Black brother.

That is the image his red sends him; the familiar figure of Lilómiel, the only dragon he has ever got along with save for Argen's bronze, the only dragon he likes. Colour hierarchy might make him honour-bound to assert his dominance over the black, but he loves the older reptile dearly, as Volterra loves his sister. But whilst Volterra's adoration of his twin borders on obsession, Vérzés is quite capable of living for long periods of time without his brother. His greeting towards the black is muted, a simple huff of frosty air in the vague direction of the soaring plain, compared to his bonded's utter and obvious elation at the sight of his sister.

The beast's ears prick forwards, dancing into a stallion's proud trot as he kicks up the sand and lopes towards her, head swung high to blast frigid mist from his nostrils. Sand flows like the tide away from his massive hooves as he grinds to a perfect square halt in front of her, face moving towards hers, velvet muzzle seeking to touch her own and nostrils flaring to blow a gentle wisp of breath-heated air into her own. Damn, she's beautiful. Like him, age has dragged her from fuzzy foal into sculpted yearling, and his crmson gaze roves freely across every vuluptuous curve of her body, every aching muscle beneath her grullo pelt. Sweet sister.

There's that little part of him, the part that boosts him from boy to man, that first blossom of testosterone that has driven his muscles into thickening and into weight descending between his thighs; a part of him that lusts for her far above and beyond what a brother should feel for his sister. But, after all, has their relationship ever been conventional? It's always bordered on the creepy, from Volterra's side at least. Seeing her now in all her glory, growing and beautiful and his, brings out every dirty little emotion he tries so hard to smother. He is a cocktail of new hormones, and with a small grunt he withdraws from her before his thoughts descend further into places they should never go.

She's your sister.

Her question drags him from his reverie. "I am well," he says, in that thick baritone that has replaced the child's high-pitched squeak. "I've been wandering. Training. Where have you been, sister?" I've been preparing myself to take Mother back, he wants to say, but doesn't.