He is torn, his loyalties split like a seam.

On one side, there is his friendship with Sikeax. The woman has...got under his skin, he cannot deny that. He enjoys her company, and knows her to be a good mother to his children in the absence of their own dams. He joined the herd for her, vowed to make it great for her.

And yet....where is she?

The herd is stagnant. Volterra is not experienced in these things, but even he knows that it is at a standstill. He does what he can - frequenting the Threshold, sparring whenever he can to further his quest for glory - but he has no claim over any other ranks. He can do nothing but watch idly by as things splinter in front of his eyes, leaving him frustrated and confused. What can he, mere Gladiator, do to piece together the shattered pieces of the life he thought he'd started here? What can he, with his brawn and little else, add to an already complex concoction of politics?

When the winged mare calls, the Gladiator comes. The dragons fly above him, flanking him like winged denizens; they sense his queer mood and feed off it, writhing and dashing through the sky as though they are gleaming bullets. He already finds quite a crowd gathered, and slows to a heavy halt with his dragons both fighting for position upon his broad back. The winged warrior - where has she been, he wonders - begins to speak, and for the most part Volterra agrees with her. He objects slightly when she speaks of the warriors stagnating, and his ears flicker backwards to show his annoyance. Stagnating would imply that he isn't busting his balls to recruit new members, and doesn't spend hours a day pondering how to defend a herd that he feels like he has no part in.

When she nominates herself for leader, the goliath's head twitches in surprise. If it's that easy to get a throne, why the hell hasn't he tried it? As expected, however, others arrive to object to the mare's frank proclamation; Volterra listens for a moment, trying to decide what to say. Despite himself, he is nervous. These are the sorts of situations that make him deeply uncomfortable, because there is no way of him simply throwing punches to claim victory. No amount of muscle or steel will earn him success here; this is a battleground of a whole new variety, and one that the Gladiator is far from familiar with. Wars of bodies he can handle - wars of words, he cannot.

"You are brave to make this call," he says, his voice an assertive boom that does not hint at the anxiety nipping at the back of his throat and tightening his lungs. "But I am a firm believer in the fact that actions speak louder than words. I have not seen you in the Threshold attempting to bolster our ranks, nor have I seen you on the battlefield honing your body." There is no venom in the leviathan's tones, simply a statement. The dragons finally find their positions upon his back, entwined together out of necessity rather than mutual like, and they cut a fearsome picture atop the battlescarred muscle of their bonded.

"I have faith in Sikeax, but I agree that she needs help. The herd stagnates, and this cannot continue." He takes a moment to glance around, keeping his face schooled into a mask of cold calm despite the fire of fear that bubbles inside. "I take full responsibility for any military failings within the herd. Our Sultana brought me into the Throat to aid her in keeping the wolves from our door, and whilst I have frequented the Threshold in an attempt to gain new warriors and have fought regularly to maintain my own condition, I will be the first to admit that it is not enough. That will change." It is a vow of determination from a man who, despite his size, presence and bravado, is still young at this sort of thing.

"My suggestion for how we resolve this issue is a simplistic one - trial by combat. We have our diplomatic leader in Sikeax, so her partner should be skilled on the battlefield to compliment what she offers us. It is quick and it is fair." He looks to Nephele and Sohalia, the only two nominated thus far. I could take either of them down, coos the little voice in his head. It could be me. But he bites that train of thought aside for now. As much as he craves the throne for himself, he knows how little trust his fellow Throatians have in him. There is zero chance of them accepting him as their leader.

It won't stop him giving it a go, however, if a fight is decided as the fairest method of choosing a Sultan. He would be a fool not to.