He comes to the north in a futile attempt to keep cool. The Tallsun heat scorches him like wildfire, rendering him irritable and ill-tempered, and his only hope at sanity is to come to the Steppe and try to bask in what little remains of the snow. Short of having Vérzés breathe on him, it's the only way he can think of to chill his burning flesh.

That's why the early evening finds the monolithic stallion on his back in the Steppe, rolling frantically across the last vestiges of snow until it clogs in his mane and creates damp patches across his neck. Guttural, euphoric groans erupt from his jaws at the frozen caress of his flesh, rubbing his aching muscles and soothing skin that is burnt from the sun. His dragons sit a short distance away, looking at their bonded with expressions of complete puzzlement on their scaled faces. They don't suffer from the heat like he does - in fact, they delight in the additional thermals that this season provides, allowing them to glide along with the minimum amount of work - and find Volterra's rolling rather perturbing.

The Indomitable cares not a jot, though, resting contentedly on his back with his feathered forelegs folded against his mammoth chest and his back ones splayed at odd angles behind him. It's not a position that the warlord would normally adopt, exposed as it is, but he is willing to do anything to keep cool - besides, the dragons will give him ample warning of any impending attacks.