He has tracked her dutifully, as he swore he would.

The months passed and her sides swelled, and as each week drew to a close his stalking became more intense. His dragons are willing helpers in his quest, as determined as he that no more of his children should grow up as bastards. The time is surely near - Aithniel's sides cannot possibly grow any more without popping, and the stallion feels a strange kind of excitement deep within at the notion of witnessing his first birth. It feels...mature, somehow, to follow the growth of a foal from when he placed it into the womb until it bursts free and becomes a living, breathing progeny.

Imagine his horror when the mare retreats into the depths of a herd Volterra has only visited once before - when they stole his mother, and he stood in anguish on the shore, a helpless boy.

A snarl twists his face as he reaches the edge of the land itself, and he stamps one feathered hoof in frustration. Fuck! The Dragon's Throat is an island, and there is no visible way to access it without wings - wings that the equine beast certainly does not have.

"No - but we do." Vérzés' voice resounds in his mind, and he stirrs his large body from its position curled on the stud's broad back. Vadir, circling overhead, chimes her agreement. The two dragons might rarely get along, but they are united in their desire to allow their bonded to see the birth of his child. Hope bursts in the goliath's chest and he gives a small nod of permission to both dragons. On wings of red and gold, they fly, their scales twinkling in the desert light.

It isn't long until they are mere dots on the horizon, and so the stallion closes his eyes and steals theirs. Vertigo bubbles in his stomach at the height they're flying at, and he's reminded of his flight carried beneath Isopia, but that thought is swiftly smothered. The duo soon locate the mare, her sides no longer swollen, and the brute feels a stab of sorrow that he's missed the actual birth - but then the dragon-eyes land on a large egg, and he realises he may not have missed it after all.

Hang on...an egg? That's unusual. The beast casts his mind back to his own birth - he doesn't remember hatching from an egg, but then again he remembers little about that day, his memories faded with age. He's witnessed no births since his own, so he supposes foals do hatch from eggs and he just didn't realise it. How queer! On the shoreline, the leviathan tilts his heavy head, contemplating this new turn of events. It appears his species are more like dragons than he ever dared to believe.

Vérzés and Vadir circle low, grunting a low greeting to the mare and her griffin, telling them not to worry - they are here to witness, not to hurt. They focus on the egg so Volterra may see it hatch, and when it begins to crack he finds himself leaning forwards, as though that is going to help him see better.

The shell shatters, and out rolls a foal. He - for the dragons quickly ascertain that he is a son - is small, but strong. It is difficult to determine the colour of his damp fur, but the red and gold quickly focus their attentions on the skull-marking upon his head, branding him as Volterra's child, as though there was any doubt! They circle lower, scrutinising him from all angles. Vadir's gaze is somewhat contemptous - he is not-Volterra, and thus inferior in her eyes - whereas Vérzés' feelings are more intricate, bordering on fatherly. Vadir cares only for strength, whereas Vérzés sees potential, and realises that all creatures, even mighty dragons such as they, started off as helpless hatchlings once.

The red lands, sniffing the foal - the aroma transmits to Volterra's mind, and he wrinkles his nose at the unusual, fresh, baby-odour. He hums a greeting to the colt, furling his great red wings and reclining into a sitting position nearby, whilst Vadir remains circling above, a gleaming golden sentinel watching out for any danger.

Indeed, Volterra is disappointed that he cannot be there in person to welcome his newest son into life - but this is the next best thing.