One of these days - one of these days - one of the women he's stalking will bring his child into the world where she's supposed to.

That is - in a neutral land, under his watchful eye.

Of course, the leviathan understands the desire of a mare to give birth within the safety of her herd, but it does not make his attempt to be in his children's lives from a young age any easier. He follows his now-familiar path to the edge of the Dragon's Throat, again lamenting his lack of wings as he stares at the open expanse of sea between himself and his newest child.

Go, he commands his dragons, and they do.

He steals their eyes, and watches as they hunt down the antlered mare. She is in labour, and the red and gold search for the telltale signs of a new egg. They, like Volterra, now believe foals hatch from eggs, and as they circle they hum their surprise at the lack of such an item. Instead, their eyes focus on the small, wet body that spews, eggless, from the mare's thighs - back on the shore, Volterra winces. That is disgusting. An egg, at least, meant he didn't have to think about the unpleasant reality of where his children came out of. This...this is graphic, and surely rather painful. It is a wonder any mare lets him near her, knowing that this could be the consequence.

But now the dragons are looking at the newborn, and his mind is stolen from musing on the state of the poor woman's unmentionables. The foal has a skulled face, and is a colt - he makes strong sons, future kings, men who will father more children and expand Volterra's empire. He likes sons.

The dragons watch as Tyrath approaches - Volterra approves of his offspring bonding together, forming strong alliances that will last an eternity. The mare names the child Astarot, and the stallion files it away for the future. Is his pa my pa? asks Tyrath. Volterra prowls, frustrated, on the shore; his dragons cannot speak for him, cannot answer the question that only he is entitled to answer. This is a pivotal moment, as the colts realise they're brothers, and he's powerless to give the news as he would like. He is a caged animal, strutting along the edge of the land, muscles thrust out, ears pinned as he bemoans his lack of wings.

So he simply watches through the eyes of his companions, hoping that the meeting will transpire as he wishes it to. Both red and gold hum a greeting to the newborn, whilst they circle protectively overhead.