Cherub never had to worry about his father not listening to him. Midas was always patient, always willing to tune an ear to his words. Conversation was always easy, and Cera cherished their relationship more than anything else. He never had to worry that Midas wouldn’t pay attention to him. If Cera ever said that he just wanted one day with him, he doubted Midas wouldn’t try his hardest to make it happen. There were days Cera was exasperated with him for always leaving him alone to do General duties, but once he noticed his thoughts he would feel like the worst son ever and admonish himself heavily. He was never really punished, for he did it himself rather well. There were still a few lingering fears of Midas hating him or finding him a burden, but they were only formed through the incident with d’Artagnan and only lingered because of it. Appearing only at his lowest points, which he was grateful for. He felt as if he’d aged, that maybe he wasn’t such a child anymore, and couldn’t decide whether or not he liked it.

Midas’ smile was rather strange, Cera didn’t know that he knew Note. Then again, Cera had mentioned him once when he’d gotten Ilaria, but only really in passing. Wasn’t Note a Soldier? Well then that would make sense, his father was the General after all. That was a concept he still really didn’t understand or fully appreciate, perhaps a good thing. It would likely make him uncomfortable in the future. Eyes didn’t look towards painted stallion, and missed the fall of his expression as he continued on. He most likely would have mistaken it anyways, as Midas had thought. Talking became easier the farther on he went, as if it simply open up past cracked doors and flooded out.

For a moment emeralds brightened at the sight of the tree- their tree. It was home. It was comfort, security, love, and memories. It was him and Midas, and only them. It looked so very different, budding and beautiful considering he’d been taken under Midas’ wing shortly before Frostfall. Was it? Cera could hardly remember, everything seemed centered around Midas. He could hardly remember what life was like before, and when he did it was mostly just raw emotion that flickered away quickly. At first, yanked out of thoughts by Midas’ voice, he thought he was the one being spoken to and felt momentarily wounded. Hiding it quickly, fearing Midas had seen it once he realized it was Fina he had spoken to. Cera didn’t understand why he spoke aloud in front of Cera. To the colt, speaking aloud with Ilaria was a very private and intimate thing, though he suspected it was because she was all he really had to keep him afloat. She helped him so much, and helping her learn was a past-time he wanted to be only between them. Seeing Midas speak aloud to her he realized he was probably the strange one and not Midas. It was almost habitual to sink down to the cooler sand beneath their tree, cuddling close to his father. Ilaria nearly slid down his shoulder, too tired and lazy to actually hop down. Waddling to hide beneath Cera’s right wing, pressed behind his right elbow. Her darker colors made her experience the heat in a way her normal breed would have withered under, and Cera understood her need for the cooler sand and shade of his wings.

Shame turned young face, knowing it was a foolish fear long before Midas spoke. Staring down at bent knees sadly, though he never rejected the words Midas gifted him with. There wasn’t much said but Cera sighed and nodded, knowing he had to get over such an irrational fear. Crown lifting and turning, hope blossoming on his visage. Another crafter? In the Throat? ”Really?” Voice soft and eager, already filing the name away to track down later. He wanted to help, to be of use to the herd. Contented, Cera leaned to the left so that he could lay the length of his neck over Midas’ shoulder. Inhaling deeply, completely comfortable. He felt safe, loved. Slowly he was healing, and he fought tooth and nail for it every day. Knowing that Note was out of line made Cera’s brow furrow, thinking he had gotten Note in trouble for doing the one thing he never doubted himself on, which was telling his father everything that possibly bothered him. Wisdom came easily, and Cera opened both his heart and his ears to take in what he had to give. Even so he couldn’t help but giggle slightly, as if the thought was preposterous when he asked that Cera love his friends like he loved Hototo. ”I can’t, Daddy. Hototo’s like…a brother. I love him, I don’t want to love others like him, he’s special,” persistent in this, knowing he couldn’t possibly love say, Wanyecha or Mystique in the way he loved Hototo. It was just…wrong. Different.

Tremble of voice had eyes snapping back, concerned. It was a weakness they shared between the two of them, and they would have to do it together. Midas seemed to have the same idea. Reaching out, Cera nudged his muzzle against the line where Midas’ cheek began. Breathing out softly, brushing him with equal tenderness. No words were needed, simply motion to show he understood and was grateful. That he agreed. They would do it together, when the time came.

”Daddy, I want to fight with you.” And there it was, out of the blue. Cera knew Midas would object, and schooled his face into the best mask of maturity that he could. He wouldn’t allow himself to look young and small, though he probably did anyways. It wasn’t something he could control, really. Growing he may be, but he wasn’t bulking up, and poutily assumed he never would.