She speaks of a wall and he nods, remembering his first creation, a stone barricade to prevent his dragon flying into the flames. "Walls are my speciality," he says with a small smirk, magic bubbling beneath his skin to prove his point as he urges the ground to his right to lift into a small wall, up to his chest-height. Although this wall is admittedly smaller than the one he made when he protected Vérzés, he is pleased to find that it doesn't exhaust him anywhere near as much as his first one had. He is growing stronger at an alarming rate, and the idea thrills him.

He allows his structure to tumble back into the ground, looking back to the mare with an aren't I clever expression. Her next words pique his interest and he looks to her, dying to ask more - but she advises him not to speak about it in front of others and he nods, shooting a sidelong glance towards Mauja. Oh, he wants to plague her with questions, but that is likely not the best idea in front of the spotted unicorn, so he gives a sharp nod of agreement. Perhaps they will be able to speak alone once the stallion leaves - if he leaves Volterra alive, that is.

He looks to the mare, adjudging her reaction to Mauja. She looks ready for battle, ready to brain him with a few well-aimed stones, and he thinks that between them they could probably take him down. That would certainly impress her, he hopes. The stallion's ears flex downwards at Volterra's words and the titanic colt's muscles tense, sensing an imminent attack. But that is the only sign the spotted one gives; he is a wall of ice, impassive, but all the more dangerous for it. He is a sharp contrast to Volterra, who is all fire and rambunctious attitude, his heart worn freely on his sleeve and his emotions usually free for all to see - the young monolith can become stone-faced and stoic with the best of them, but he rarely chooses to do so. He prefers to be open, his attentions blatant for all to see.

Why would I, he says. Volterra's eyes narrow and he feels Vérzés tense upon his back, his claws digging deeper into his flesh as his tail sweeps across his hindquarters. The dragon continues to eye the owls, ready to lunge upwards at them should they show any sign of swooping towards either equine, ready to devour the feathered frames if they move to strike. "Because he killed her," he calls back, his own tail arched high and swishing to display his agitation. Not fear, because there is little the beastling fears, but agitation, anticipation at what may follow.

He looks to Colt, deciding to explain. "I came across a dying unicorn mare. A man I know, he...tortured her, took advantage of her weakness." And I could do nothing. Now he is older, stronger, Volterra would likely have stepped in, but back then he had been young, naiive, small and damn near frail. "He saw," he adds, gesturing to the ice-unicorn with his whiskered muzzle.