Her confused expression quickly makes him realise that perhaps his elaborate metaphor was not the best one to use on somebody as literal as Isopia. After speaking, he bends down to take an idle nibble of a strange-looking plant that grows between the hard rocks of the Isles, but no sooner has he used his dextrous lips to pluck a few strands into his mouth, he's almost choking on it as she speaks. I don't see how hunger is like having sex. The long grass pokes him in his throat and he coughs and splutters until his eyes water, green foam beading around his jaws. Heavens, she doesn't mince her words, does she?! With her, perhaps it's better for him to say it how it is, rather than dance around the point.

Once his impromptu choking fit has somewhat subsided, the stallion can blink away the moisture in his eyes and force words into his mouth. "You really say it how it is, don't you?" There's a hint of a grin on his jaws and the smallest of twinkles in his eyes as he speaks, finding a certain admiration in her bluntness. Straight to the point, no time wasted; it makes sense. "It was my feeble attempt at a metaphor. When I say hunger, I don't mean for food. The sensation we men feel, the drive...the only way I could think of to describe it was hunger. Starvation. If you don't get that sustenance, you feel like you'll go insane." For one of Volterra's explosive temper, being in a constant state of frustration does not bode well for those around him.

She goes on to speak of the biological reasons around women being particularly choosy, and he finds himself nodding. The sheer amount of resources a mare has to put in to nurturing a foal, giving birth to it, then protecting it...little wonder she chooses only the best to sire her offspring. What use is going through all of that pain and effort, only to spawn a sickly child who does not survive to pass on her genes? It's why harems are the way to go - one stallion caring for many mares and their foals. Their gazes meet for a moment and, as ever, Volterra feels a frisson of heat in the pit of his stomach, different (and, yet, somehow similar) to the sensation he gets around other women. More intense. More refined. He wonders if Isopia sometimes looks at men and thinks them a fine example to father her children. After all, with her emphasis on balance, she surely wouldn't want to create a useless offspring.

He wonders if he would be one that she would choose. He wonders if she would choose someone else. The thought fills him with a different kind of heat - jealousy.

"Yes, from a biological standpoint, it makes sense. From a stallion's standpoint, though, it's torture." He snorts, flaring his scarred nostrils. All those hormones, and only the select few get to use them. He pictures a small, weedy, cowardly stallion - imagine being him, all that lust, but no mare would ever deign to mate with him. Poor bastard. At least the beast, with his size and the way he proudly carries himself, will be able to lure some mares to him, enough to keep him satisfied. "As I say, though, you and Hubris may have different enough desires to not go through what Vérzés and I currently are. I don't know...do women have the same lusts as men?" He says it casually, but is deeply intrigued by the answer. Asking so bluntly, shoehorning it into this conversation, seems like the only chance he will ever get to find out. After all, what are the chances of them ever discussing this again? By 'women', he really means 'you'. Mirabella proved that mares have the same curiosities as men, even if it perhaps isn't as intense. He wants to know about Isopia specifically; the earthen giant, daughter of God, bringer of balance. Part of him is concerned the answer will be no - she is asexual, dead inside, never curious, never wanting. But there's that hope, that glowing, burning prayer, that she will say yes.

Because at least that's a chance for him. A faint one, but a chance.