Winter thaws slowly, with a stray intent that is both admirable and exasperating. The cold that chills his bones and makes his scars ache is not welcome, and he does not venture away from the Throat more than he does when winter descends upon it. It's too cold and empty without Ranjiri or Ryuu. Midas' and Gaucho's ghosts seem to haunt him ever more in the silence of the cold empty sands. 

Rightfully he could warm himself at the Diviner's fire. It's familiar to him, with how he tended it daily when Maren's title had once been his. But he knew as well that with that fire came introspection that he could not afford. Cera had not fallen apart after Gaucho's death, and he refused to. Gaucho deserved better, would not have wanted Cera's fortitude to crumble as it had so many times in the past. So he did not bother lingering on the thoughts that whispered and cajoled in the back of his mind. Dark, depressing ideals that he refused to entertain. Cera had lived his life in solitude long enough. He would not let it continue to bring him down. 

The heat of the Heart was all he sought. He could not bear to go any further from home, but his scars and limbs ached with an age he didn't possess. Warmth washed it away, until he relaxed quietly back into his bones and his skin. No longer filled with such discomfort. Even the despair of loss seemed lessened by the emanating heat. 

Cera wandered the edge of the Heart, unafraid of any stumble. His wings and the updraft of air would sustain him from any fall, and Ilaria was not there to complain about his recklessness. So he struck lightly against the rim of fire, magic probing restlessly at the deposits of metal that lay thick and beautiful within his reach. It felt like a fated day. 

Late because of holidays but HERE YOU GO PUMPKIN

Long, soft ears twitched to herald the arrival of another. Cherubic face tilted towards the skies and the disturbance of the air beneath the weighted wings of a pegasus, blinking against the strike of the sun across his vision. It halos across his retinas as Mathéo comes into view, painting the youth in colors of gold and white that slowly disappear with each owlish blink. Peculiarly spoken greeting does nothing to dissuade the friendly forger, who smiles warmly in greeting as the colt descends, golden toes like music on the dark rock. Cera twisted his limber body against the contrasting ache of his chest scar to greet Mathéo properly instead of showing his hindquarters awkwardly. 

"Hello! Mathéo, yes? I don't mind at all, I'd love the company." The sun child tilted his head inquisitively towards the boy as he hopes to guess his name correctly, recalling the ashen child's stance at his mother's side the day Sikeax lost her throne. Cera smiles apologetically in case he is incorrect and sweeps a wing  back towards his flank in a subtle invitation to come closer and engage in conversation. "I'm afraid my companion is far better at names than I am," he laughs, unafraid to poke fun at his own flaws. It was true the red panda had a far better catalog of those they'd met than the Prince. Perhaps he relied on her too heavily when it came to socialization, he thought to himself with a snicker. 

Assuming that Mathéo desires to walk, or that he had come there for a reason aside from the chance meeting occurring above the fires, Cera swivels on his hooves and continues his route along the thin edge of the Heart. Even so he cannot help how his eyes drag to the child's wings, alight in sunlight that could not be present in such a manner physically. Afraid that he was staring, he cleared his throat in soft apology. "I'm sorry for staring, it's just...may I ask who your father was? You're Aithniel's son, right? Your magic...it reminds me of Gaucho. It's very beautiful," he admits, awe in his vocals as he gives himself permission to let his gaze linger over the beautiful boy's growing frame washed in sunlight. Then he promptly realizes what he said and jerks his head away, scowling at himself. Do colts prefer to be called handsome, these days? And what is he thinking "these days" he's not that old! 

Cera can almost hear Ilaria's mocking laughter in his head from miles away. 

"Maybe I'm not the best company," he laughs instead, feeling the weight of his own excessive words like a weight across his poll. Maybe he'd been alone for too long. 

Stubbornly using the alt codes for Mathéo's name because I can't pronounce it right in my head otherwise guhhh