The spring rain beats a drumbeat on the stallion's broad back, a thunderous rhythm upon tight black flesh and rippling muscle. He moves through the Grove, the sex-soaked place that Birdsong drives him to like a moth to a flame. His stride is a fractious, high-stepping trot, his flesh lathered with sweat as his head swings side to side upon the thick arch of his neck. It is the season, when the Gods' gift for a winter survived is fertile, needy women; although he isn't actively hunting for mare, he is alert for the possibility. The Isopia-borne numbness has somewhat lifted, and his spirits have risen in tandem with the cold of Frostfall.

For the first time in almost a year, the leviathan's face is naked. After much hacking and hauling, he finally managed to peel Gashad's skull off himself, and the thump of raindrops on his face is a beautiful, unfamiliar sensation. He has decided to keep the skull for battle purposes only, a menacing war-mask that also serves as an unconventional piece of armour. Without it stuck to his head, he feels lighter than he has in months, and the rain helps clean the accumulated sweat, blood and dirt from his refined features.

Both dragons are with him, unusually. Their bellies are full of deer, and their incessant bickering has ceased as they both soar lazily alongside him. Vérzés idly sprays his ice breath towards the rain, morbidly curious about whether he can freeze it; he does, and the frozen raindrops fall like daggers until they shatter on the ground. Vadir's own jaws are still devoid of any sort of element, but her nostrils have been billowing smoke recently, leading Volterra to be optimistic that she may soon find her fire.

The trio halt by the edge of the pool. Volterra lowers his mammoth head and begins to drink of its cool, rain-spattered waters, whilst his dragons dive beneath the surface and rise with wriggling fish clasped between their jaws. Neither of them are hungry, but the hunting instinct is too strong for them to resist, and they hone their reflexes by chasing the lithe silver bodies of their prey beneath the water. The stallion watches, one hindleg cocked, his nostrils flared and ever-searching for potential conquests. He may not be making a grand effort to hunt for his fix of women, but if they are to happen across his path...what's a man to do?