The meeting is called, but Cera lingers at the edges of the trailing bodies. His eyes are dull, even as his stance is rigid and militant. There is nothing left to give, here. There is nothing left at all. He remains with Bella at his side, Sikeax heading the meeting with grace and surety that Cera was sure she did not feel privately. But as the others explode, Cera's eyes slip shut, and he strides quietly to the front of the pack, turning to face the herd but standing before Sikeax. A bodily shield. Quiet, deadened. He stares out at them, piercing Ampere and Megaera with his lackluster gaze. Both his friends, both dear to his heart, and yet he cannot summon any singular emotion to respond to them with. 

"Neither is right," he says monotone at Ampere. "Imprisoning or attacking them immediately is not the right course of action if we do not know why they exist or what their plans are. But you should know out of anyone Ampere that the wilds cannot hold a band that size for long. Either they will join a herdland or forcefully take it. Which is more likely according to Helovian history? But we need more information before anything should be done, that is undeniable." This is directed at the both of them, Sultana and Blue both. Then his eyes drift to Megaera, feeling so dead and hollowed inside that he can barely stand to defend Sikeax, much less against his two closest friends. But someone must, even if he barely has the energy to attend this train wreck of a meeting. 

"What did you know of diplomacy before your ascension, Megaera? Do you doubt the God of the Sun's judgment of Sikeax just because she is a healer? A healer who has been here longer than you, a healer who has saved countless Throat citizens?" He grits his teeth, frustration the only emotion he can even feel as his blood runs hot. It seemed he and Megaera were more often at odds lately, both when Rasta had appeared on their borders and now here as well. But whatever bitterness she was feeling over her decrowning was not acceptable as an excuse for Cera. Why were they fighting already? Was Gaucho's death not enough for them? 

"If you have issue with Volterra then challenge him. You have fielded similar actions against yourself. Prove for yourself, more than anyone else's word, that he is fit for the title." And then he lifted his wings and finally lifted his voice, furious with their betrayal, their disgusting lack of respect for Gaucho's death. That they gathered here beneath the Throat banner and yet tore each other apart like a hyena upon a hen was disgraceful to him. 

"Gaucho is DEAD. Moving forward is all we have left, and change is inevitable. At least try and be civil instead of spitting on his memory, because HE was the one who made this herd a family. Yet we are here, tearing each other apart like vultures." He spat, fire finally returning to his eyes only to remind him of his own anger. Wings snapped shut and he glared restlessly down at those gathered. 

"If you require my abilities as a Forger, seek me out. I will call you to a meeting if you've the title of my rank. Until then I expect we all will need time to grieve." And at last he turns to Sikeax, standing alone and unsupported at the head of them all. So small, with no other ruler at her side. He does not envy her, not for this. Not when she is already dealing with the misplaced guilt of not saving Gaucho, the birth of their daughter, and her sudden, unexpected ascension. 

"You acknowledge your lack of experience with humility and kindness, Sultana. That you ask for the experience of those who came before you is respectable, and yet they spit in your face. God of the Sun save us all, that your patience extends to these matters as well." And then he spins and stalks off, away from the meeting without a single regret at turning his back on the squabbling vipers behind him. He does not have the energy for this, for them. And he will not ruin himself trying to ease their jagged edges. Their internal hurt leads to external, and he cannot withstand any more wounds upon his person. 

"May Gaucho rest unaware of the fracture in his family," he spat hatefully, disappearing towards the fires to craft his despair away in silent grief.