She's positively giddy at the sight of a dragon, and it pleases him. Unfortunately for her, she will never be able to bond to one, unless she has some equine blood in her veins. Although the giant isn't racist, he does think equines are superior purely for the fact they can bond to dragons, the greatest of the companions. His dam's kitsune is feral enough in his own way, but in the stallion's opinion he lacks the sheer ominous presence of a dragon.

The filly enters a frenzy of bucks, and the red watches her with an impassive, sharp eye. If Volterra wasn't so worked up, he would likely offer a smile as well, but his face remains stony and impassive. She thanks him, and the red's draconic pride bids him to swell and preen, arching his powerful neck. The stallion feels like pointing out that the dragon only protected her at his bidding - without his instruction, Vérzés would have flown into battle alongside his bonded to ice the hell out of the Bear God. Being relegated to 'protect the little girl' duty had made the ruby beast bristle, but being thanked for his daring deeds certainly helps ease the pain. "He says you are welcome." It is an accurate, if rough, translation of the dragon's mental throb of smugness at receiving gratitude that rightly should have gone to his bonded.

Being described as pretty only increases Vérzés' inflating ego, and he croons audibly whilst releasing another blossom of frost. Volterra glares at him. Don't know what you're so smug about - a little girl thinks you're pretty. Pretty. Not ruggedly handsome, pretty. Flowers are pretty. Are you a flower? But the giant's mental jibes to his bonded fall on deaf ears, as the blood-dragon flares his mighty wings to bask in the filly's adoration some more. "'Pretty' still good word. Vol-ter never get good words. Vol-ter get 'stinky'. 'Stinky' not good word." The irascible stallion flattens his ears and wrinkles his nostrils, silently fuming that even his own mind-partner is lining up to shit-talk him. Their bond might be watertight, and they might gleefully be willing to kill or die for the other, but they are both young men, with tendencies for harsh banter.

It takes him a moment to realise that the filly is directing a deluge of questions towards him, not his dragon. Despite his foul mood, a smirk threatens to break through the iron-hard facade of his face, as her barrage reminds him so much of himself when he was her age. Dragon obsessed, eternally curious and hungry for knowledge. "We met when I was about your age. To be bonded is unlike anything you will have ever experienced. We share every emotion, every thought, every desire. Imagine a part of your soul, shaved off and placed inside the body of a sentient, intelligent creature. A creature who loves you unconditionally, who fights for you, kills for you, and would die for you. That, and more, is what it is to be bonded." Passionate? Yes, because the passion in his loins is second only to the passion for the sharer of his mind. They may bicker like children, but they are one.

She speaks of her sire, and Volterra cannot possibly know she talks of his uncle. She mentions a Vlasi, an unknown creature, but a quizzically raised brow is the beast's only sign of interest.