The night air is devoid of any chill as the giant prowls deeper into the forest, his footsteps heavy against the hard soil and the sparse breeze hardly even ruffling his mane. It is a sign of quite how stifling this Tallsun is when even the night gives no respite from the searing heat of the day, and Volterra suffers greatly in it. He craves the icy bite of winter, when snow piles against his limbs and blizzards pound his flesh; anything except this stuffy, all-consuming warmth, unforgiving and relentless.

But he hardly even notices the temperature tonight. His mind is preoccupied, and it's even filtered down towards his heart, which beats heavily against the hard weight of his chest. He is...nervous. This is not an emotion he is used to, and the twist of apprehension in his gut is quite foreign to him. His anxiety is for good reason, however, because tonight is a very important night in the blackened goliath's life. Tonight is the night he intends to interact with all his children...at the same time.

The idea came to him when he noticed Tyrath and Astarot's easy camaraderie in the Veins, and realised what a thrill it gave him to see his sons befriending each other. He does not know if his children have ever met their siblings, and he's eager to oversee this possible first meeting. When he is a king, and his offspring hold the weight of his legacy upon their shoulders, it will be vitally important that they have each other to rely on. Besides, he would rather they learn of each other's existence when he is there, just in case it turns...sour. He also hopes to get to know each of them more, and give them the chance to discover more about him - just another step in his quest towards responsible fatherhood.

His dragons perch on the branches around him as he slows to a halt, their bright eyes glimmering in the weak half-light. They approve of this meeting, and are as keen as their bonded to acquaint themselves with his offspring. Find them, he commands, and off the dragons go; gold and red glitter like gemstones as they zoom through the trees on a rustle of leathery wings. For good measure, the stallion gives a loud, summoning whinny, before falling silent and waiting. Tension coils in his muscles, but he attempts to smother it. He has fought countless foes, received agonising wounds, climbed mountains and tangled with wolves...surely a gang of foals cannot be that terrifying?