The weak dawn light glimmers on the robust lines of the mammoth stallion's body, emphasising each hardened contour and bulking muscle. His stride is a flowing trot, his foot-feathers rippling with the steady movement of his hooves and his tail blowing like a war banner in the gentle wind. There is one dragon riding upon the thick weight of his hindquarters; a red, his claws rooted hard into the tight flesh to anchor himself against the rapid rises and falls of his bonded's movement. The gold is hunting between the trees, her presence serenaded by the terrified howls of fleeing prey.

The leviathan has his first mission, so to speak. These are precisely the sort of assignments he had expected when he joined a herd, and initially the thought of it had given him pause; what is the point, he'd wondered? What can possibly be gained by marching through lands that he'd covered hundreds of times before during his outcast days? Is it not a waste of time, valuable time that could be spent honing his skills on the battlefield or bolstering the herd's ranks in the Threshold?

But after some thought, Volterra's initial resistance had dulled. As Gladiator, this is part of his duty. There could be valuable resources in the Blood Falls that the Throat could use, such as weapons for its warriors or herbs for its healers. It will not take up too much of his time, and he probably needs a small break from sparring anyway whilst his wounds from his previous spate of battles start to heal. It will also prove a valuable opportunity to meet some of his herdmembers and endear himself to them with his activity and willingness to do whatever it takes to aid the Throat.

So, with a loud snort, the stallion slows to a walk. This place has fond memories for him; it was here that he had engaged in his first battle against one of the Rift Gods, earning his first scars and his first taste of war. It was also here that he had bedded his first woman, an event that had admittedly launched him onto a path of borderline sex addiction but which had, at the time, been an immense relief. The crimson waterfall and red-hued leaves are sufficiently pleasing upon his discerning eye, and he spent much of his time here when he was an outcast. Flaring his nostrils, he can still detect the distinct reek of his claim upon this land when he'd been younger, and he eyes the tree he'd marked with a small, fond smile.

Vérzés adjusts his leathery wings as he rearranges himself on Volterra's back. His multi-horned head peeks around, alert, for signs of his bonded's patrolling-partners, whilst his tail dangles lazily over the stallion's haunches. "Will Hobgoblin-friend be here?" he questions hopefully, a blossom of frost appearing out of his nostrils as he thinks of Sikeax and her rougarou companion. Volterra shakes his massive head, an amused smile flitting across his jaws at his dragon's interest in their new queen. I doubt it. I am sure Sikeax will have assigned me to patrol with people I do not know, in order to form new relationships.

Slightly crestfallen, the red gives a small sad sigh before resuming his scanning of the area. Volterra does the same, hunting for any sign of the Throatians he has been asked to patrol with.