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.