The noise is resounding, a thunderclap against the silence of the forest. The colt's eyes snap open, ears unfurling as he becomes awake with admirable speed, his gaze riveting immediately downwards towards the egg at his feet. The egg that he has been carrying around like a babe in arms for the last couple of weeks, the egg that holds his future within its confines. The egg that holds his glory. He has remained mostly in the Deep Forest since he found it, thinking the dragon inside might appreciate being born in the same place where its mother laid it and died cradling it. But he has not been idle, no. The beastling remembers Nymeria's black egg hatching, remembers how those vicious little teeth had sank deep into the flesh of his nose, leaving the scar that still burns vividly against the black of his flesh. Hunger seems to be the first emotion a newborn dragon feels, and so Volterra has prepared. From child to seasoned killer; he has brought down quite the feast for his hatchling. Rabbits, rats, even a small bird, all caught and slaughtered by him. Taking life hadn't been as hard as he thought it would be, and whenever he felt guilt creep into his young brain he banished it with the notion that this was simply nature. Dragons were predators, and Volterra's bonded deserved the best, no matter the cost.

The moonlight flickers of the taut young muscles of his hefty frame as he shifts to look down at the dragon, heart pounding. This is it. The moment he has been waiting for since the day he was born, the image that has haunted his dreams. When he went to Nymeria's egg hatching, he pictured the same thing happening to him, imagined the day it was his dragon emerging from its egg to meld its mind with his. Tonight, at last, that dream has come true. Muscles quiver with nervous anticipation - what if the hatchling rejects him? What if he's not strong enough, and the red decides to fly off and become wild rather than bond with him? His tail arches anxiously, one white-clad and burn-scarred foreleg pawing at the ground, tongue twitching around his dry mouth as the egg rolls and cracks, a mosaic of lines fragmenting across the blood-red surface of it.

Cracckkkk! This one is even louder, and a piece of egg flies aside. From within, a powerful set of crimson jaws emerges, the miniscule horns atop it being used like attering rams to barge out of its confines. The deadly mouth gapes wide, a loud and ear-grating screech coming from deep within the hatchling's gullet - a clawed paw, then another, emerges as it punches its way out of the egg, which topples under its weight and spews its contents onto the ground. The dragon - his dragon - rolls out in a wet bundle, a pile of bloodsoaked rags glimmering ominously on the forest floor.

The beastling lowers his head eagerly, tentatively flaring his nostrils to sniff at the hatchling - carefully, so as not to encourage a bite. The dragon unfurls itself, petite wings flaring and firm young limbs extending to take its first steps, and give Volterra a look at it. It is magnificent. It - wait, not it, he, because red is one of the male dragon colours - has scales almost the exact same hue as Volterra's eyes, a deep and fierce crimson that glimmers in the moonlight and accentuates every jewelled scale. Pale horns roam along his forehead, with two much larger ones ejecting backwards and sweeping up from atop his brow, before the ridge continues all the way down his spine towards his long, serpentine tail, tipped with a fork. Not a flame, he thinks with slight disappointment, although it seems churlish to be fussy about the dragon's tail when the rest of him is so glorious. The red has four limbs, each ending in a dextrous, catlike paw with fierce talons meant for shredding meat, and the wings that protrude from his shoulders are large and obviously powerful. When he opens his jaws, Volterra sees dangerously curved and deadly sharp teeth, made for killing.

He is beautiful, and exudes predatory power even at this tender age. His long neck arches, lifting up towards Volterra's nose and snap! He aims a bite at the tasty muzzle hovering above him. Unlike with Lilomiel, this time the colt is prepared. He snatches his head away, and uses a hoof to kick a dead rabbit towards the hatchling. The dragon's eyes - which are a brighter, lighter red than the rest of him - glow with hungry delight as he grabs the rabbit and swallows it whole, the muscles of his gullet flexing as the meat disappears down it. Those haunting red eyes lift to Volterra's own, and suddenly the young monolith feels...a presence in his mind. It is undescribable, and finally he understands why Nymeria could only describe it as scary. It is scary, but good-scary. The colt closes his eyes, embraces the contact, the gift that the crimson hatchling is giving him.

They are one now. The dragon's mind is vast but young, inexperienced, new. It is undoubtedly masculine, and the all-consuming emotion is still hunger, mingled with curiosity as he explores Volterra's mind even as the colt explores his. They mingle, testing each other like new lovers, allowing their consciousnesses to touch and wander. Even after a few seconds, the youngster wonders how he ever managed without it. "You need a name," he tells the dragon aloud. The crimson beast peers up at him dispassionately, still focused on his belly as he drags another rabbit towards him and begins to burrow into it - he doesn't seem able to communicate in words, rather images and emotions. The colt looks him up and down, musing, knowing he needs a strong name. What does he think of when he sees the newborn dragon? Power, rage, war, blood. Those aren't names, though...unless...his mind ventures towards that queer, sharp language his mother teaches him and Nymeria so they may communicate in secret. He translates the words, running them off his tongue, until finally one feels right. "Vérzés," he declares. "You will be Vérzés. It means bleeding, because that is what our enemies will do."

Not seeming to care what a momentous moment this is, Vérzés simply grunts and continues to tear apart his dinner, whilst Volterra stands sentinel over him and allows himself to believe that this has finally happened.