Volterra looks on with evident interest as the three royal dragons interact. Their scales are iridescent, putting even Vérzés ruby covering to shame. He can see why dragons like this are considered the kings and queens of their species, and pleasure flows through him once again at the notion of being bonded to one.

Bronze joins gold and silver on the ground, and with a swish of her spiked tail Vadir trundles towards him. Like Tinek, Hubris receives a thorough sniffing, as the hatchling files away their scents for the future. The silver's frosty breath forms in front of Vadir's face, and she lifts her head up to scrutinise the cloud of frigid air. She opens her lungs in an attempt to mimic, but nothing appears - she's far too young, although apparently she doesn't yet realise this. Volterra can't help wondering if she will breathe frost like Vérzés or fire like the dragons of legend, and he finds himself hoping for the latter. Combining white-hot flame with sub-zero ice...oh, the combinations are dazzling! As Tinek flips onto his back, Vadir trills her amusement, which ripples down their bond into the stallion's mind.

Vérzés, meanwhile, leans gleefully into the little white filly's caress, humming pointedly. Hubris and Tinek both beckon for him to join them, but he remains resolutely apart. Volterra feels resentment burning down their bond - resentment that they are royal and he is not, that the hue of their scales makes them better than him when he, like his mind-partner, accepts none as their superior. He feels jealousy, too, although the red makes a valiant attempt to hide it. Why couldn't he have been born royal? The beast sighs, making up his mind to have a thorough discussion with the crimson creature once they've moved away from this place. He can't have Vérzés hating the young gold forever - it simply won't do.

Erthë speaks, and the monolith smothers a smirk. He's in too good a mood to get overly snappy at her, and simply raises one sculpted eyebrow, which is still scarred from the jaws of the wolves he fought off to protect Vadir's egg. "I make my own luck, kid. Not everything is given on a silver platter - or, in this case, a golden one." His voice, too, is casual, offhand. It's easy to forget that the black beast was born with nothing - no magic, no companion, only the innate ability to bond to two which had been revealed by his sire's green. Everything he has, he's earned, save perhaps for his magic which he still doesn't quite know how he obtained - it only appeared one day, as he and Isopia put down the burned forest creatures. "Keep working hard, and it will one day pay off." And that's the best advice she's likely to get from Volterra, who is the polar opposite of a wordsmith and most definitely not a motivational speaker.

She pulls tongues, and he flashes a small grin. She's quite sweet, in an annoying sort of way - he hates children, but she'd proven to be a useful distraction in a time when he'd needed it most. She speaks to Ophelia, and the young warrior looks to his aunt with interest, wondering how the pair know each other. Jesus, imagine if she was Ophelia's daughter - to think that they could be related! Little does he know that they are, but not through the Amaranthine.

From next to the royal duo, Vadir flares her wings and admires them one at a time. Volterra feels steely determination to use them, and before he knows it the gold is bounding forwards, trying to capture air beneath their leathery canopy. She snatches at an updraft and rises up into the trees, but her first fight is awkward, uncontrollable. She narrowly avoids a tree then crashes back into a pile of leaves with a squeal, emerging with one speared on the tip of one of her large horns. She shakes herself, sending indignant vibes towards Volterra, then looks to the bronze and silver in the hope that they will demonstrate the art of flight.