Ilaria is first to notice Gaucho, as tired and distracted as Cera was. He was safe in the Throat, so his guards were farther down than normal. The panda glanced up as the familiar scent touched her little nose, and warm brown eyes sought out Gaucho's. Only, they were blank and staring into the distance, and she furrowed her little brow. Clarity only came as she recalled Cera's memory of when Gaucho had informed him of his oncoming quest requirements. Blindness. Instead she sought out Mara's serpentine gaze, her fondness for the snake odd considering their difference in species, but Cera's emotions and her own were intertwined so tightly they were nearly inseparable. Incapable of being determine whose belong to whom at times. Giving an odd mewing sound, a pitiful cry of help for her Prince, she scurried backwards to make way for the approaching Sultan.

Cera jolted weakly at the sudden commotion, limbs jerking uselessly as he attempted to lift his head and capture Gaucho's visage in his suddenly swimming vision. His name called him to attention, and he managed to shove one of his shoulders harder against the earth to prop himself up into a more presentable position. His head swam in protest, but at least he no longer looked laid out dead upon the sands. "Gaucho," he croaked, feeling shame creep upon him for appearing so pitiful. Only, Ilaria quickly amended that particular statement. Gaucho is blind, Cera. His heart jumped to his throat at the reminder.

His king dipped to kneel beside him, and though the shame was still strong in his little breast Cera couldn't deny that as one warm wing cast itself over him, he felt a sense of peace and safety fall over him like a cloak. Light danced on his golden skin, a phantom of the pyre that stood beside them, casting warmth upon their tired forms. It seemed Cera was not the only one running on fumes. Tentatively he brushed his nose towards Gaucho's, trying to give him a frame of reference aside from Mara's eyes. The worried set to his name called him to mind, away from his dazed state.

"I'm fine, Gaucho. Just...been working too much, I suppose. I was going to bring this to you...I'm so sorry, Gaucho," he fell to a whisper, the shame returning tenfold. He had failed him, and not only had he managed to stop working, he was laid out beneath his mentor in proof of his failure. Still, he weakly moved towards the heavy weight of the wing upon him, his own rucking up against the feathers dark and warm upon the ivory of his own. Seeking out the familiar touch, the comfort of his Sultan cast in the glow of the Shrine. He seemed just as tired, just as world weary and cast down as Cera felt.

His concern for Gaucho trumped all feelings of his own, exhaustion and self-concern included. "Are you well, Gaucho? You seem as tired as I feel," he murmured, concern like a beacon that granted him temporary strength. "Is there anything I can do?" Truly not the best time to be suggesting himself, but Cera's desire to help Gaucho was nigh instinctive.

Even in blind eyes, Cera could tell there was no disappointment in his mentor's gaze, no disapproval lingering in the forefront of his mind. Were he of a more emotional type, he likely would have sobbed then and there, though it would have been a rather hysterical sort. No, instead he just felt relief flow through him like an eddy, revitalizing and hopeful. It turned into a whirlpool, a rush of pride that made his head dizzy with the speed of it as Gaucho spoke, gazing upon Cera's creation. His heart beat like war drums, like hooves racing towards battle, like the manic rush of a stampede. He'd made Gaucho proud. He had finally achieved something, even though it had required days of sleepless work and nasty looks from Ranjiri. It was euphoric, like reaching the highest level of heaven. Gaucho's perception of him drove him to do more, be better, and even if it drove him into an early grave he'd never feel regretful.

Warmth spread across his shoulder where Gaucho touched him, and he felt like a livewire, sparking beneath the connection. The smile that spread against his skin was worth more to him than all of Helovia, any title or crown that could be placed upon his head. Gaucho's smile was like currency, like gold and silver and diamonds by the pound. Precious, treasured. Gaucho never forgot him, never left him by the wayside. At times, Cera wished blood was not so permanent. He wished he could garner the same feelings as Gaucho's son, but he had settled and accepted the reality of their situation. Instead, he strove for perfection. Flawlessness. A sheer surface. Until he was like tempered metal, strong and useful. Until he could be Gaucho's shield, carried into battle, protecting the man who had taken up the pedestal of a father and mentor to the prince of the sands.

