He likes this. Black ooze nonewithstanding, he is enjoying their simple conversation. As an Outcast, he rarely gets an opportunity to speak, which is perhaps why he is far from the most eloquent of creatures. He is not a wordsmith, a poet, which is why he often feels intellectually inferior when he and Isopia get into deeper conversations. But this, talking about themselves, is something he can cope with. It is pleasant, and something he imagines he would have done on a regular basis had he grown up in a herd.

Her structure crumbles into dust, and he watches it descend into nothingness with an impassive eye. His ears pivot to focus fully on the earth-filly as she speaks of her birth-herd, the Edge, and an invasion. The notion of war naturally appeals to the battle-minded colt, and a dreamy look appears in his eye as he imagines himself king of his own harem, invading anybody who pisses him off and ruling the damn world. It is also of interest to him that she is the daughter of a Queen. Nature really smiled upon her, didn't it? A God and a Queen, spawning her. He, son of fallen royalty and roving mongrel blood, and she, daughter of power. Again, he wonders at the chain of events that brought them together in friendship and, he prays, more.

She says I, then hesitates. His interest is piqued further, wondering what she is about to impart upon him. Then she talks of her dam, and of not knowing what love is. Does he? He doesn't know. He loves his mother, respects her, and thinks she loves him back in her own twisted way. He loves his sister more than he loves the breath in his lungs, but that love is a smothering, possessive sort that is intrinsically unhealthy, and is directly linked to Volterra's masculine senses of dominance and ownership. And, of course, he loves his dragon, but that is a love born of the fact they share a mind, share everything. Any other love is something he has never truly considered. Lust he has in bucketloads, hunger even moreso, but he does not comprehend the point or idea of loving a none-family member.

Which makes it all the stranger the way his body and mind always react to this particular mare, because it isn't yet love but it is more than lust, more than simple friendship. Is there a name for such an emotion? He doesn't know.

I don't feel anything towards anyone. The water rustles as one leg jerks, unbidden, although his ooze-smeared face remains a mask. He's not expecting a declaration of undying adoration from her, but does this mean she doesn't even consider him a friend? Her cough is like a firing bullet to his painful ears and he flinches slightly, but puts that down to his sensitive hearing rather than his suddenly savaged emotions.

Mostly. Ah, a dangled thread of hope, which he clings onto like a life raft. "Love is overrated," he rumbles. He scorns couples - he has seen and heard plenty of them, crooning sweet nothings to one another. Monogamy can go and fuck itself - it's for swans and weaklings, for stallions who cannot nurture their own harem and would be better off gelded. Ergo, love falls into a similar category, as it must be a strong sensation to overpower a man's natural mare-hoarding instincts - Volterra loathes the idea of being dominated, even by his own emotions. He can't say for definite that he will never feel it, but he won't feel like he has missed out if he doesn't.

She adds that she is a liasion between her herd and her father, and the beast files away the information for future use. She finishes with a question - would you ever want to live in a herd? He is silent for a moment, using one mammoth limb to idly stir the water as he thinks. "I have always aspired to lead a herd. Kinghood runs in my veins, and it is my ambition to one day take a land of my own. Would I join a herd, as a mere member? I can't say. I don't like the idea of relying on others to defend me from stealing attempts, or to be tied to one single land, unable to roam. I do not like the notion of submitting to a leader, and I will not bend the knee or kiss the feet of somebody I do not respect. All I can say is that it depends on the circumstances." And who is asking me.

He side-eyes her, ears pricked, muscles relaxed. "Would you ever leave your herd, and maraud as an Outcast?" It's how the cool kids live!