The awkward atmosphere surrounding the growing cherub and his father was unmistakable and impossible to miss or ignore. Even so Cera was determined to say nothing, stuck once more in his mind. Even without emerging from his thoughts he somehow managed to follow Midas closely almost without thought. Locked inside himself, only broken by the occasional show of images and feelings that formed the conversation between the painted colt and Ilaria. Jerked out of it by his father’s voice, Cera flicked peridot eyes to the stallion he was slowly but surely shooting past in height. Hum vibrated in his throat as he thought. Did he really want to talk about it? But it always seemed to help when he talked to his patient father, and he was positive that if he managed to get past his insecurity and fear, it would help him once again. Cera told Ilaria to sleep through their bond, knowing that she was tired and was only staying awake in case he needed her. It was endearing but he cared for her, and wouldn’t have her exhausted. Chittering softly in disgruntlement, she curled up over his shoulders and let her tail droop over his left one. Brief smile stretched his lips, loving and honest for once since he had been attacked. Smiling seemed so hard lately, but he was valiantly fighting against the depression always swallowing up the ground below him a step away. ”I…I went to see Note again, a while ago…” Speaking softly and with more care than normal. He wanted to make sure this came out right. ”He told me a story about a colt that was taken in by a very bad father…and that he was raised to kill. That the colt killed his father, who gave him a scar on his side for it…” horror and sickness spreading on his face. Cera was still very conflicted about his ideas on fighting; knowing he desired to be a warrior, but also knowing that the love of crafting and building within him could not and would not be quenched. Yet, after the story Note had told him and his own experience with the demon of the forest, he was fiercely determined to fight for those who could not fight for themselves. ”It ended up being Note’s past…but Daddy…th-the thought of it…” Again he felt ill, and he knew the tension between them was because of what he was thinking about. The idea of him fighting Midas was inconceivable, yet Note had done it. Had he been older?

Sighing he flicked his tail uncomfortably and shuffled his wings, feeling the familiar ache along his shoulders from flight lessons. He needed to stop fighting the air for control, but it was hard when he couldn’t relax enough. Cera was nevertheless determined to become one with the sky, and relaxation was in the process. ”And…now, anyone with horns…” Thin body shivered, hardly the physique of one nearly into a year of life. It no longer bothered him, and Hototo was not someone he compared himself to either. In fact the other colt was helping him mentally, whether he was there or not. ”What if…what if I can’t be friends with them again?” Whispering unsurely, thinking of Mystique. Hototo’s ram horns didn’t frighten him, though he had a feeling that even if the colt had a horn like Mystique’s he wouldn’t have been afraid. Hototo meant the world to him, and the idea of fearing him was both laughable and horrifying. ”Bazilisk is gone…I want to craft again, Daddy. I loved it…” Unwittingly allowing nostalgia and longing fall into his tone. It was like removing a fish from the ocean and placing it in a shallow puddle. It would long for the life it had briefly experienced, always remembering the beauty of that life. ”Hototo…I want to see him again. I love him!” Visage momentarily brightening at that, smiling. Hototo didn’t know it, or maybe he did, but Cera practically worshiped him. Face crumpled again. ”But the woods where he lives…how can I ever go back?” Pain seeping into his words, clearly agonized by the idea of not being able to see the colt he considered a twin brother. He didn’t dare speak of the battle, but it was very obvious he was thinking about it. Unwilling to speak for he knew Midas would immediately object.