As though in protest at his absence, the storm screams its rebuke and flings rain hard into his face; he wishes he had thought to wear Gashad's skull, in order to protect his eyes from the droplets, but he only wears that mask on the field of battle these days. Vadir huffs and turns so the rain beats against her back, but Volterra cannot turn away from his son. He simply stands, monolithic beast against the elements, a mass of soaking flesh and hard, chiselled lines.

Zhu immediately addresses him in Hungarian, and it pleases the goliath that his eldest has remembered his teachings. He swiftly forces his own tongue to seek those guttural words that he once thought would remain exclusive to himself, his mother and sister - but how could he not pass down the knowledge to his own children? With this language, they can communicate in secret even when they stand in plain sight. "Ön nőttek is." The highest of compliments from a man like Volterra, who possesses exacting standards when it comes to what his children should look like. But just to be sure, he begins to circle his oldest child like a predator sizing up a particularly tasty morsel of prey. His mammoth footsteps crunch the compact sand as he admires the boy-turned-man; the body is sturdy, strong, the limbs stout and feathered enough to be appealing, the horns queer but deadly all the same. The lack of a distinctive skulled face is disappointing, but does not damn the youth to inadequacy. He is powerful, well-built, and only about a hand shorter than his sire. He is exactly what Volterra thinks a son of his should be.

The seed that quickened in Sikeax's womb was a good one.

He inquires as to Vérzés whereabouts, and the behemoth replies swiftly once he has completed his circling. "Vadászat." Vadir huffs coldly at mention of her red brother, and her golden tail sweeps lazily across her bonded's spine.

Then the boy asks - no, demands - to know where Sikeax and Tyrath are, and with a grim sense of twisted pleasure Volterra realises Zhu is probably expecting him to confess that he doesn't know. Ah, his son has missed much! He has missed his sire maturing from reckless youngster into responsible father, a father who steps back to allow his children chance at power, who attends the births even if he has to do it via his dragons, and who protects his offspring from the efforts of predators and teaches them the sharp rasps of his hidden language. He does not always succeed in his attempts at fatherhood, but dammit, he's trying. Like he did not step onto the battlefield experienced and hardened, he does not step into fatherhood automatically knowing what to do. It is a learning curve, but one he has embraced - he has come a long way from the young stallion who spluttered, apoplectic, upon realising he had sired a child.

"Mindketten élnek Throat együtt egy másik öccse Astarot és egy lány nevezett Valdis. Gyakran meglátogasson a semleges földeket, de kívánom, hogy menjen a Throat néhány nap hamarosan látni őket. Azt várjuk, hogy jöjjön velem, amikor én." He is sure Sikeax will want to see her son; she must surely have been as concerned about his disappearance as Volterra himself was.

Narrowing his eyes against the driving rain, the brute looks directly at his firstborn. "Hol voltál? Kerestem Helovia az Ön számára." This is not a lie. After Zhu failed to come to the family meeting, Volterra began to hunt for him as he has hunted for Sabre - arduously, often, but sadly without success. He is keen to know whether his luck was simply out, or whether perhaps Zhu has set feathered foot onto the unknown lands outside Helovia's borders.