she barely found time enough to quell the hungry ache in her belly... She was older, mindful, and though delicate optimism still glittered across her selfless gaze, it was not as trusting as it was even before they’d met.

Crimson, black and gold; the feathers woven inter her mane fluttered playfully in the dry, brackish wind, twisting and twirling beneath the luminous flames above. Africa was glad for the cover her friend had offered. Although she thought Lace harmless, kindly in fact, a friend, and quite the opposite of threatening, there was an inescapable vulnerability each and every time she fixed her thoughts to transform. His touch had been gentle, reassuring, and the one-winged mare’s long black-tipped ears turned quickly when the sound of his response caressed them. She could not help but smile broadly. Their Lord and patron was far more generous than deserved, but He was far wiser than they and she trusted His plan without question. “Cera, thank you,” she hummed serenely as eyes still paler than the golden sand by their hooves fell across the marvellous face of their guest.

Cera stepped back quietly after speaking, and the easily distracted mare turned to find his movement. For many reasons she missed life in the shadows, allowing those stronger and more adept to wield the power she had so undeservedly been given. Africa appreciated the opportunity gifted to her nonetheless, respected the faith their Lord apparently had in her, and she pushed valiantly through her many reservations for better of the herd. Perhaps this path which had fallen by her feet so unexpectedly was the reason Silas had found her- by the grace of his heart beside her, the one-winged mare felt confident, resilient, and more determined than ever before.

“What an honour,” she continued after a lengthy, thoughtful pause, quite delighted that Lace and Fajira shared with Dragon’s Throat an affiliation with the God of the Sun. “...let’s not roast here by the bridge then. Come, you can freshen yourselves by the lake.” She turned and offered affectionately her nose to Cera, before lifting away her lonely wing to gesture to the couple to follow. Silas, who quite preferred the company of the scaled folk than any other bonded type, croaked amiably, celebrating the rare taste of humble cheer as it blossomed through the mind of the mare.

Whatever hesitation clinging to Lace’s webbed features dissipated into one of gratitude, and Cera gave a soft laugh and a smile in return. "You are very welcome. It will be a joy to craft beside you, brother," he declared, eyes glittering with silent invitation into the fold of Cera’s family, both intimate and herd-wide. A title given freely but sincerely, an effort to show Lace that Cera saw him as more than a way to follow the silent orders of the God of the Sun. Only flickering in his undivided attention when Fajira landed, interest flickering briefly before Lace began to speak once more, introducing her; she was truly magnificent, and Ilaria’s interest was nearly as strong as his own, reminding him that he had his own introductions to make. Gesturing over his shoulder towards the intrigued bear-creature, Ilaria gave a chitter of greeting. “This is Ilaria, my companion.” But there was to be no other conversation on that topic, for the rustle of wings and the approach of his Sultana was definitely more concerning.

They know each other? Ilaria cooed in his mind, only garnering a similarly dumbstruck shrug from her princeling. He wasn’t fully involved in his Sultana’s life, and would not pry, for privacy was dear to him having been raised as Midas’ son and constantly thrown by proxy under the spotlight alongside the painted general. But even so, protective instinct was not to be denied, and though he retreated to allow her to be seen as he realized they knew one another, he was reluctant to part from Africa’s side. Call it what you will, but he considered her a dear friend, and Lace was still a new face. Yet her broad smile was answer enough that he had not insulted her with his protectiveness, and his own boyish grin emerged at the sight. "No thanks needed," he assured softly, wings shuffling with contentment as he saw her strength return, slipping away to a respectful stance beside her instead of between the two, reassured once more.

Uncomfortable suddenly, he slipped into silence and watched as they conversed, feeling like an outsider in his own home. How little did he know of that home? Shame budded in his chest, for though it was no fault of his own, he barely knew any of the kin he’d die for. He felt young and clumsy in the presence of his elegant Sultana and the gentlemanly, well-worded Lace. Felt as if they would soon turn to him and shy him away as Midas often had when he was a foal, claiming it was ‘a subject for adults’. But he had enough of standing in his father’s shadow. Midas had left them, why was it his shadow still lingered over Cera’s form?

Not one to ignore the beckoning of his Sultana, no matter how consumed in thought he may be, the youth turned and let gratitude shine in his eyes as he reached to amiably bump his nose against the proffered one. In silence he shortened his stride to match that of Africa as they traveled, only recovering his surety when he realized Lace truly had no idea what they would be crafting, and though he was no Forger they simply didn’t have one at the time. That left Cera the only soul with a crafting ability to direct the grullo.

Turning to look over his shoulder with a smile, he beckoned the grullo forward with a motion of one wing. "We’re planning a well and an extensive irrigation system, so that trips like this are not required, and the extended TallSun of seasons past can be avoided since we lack abundant water as it is. I would highly appreciate your help in both areas, Lace," kind green eyes proved the sincerity of the informative statement, for though Cera had been prepared to shoulder the task in solitude, having even a single crafter- magically aided or not- would do wonders in lifting the burden’s weight.