Still he smiled, even as Gaucho rejected his offer. It was understanding, but loving in a way that Cera could not accurately put into a box. There were no labels for how he loved Gaucho, no boundaries that could not be exceeded. "Yes, it is your quest. But I am here, no matter what you need of me. You do not have to do it alone." Cera would never leave Gaucho to fight a battle alone, be it physical or metaphorical. He was sword and shield to his Sultan, weapons to be utilized. No beast was too strong or weary too heavy for Cera to fight when it came to the Wildfire. They could be alone together, facing the world like ivory statues, pillars for their family. Understanding of each other's ways and plights.

"After Bucephalus was promoted, I might need some help. But I can't promise I won't still do it all myself," he admitted with a sheepish laugh. Mara's hiss drew his attention and he lowered his muzzle to her, breathing warm cloven breath upon her scaled form to assure her he was okay, and certainly appreciated her concern. She was nearly as bad as Ilaria was, he thought to himself with amusement. Then again, they were bonded to two souls who were determined to work themselves into the afterlife, he couldn't blame her worry.

@[Gaucho]

Fate had the oddest mechanisms, ways of working that Cera would never understand. He had been left to fend for himself as a weanling, only to be found and raised by the hero of the land he'd once been but a ghost on. Raised with a crown he'd never felt he deserved, only to rarely see the soul who had taken him under wing and given him life and purpose once more. Then he had been abandoned, one after another, until all he'd had left was the desert sand beneath his hooves. He'd been left with nothing, been living with barely anything. A bleeding heart on a tattered sleeve, no guide and nobody to give guidance. Gaucho had been a distant memory, and once upon a time he too had abandoned Cera. But in the end, what was important was that Gaucho had come back. So while Gaucho questioned whether a time would ever come when he would ask Cera to give it all, to give past his limits, for Cera there was never any qualms with his answer. Yes. It had always been and always would be a singular, inexplicable, yes. Gaucho had not left Cera alone to drown in his sorrow, his weakness, and so Cera would give and give and give until his body gave way and he was of no more use.

It had never crossed his mind that he might be allowed to take, sometimes.

A slow smile creased the cherub's lips. "Yes. Always." As if Cera thought it were somehow impossible to not tell Gaucho that, to not make it obvious that he had Cera wholly, completely. As if he somehow needed to always remind him, make it obvious. The topic died peacefully, put to rest by the strength of their bonds. Cera did not like to think upon Gaucho's blindness, it made a surge of desperate protectiveness swell like a tidal wave in his breast, instinctive. Not that he didn't believe Gaucho could handle himself even incapacitated, but Cera's love had no bounds, no logical capacities. Still, he did not notice for a moment that Gaucho was staring down at him with those exact sightless eyes, but Cera calmly turned to meet his gaze, hoping he would find whatever he sought reflected in the Prince's eyes.

Whatever it was he found, it was not mentioned, though Cera sent an inquisitive look at Gaucho (hoping Mara would capture the expression with her eyes). He was still ever reliant upon the language he and Gaucho shared, one of the body rather than the tongue. His blindness was not something Cera could grow accustomed to yet, so used to expressing himself physically to Gaucho.

A soft, humble laugh escaped the young forger. Happiness washed into his very pores at Gaucho's simple praise, and he seemed to glow, like a broken star leaking brightness onto his frame. "Thank you, Gaucho. I want to do...everything. Ilaria heals, I forge metal...I used to be Diviner, too. I want to fulfill whatever you ask me," he admitted easily, eyes turning to Gaucho as if they'd never left. "Midas..." and it hurt to say his father's name, to have the endearment ripped away by his own will, but he had to power on. "Midas did not approve of me learning to fight. I was too eager to help, when he went to war. Perhaps you can teach me? So I may be better, for the Throat, for our kin?" Cera would rather die a horrible death at the hands of his people than fail them when he could march into battle and be an effective fighter.

@[Gaucho]