A voice jerks him from his single-minded focus upon his dragon, and his colossal head swings towards the stranger. Wait, where the...? Puzzlement flashes across his face as he looks around, hunting for the source of the voice but able to see only a white-faced raven perched nearby. The stark contrast of the skull marking against the ebony feathers makes Volterra wonder for a second if this is Nymeria - has his twin gained another magical ability to shift into this great bird? But no, when the raven descends and transforms, it is evident that it is not his twin. It is a filly, yes, but a big filly, her draft heritage as apparent as Volterra's is, in stark contast to Nymeria's clean-cut fetlocks. She has a quite unnecesary amount of horns on her head, odd markings, and wings as well. Hybrid. Trying to look unpeturbed by the display of magic - because she is younger than he, and it would not be becoming for one of his maturity to bombard a little girl with questions when he himself now has a source of awesomeness too - the colt nods to her earlier words. "Obviously," he points out, crimson gaze shifting to look at the puddle of blood sprayed around from Vérzés' violent feast.

The girl rolls Vérzés' name around on her tongue, and the ruby war-dragon looks up from his feast to flash bright red eyes across the filly. She is only the second person he has met since his hatching, and through their bond Volterra can feel confusion at the sight of horns and wings. Vérzés has imprinted upon Volterra now, and thinks the massive colt is the blueprint for what all other horses should be. Wings and horns, to his fledgling mind, are dragon-traits, not horse-traits. His forked tail flicks against the ground, spreading his still-wet wings for the first time and using them to balance with as he seeks out the colt's right foreleg. Volterra fights against a wince as pinprick talons press hard into his flesh, his dragon using his taut skin to ascend right the way up onto the boy's shoulder. He finds the area between his bonded's withers and settles himself there, a blood-red bundle against the jet black of Volterra's hard flesh. From his perch he begins to groom, wiping the blood from his scales whilst never letting his eyes waver from the filly, dextrous tail coiling snakelike behind him to anchor him in place as he cleans himself.

Why would you name it that? "Him, not it," the young monolith automatically corrects, and in his mind he feels Vérzés hum his affirmation. It is what you call something inferior, like a rabbit or a fish, a derogatory term that places something as lesser by removing its sense of identity. Vérzés is a fully sentient creature, with a gender and thoughts and hopes and feelings, all of which Volterra is getting acquainted with. Still their minds entwine with one another, touching and feeling and knowing, trying to understand the vast reaches of each other's consciousness. This is new to both of them, and Volterra thinks it will be quite a while before they are fully used to one another. One day they will be a true team, a force of nature, but right now they are like two fumbling teenagers not quite sure which bit goes where.

He thinks for a moment on the filly's question, tail arching behind him and lashing against his muscled hocks as he ponders. Why indeed? Naturally he had wanted a powerful name for his dragon, and had toyed with quite a few since he found the egg. But Vérzés felt right, somehow. It melded beautifully with his own name, and it fitted the ideal he has always had for any dragon of his. They would need to be strong, indomitable - and what is more natural, more associated with battle, than blood? "I could ask you the same question about your name," he eventually says. He does not want to justify his naming choice, and indeed he can't. How can he say that it simply felt right? Nobody would believe that, unless they are privvy to the bond growing between dragon and colt. "Which is?" He scrutinises the girl closely, whilst the dragon does the same from his back.