Adulthood.

It grips him; it hardens his muscles and sends shockwaves to his balls, it arches his thick neck and it bids his stout legs to prance, fractious. He is a colt no more; he is a man. His second birthday passed without remark, although his dragon fetched him a shiny stone as a gift. A thoughtful present from his mind-partner, and truthfully he hadn't thought the predatory, primitive red capable of such empathy.

But he knows the gift he really wants. Needs. A woman writhing beneath him, for him to bury himself inside and take, take, take. He'd thought his hormones were mind-controlling and powerful when he was a yearling, but now stallionhood grips him like a curse, his urges are ten times worse. He thinks of it all the time. The titan is angry at himself, at the petty, primal needs that engross him and control his mind. He is so in charge of his own body, so dominant over himself, that he is filled with inward self-loathing about his own cravings. This only adds to the fact he is a bundle of frustration and rage, with his eyes permanently narrowed and bright with anger at the world, his jaws twisted into a scowl.

Vérzés, joined as he is to the stallion's lustful mind, is also afflicted with the same hunger as his bonded. His need manifests itself in the form of hunting, and he spends his days viciously savaging any living creature that makes the mistake of wandering across his path. Blood permanently drips from his lethal jaws, flecks of meat hanging in strips from his teeth. The bonded pair are rage and manhood personified; it is only a matter of time before they snap completely and rip the ever living fuck out of some unfortunate creature.

The giant comes to the Deep Forest, a place that usually puts him at ease - this is where he found his dragon's egg, where he hatched, where he often blends into the shadows and preys upon deer and the like to practice his talents. Today, in his pissed-off, testosterone-fuelled mood, his spiritual home has no such effect on him. Being here in solitude only fuels his temper, and with a savage snarl he kicks out at the nearest tree, shattering it clean in two with his colossal hooves. The needless violence does little to sate his real appetite, and chips of bark bloody his hindlegs. Sweat coats him, and he smells of musk and man. He decides to find water; perhaps that will help cool him off.

Alas, the pool he finds is occupied. He sees a white filly, ducked beneath the water, her mane spread around her like angel wings. She is the brave little doll from the God fights, and she looks very, very dead. He snorts. Like he cares for the fate of a drowned child that isn't his own - but, he reasons, she may not be dead. One day she will grow into a fine mare, and then he may reap the benefits of saving her in her youth. The thought sends heat to his groin, but given that she is currently only a child and he isn't into that, he quickly smothers his urges.

With a resigned huff, the monstrous stallion pushes his way into the cool liquid. It laps against his sweat-doused undersides and cools the raging heat in his loins, granting him temporary relief from his own desires. With his face still twisted into a mask of fury, he ducks his head under the water and attempts to hook his scarred nose beneath her forelegs, to try and lift her up and out of the pond. "Get up, child," he growls, his voice pure manhood with guttural, sharp edges.