Volterra does not react well to misery.

For some reason, he struggles to transform it into anger. When he's truly, deeply upset, he can't seem to motivate himself to use it as a catalyst and thrust himself into a rage, a blessed inferno of fury that blocks out everything else and offers him blessed relief from the pain inside. No, when he's feeling like this, there's nowhere to hide. No escape from the crushing realisation that the love of his life doesn't even know who he is anymore, that their relationship meant more to him than it did to her, because there's no way in hell he would trade their precious memories for sweet oblivion. He feels like everything they built, everything they lived through, every stolen moment and subtle touch, was a lie.

He can't hide from his misery, but nor can he face it head-on just yet, not when the memory is still so fresh and he's still so fragile. So he chooses the only other alternative: distraction. If he keeps himself mentally and physically busy, then his mind cannot drift inexorably towards her, can't play their words over and over again like a record stuck on a loop until it leaves him teetering on the edge of madness. Dwelling isn't healthy, so the mammoth stallion chooses to think about anything else but the crushing memory that he now keeps locked away in an iron box, safe in the back of his mind.

The things that he knows will distract him best of all are alcohol, sex, and battle. The latter is probably not the best decision right now, because his mood is so volatile that he might accidentally murder his opponent during a friendly spar. That leaves the other two, and Volterra knows from experience how well they mix together. This time though, unlike the episode with Roskuld, he knows his limits. When he found the pile of innocent-looking apples, he overrode his natural greed and took only a few, just enough to make his worries fade away but not enough to turn him into the slavering, dick-swinging wreck that had violated the Spark's daughter in such a manner. No, he's just relaxed without losing control of his senses, happy without being stupid, and with inhibitions lowered without allowing him to make a fool of himself.

That is how come he can be found in the depths of the forest, devoid of his dragons (they know better than to be near him when he's in one of these moods), leaning one massive shoulder against a tree and unleashing a deep, earthquake-like groan. The alcohol has numbed most of the pain but there's still a slight throbbing of it in the back of his mind, a stark reminder that this relief is only temporary. He can't hide from his problems forever. "You see," he tells the tree conversationally, his colossal skull tilted towards it as though pouring out his secrets to his dearest friend. "This is why I could never do monogamy. This is why I could never do love." Or, at least, not again.

The monolithic warlord sighs, rests his shoulder even more heavily against his good friend the tree, and stares off into nothingness as he contemplates his life.