His stout limbs quiver, his eyelids threatening to slam shut over those blazing crimson eyes. So tired. He has never felt exhaustion like this, fatigue that reaches right into his bones. He needs to leave, needs to rest, but he can't. Not until he's drained every ounce of information out of this curious filly, this raven with the stone face and the cold heart, which only glows when faced with a fire she insists should never have happenened.

She speaks of a Moon Goddess, of shoulds and shouldn'ts, and the colt stares at her blankly. He shakes his head to rid his vision of the black spots that hover in his eyeline, focusing his attention as much as he can on Isopia. He should wait until he's rested to ask these things, when he's more lucid and not on the verge of slipping into a damned coma, but he can't. He can't leave without finding out now. "This Moon Goddess...what did she do to be thrown into the Edge?" He's almost slurring, his tongue fumbling over words that usually slip from it like blood on ice; he's not with it, his brain needing to shut down, to refresh. He has heard of Gods, but never of a Goddess - he has so much to learn, so little time. Isopia is a font of knowledge, one he is keen to sip from.

He doesn't understand the concept of equilibrium, of balance; all he knows is that he has killed with this earthen filly at his side, and that he needs to know why. She talks of a Hototo, a sibling who died - well, that explains what crime the Goddess committed. The information surprises the titanic youngster, and it shows on his sleep-deprived face. Why would a God kill the child of another? Volterra had been under the impression that they were all friends, or at least allies, united in their power. Not like the Gods his parents had told him about - three of different species, doomed to war for evermore. He'd assumed these hybrid Gods were kinsmen, yet it appears not.

"I'm sorry," he says, somewhat awkwardly. What else do you say when somebody tells you their brother was murdered? When they say that they were engineered, born for a purpose? In a way, he can relate. Mother makes no secret of the fact that her twins were created to become warmongers in their parents' name; born to destroy, sired out of lust, not love. As it should be. "That is quite a weight upon your shoulders." She seems almost prideful at her statement, yet Volterra thinks of the other side; the pressure, the lack of freedom, the tether to a destiny not of your choosing. It does, at least, explain why Isopia is so odd.