Crimson eyes widen as she mentions that particular 'happening', with the dancing fish and the prize won by some unworthy mare. Heavens, he'd forgotten about that. "You remembered me?" There's a slight sultry hint to his voice, only slight, at the notion that he stood out enough amongst the crowd for her to recognise him. Embarassingly, he can't say the same - he was fully focused on the task at hand, and his tunnel vision meant he didn't even notice somebody as remarkable as her.

He won't confess to that, however, unless directly asked. He might not lie outright, but he's been known to lie by omission, and he'd hate to hurt a woman's delicate feelings. He'll notice her from now on, that much is certain. The way she fights, the way she is...ah, she is unforgettable.

She demands he take her to the Gods, and he obligingly nods his mammoth head. "Your wish is my command." But then she has a change of mind; she needs healing. Volterra respects her decision, and he sometimes wishes his own masculine pride would let him seek a healer after battle, too. His chest throbs where her horn ripped through flesh and muscle, and his movements are restricted by the severity of the gash, but the idea of seeking a healer for himself...it does not sit well with him. He believes that a battle does not just consist of the fight itself; it includes the wounds, too, and that he's honour-bound as a warrior to see said wounds through to the end. That, he believes, will prove his resolve.

It's a rather stupid belief, and one that's left him suffering in agony for days and weeks with his injuries, because he's too damn proud to seek help. He certainly won't judge her for doing something he occasionally wishes he could do, too.

"Very well," he rumbles. She gives a name - Aquila, a name filed away in his memory banks, because he suspects he will need it in the future - and asks for his own. "I am Volterra." He fixes her with his penetrating red gaze, his tail twining lazily between his hindlegs, although the movement is only temporary as he finds it jars his aching muscles.

Although he can't seek medicine for his wounds, he can go and bathe them in the fresh river-water, to prevent infection. He needs to rest, too, regain his strength so the healing process can begin, because there's a hundred more opponents waiting for him on the battlefield. "Until I see you next, then. It was a pleasure, Aquila." He dips his colossal skull to her - because they are not quite friendly enough yet to exchange touches, he thinks - and allows his gaze to roam across her unique physique one last time before he begins the long prowl back away from the vast expanse of the Flats, his dragons soaring in his wake.