He nods. "Yes, we can talk. It's mostly through images and emotions, but they can use words, too - albeit not very well." The red huffs grumpily. He tries his best, but the horse-language is difficult for a dragon's tongue to master. Vadir hasn't yet found her voice, but she is quite confident that when she does, she'll be more eloquent than her crimson brother.

The mare asks what the dragons think of her, and Volterra looks questioningly to them. They scrutinise her through twin eyes, and send their verdicts through to his mind. "They appreciate that you admire them, and that appeals to their deep-rooted vanity. Aside from that, they do not know you well enough to make a judgement of you just yet." They hum their approval, rustling their leathery wings against their scales. "As for abilities, the red can breathe ice and the gold can breathe fire. Quite impressive." Their bonded's shameless gaze continues to ravish the sumptous curves of this newest mare, this attractive addition to his harem.

The lazy, wolfish grin which had been idling upon his muzzle suddenly disappears as quickly as a cloud across the sun as she speaks next. In my land they killed weak and useless foals. "No," he says, sharply. This is a serious bone of contention for him. He might have no qualms about killing an adult horse, but he would never take the life of a child, unless out of mercy. Even that would tug at what few morals he possesses. "Taking the life of a child, no matter how weak and useless they might be, is abhorrent. There is no glory in slaying something defenceless, something that cannot fight back against you. Child-killers are the lowest form of creature; they are less than worms, less than maggots. Anybody who slays a foal deserves to meet the same fate - and even that is too good for them." It is unusual for the beast to speak so passionately about something, but the slaughter of the weak is truly something he abhors. It goes right back to when he witnessed Abraham torturing a dying and defenceless mare - when he realised that taking a life does not make you strong, if the life you take is incapable of fighting back.

There is a fine line between glory and cowardice, and Volterra has nothing but contempt for those who lean towards the latter.

She suddenly turns; her eyes blaze and her ears pin. The goliath snorts and throws his head, before shifting closer to her. "Your secrets are your own, Airlia. I, however, have nothing to hide. Is there anything you would like to know about me?" With the other women, he cares little about earning their trust. But this one....ah, he has plans for this one. Now he has decided to keep a harem, he knows he needs the first addition to said harem to trust him completely, as they will fight, fuck and rule together one day. Offering information about himself is a good way to begin, he thinks.