His ravenous eyes return to the golden mare as she flinches, twitches away from him - is she afraid, daunted by the reek of man? Is she frightened by the wicked gleam in his eye, which leaves nothing to the imagination? She is delicious, and he continues to stare lecherously and openly at her, momentarily disregarding Erthë's presence.

Part of him wants to see how the filly reacts - she is older now, and perhaps she knows things from her time outside Helovia, if indeed that's where she's been during these past months. Perhaps she knows the salacious song of the birds and the bees - or, in Volterra's case, the beast and his beauties. Perhaps she will be intrigued by the feral way in which he is looking at Riel, and perhaps she will look forward to the day she can create those feelings in stallions, too.

But no, there are some things young girls should not see - and she is still a young girl, even if his eye is naturally drawn to her newfound curves and edges. She is not yet a woman grown and flowered, her tender eyes not ready for such things. With what little sanity he has left, the monolith tears his gaze away from the golden mare, bids his burning blood to temper itself, and fixes his attention on Erthë instead.

Is it his imagination, or does she look pleased to see him? Indeed, he is...fond of her, too, in a strange, reluctant way. If only he was in the right mental state to return her smile - alas, he is not, and can only offer a slightly less menacing twist of his scarred face in a crude approximation of a greeting.

He's a bit too grumpy for my tastes. I bet it's the size of his butt that's the reason, I wouldn't be too happy either with all that flabbing going on.

He laughs; a snort, a genuine, joyous exhale of air. It is the first time he has laughed in weeks, and it feels strange, wrong. Like pissing on the casket at a funeral. Like swearing at his sister. But it feels good, too, to experience his ability to create something pure and innocent, something not twisted and tainted by the darkness that froths inside him. There is something childlike about it, something...happier. The stoic, stern-faced behemoth is not one to show levity, but he thinks in this circumstance he wants something to ignite a different emotion inside him, an emotion he does not normally feel even when he is fully sane. He wants something to remind him that there's a light at the end of this dark, dark tunnel, that this numbness is not what the rest of his life is doomed to be.

"My 'butt', as you so eloquently put it, needs to be big - after all, you need a big hammer for a big nail." There's a filthy glimmer in his eye and a deep, satisfying undercurrent of innuendo in his voice; a voice that actually has tone, instead of the cold monotone he's been doomed to since Isopia left. Will the girl know what he means, or will his vulgarity and masculine pride in his size go right over her head? Will she blush?

She moves close, nudges his shoulder. The physical contact feels...odd, and he tells himself that the frisson of heat in his groin is purely because of the joke he's just made. She talks of home, then asks about his dragons. He glances to the heavens, feeling a sudden spark of bloodlust as they swoop at the deer, slashing chunks from its terrified, fleeing flesh...The thrill of the hunt threatens to overwhelm him, and he is forced to sever his link with them down to the smallest tendril. "They are hunting, dear girl. They have needs, as I do." Another glance over to Riel, his eyes hooded and wicked. They flicker unbidden across the new curves of Erthë's body, but it feels wrong, and they slide swiftly to her face instead. "And where is home?"

The other mare speaks, then, the glimmering golden beauty who ignites such things inside him. The filly has already introduced him, so he sees no need to respond to that. "And what is your name?" he questions, having entered after she gave it.