The mist curls and cajoles at his ankles, a serpentine reminder of cold smiles and glittering violet skin. There is little warmth here, between the trees. Towering above him, keeping him grounded, impossible to maneuver within. He can see the beauty that attracts so many to the misted lands, the glittering remains of glass and the way the fog sparkles when the sun streams through the evergreens. But he longs for the heat of the desert, the familiarity of sand and surf and clay. Still, he is endlessly proud of being the one to help orchestrate and carry out this venture. This string that ties two herds together, stretching miles and thrumming with activity. That he is here alone, entrusted with this, settles a stone at the bottom of his heart that has always spoken of uselessness and worthlessness. 

The King is a towering giant, a frame of power and might. He dwarfs Cera, who is lean of body and far too feminine for his own wavering, fanboy heart. Tembovu is regal where Cera still cannot seem to claim adulthood for his own, put together where Cera stands in solitude, quietly deteriorating beneath the weight of loneliness. But he is the Golden Prince for a reason, and his heart holds no jealousy or envy. He glows beneath the trust the King puts in him, the willingness to aid and accompany. He sees the best in those around him, and he knows the blackness of demons too well to ever spare an individual empathy. It will be his downfall, but he does not mind that. 

"Thank you," he says sincerely, a smile pulling at pale lips. His emeralds fall upon the area pointed out to him, ambling forward on long, thin limbs to peruse the area before them. Tentatively he lets his magic probe the earth, delighted at the rich soil and thick deposits of metal that lay beneath. The desert is not always the best environment for certain types of metal, and he'd suspected there would be more than enough material for his needs when he'd arrived in the Edge. Cera barely hears Tembovu's quiet rumbling voice tickling at his ears, too busy pulling the metal to the surface where it gleams dully, awaiting his shaping. Verdant orbs turn to gaze up at the gentle - or as he has shown himself to be so far - giant, regards him quietly for a few moments. 

"I wouldn't mind the company, if you've no other tasks to see to," Cera smiled, fully aware of the duties a leader always had to fulfill. Idly pushing the metal into three groups, he ducked his head to allow Tembovu the privacy to react and answer his request as he desired, without feeling pressured to remain for the sake of sparing the feelings of an ambassador of another herd. He had worked alone before, it would be no hardship to do so again. As he began to twist and meld the metal into the two initial spires on each end of the gate, Cera flicked his eyes beneath pale lashes towards the hulking form at his side. 

"Tembovu? If I may call you that," Cera spoke simply, meaning no insult for improper use of titles. "May I ask you a question?" Vibrant spectacles blinked at the Elephant King for only a moment more, before turning back to the task at hand, watching the metal shape and smooth itself out into elegant, sturdy spirals. He may need Tembovu's help inserting parts of the metal further into the ground, after all.