The warmth suffused across the beautiful girl's tone and expression is enough to melt the rigidity in Cera's posture, tension bleeding away. Her dragon's growling is only spared a kindly smile, far too used to protective and pissed off companions from his homeland to feel offended or intimidated. He knew the intimacy and devotion of a bond, and would not judge the little reptile for taking its protective duties so seriously.
"A pleasure, miss Phoebe," he responds warmly, wishing he knew the extent of the physicality of this world. "He is well in his rights to be suspicious, I don't mind." His own companion in the past had been just as bad, though infinitely sneakier about her dislike of others. She'd always been particularly catty around anyone he had a fancy for, or who fancied him in return.
Cera honestly didn't expect to immediately find the woman he needed so swiftly, so he's taken off guard when she immediately invites him inside, assuring him she's the one he seeks. "O-Oh! Yes, that would be great," he laughs somewhat awkwardly, following her lead and crossing the threshold. Having spent so long in the wilderness, his skin itches to be closed off from the sky, and his spine aches with a longing he can't explain to others. A desire to fly once more. But he focuses on Phoebe and her companion, keeping his small smile firmly affixed to avoid such dour thoughts.
"I have experience with a few different fields and utilities of healing, though nothing so important as midwifery," the golden boy responds with a shy grin, teasingly complimenting her. "I was more of a field medic, trained in delaying the most severe of injuries and patching the minor when the majorly wounded were tended to. However, in my travels I've also become well-versed in herbalism, and find great joy in experimenting with local varieties to make poultices and such." It's all said quite humbly; he'd never requested his work be held aloft in some grand gesture of appreciation. Cera had only ever cared - from the very beginning, as the adopted son of a General whose return was never guaranteed - that his people returned home from the war.
"Tea would be lovely, thank you miss Phoebe," he murmurs, mulling over her previous words as she mills about. "You mentioned a medical college?" Perhaps that's where he would end up, as surely women would not want him midwifing no matter how loose his gender. It almost prompted a laugh out of him at the image, but he quickly smothered it for the sake of propriety.
