A voice makes him freeze as though carved from ice, his eyes widening almost comically and his powerful legs taking him a single sideways step away from the tree, as though to hide the fact he'd ever been talking to it in the first place. The forest swims slightly as he moves, reminding him that he's consumed a fair few fermented apples and that he should probably be careful in case he ends up in a crumpled, undignified heap on the ground. Bracing his legs so as to keep his balance, the titan tries his best to look perfectly sober and perfectly not talking to a tree.

The owner of the voice soon makes her way into the stallion's alcohol-fuzzed vision, and he finds himself looking at her appraisingly. It's Nephele, one of the herd's warriors, and whilst he'd always appreciated her as a fellow veteran of the battlefield, he's never noticed how....hot she is before. Those muscles, that patterned coat, those wings, those antlers, that ass. She's a mother of a pair of colts, but that doesn't matter to Volterra - he loves a good MILF every so often. He hadn't wanted company, not when he's in such a bad mood with the shattered remains of his heart jangling around inside his chasm of a chest, but he supposes company that looks like Nephele is far from objectionable.

He plasters a suave grin upon his face, easily masking the pain that rages within. "You'd be surprised. This particular tree is a very good confidante, although his replies can be a little wooden." He breaks into a great guffaw of laughter at his own joke, fuelled by the apples that ripple through his system. His next one comes into his mind and he's giggling so much he can hardly get his words out. "I'm thinking I should branch out and talk to other trees...they may help me get to the root of the problem." Another great cackle, and the leviathan is so crippled by his own razor wit that he finds himself leaning against his tree, almost doubled over under the weight of the laughter that ripples through him.

Ah, Volterra, mighty warlord and Sultan, making tree jokes whilst drunk off dodgy apples. The things Isopia does to me. These are the sober thoughts that try to fight their way into his head, only to be swiftly kicked aside. His focus returns to the mare, who is saying something about fish. The beast squints his drunken eyes, still giggling slightly at his tree jokes. "I don't know that one," he confesses.