Volterra has always thought that dragons can sense the hatching of another of their species. This assumption seems to be proved correct as both Vérzés and Vadir unfurl excitedly even before the gunshot of a hatching egg rings out through the forest, a sound that makes the beast's head jerk up from his leisurely grazing. They both take to the wing simultaneously, powerful scaled bodies darting in between the trees as they head towards it.

On the ground, the Indomitable follows. New dragons always intrigue him, and he is keen to see which equine has been deemed strong enough to share his or her mind with the most magnificent of companions. It isn't long before his dragons send him a mental image that makes his heart spike with pleasure and his rangy canter speed up into a full-fledged gallop - it is Tyrath. His tribrid son, source of so much pride, is soon to have a dragon! The boy will be the first of his children to bond, and Volterra can't help the booming whinny of pleasure that erupts from his jaws at the notion.

The stallion's thunderous footsteps ring out through the forest as he pelts at full speed; he hurdles fallen trees and barges unceremoniously through tangled undergrowth, nothing slowing his hellbent charge. Finally he breaks out into clear daylight, skids to a halt, and can see his son's dragon for the first time as it begins to entwine itself into his horns. Pride swells through the leviathan's heart as he witnesses this heartwarming moment, and his pleasure blossoms further when he sees the colour of his son's new companion. "A red," he rumbles joyously. Vérzés has already noticed this delightful fact, and circles over Tyrath and his bonded with a deep sense of smugness emanating into Volterra's mind. "Dragon-son has best dragon," he says happily, lowering his slow circles to try and touch his nose gently to the red hatchling in a greeting of kin, an adult ruby beast to a newly-born one.

Vadir, perched imperiously up in a tree, huffs - remarkably, she even manages to make this otherwise mundane sound come across as superior. "Why bond to red runt when he could have waited and bonded to a golden queen?" she questions, her cold voice stabbing its way into the heads of both Volterra and her red brother. The stallion ignores her. This is a happy day for his family and he will not let Vadir's royal snobbery ruin such a moment, as much as he normally approves of the gold's arrogance. He senses her desire to put the hatchling in his place, ensuring he knows from birth that she is the queen, but Volterra firmly forbids it.

Tyrath names his dragon, and the leviathan's brow cocks in approval. "Harcos," he repeats, tasting the Hungarian word on his tongue. "Warrior." A smile splits his handsome features in too as he edges towards his son, seeking to blow softly into the youth's nostrils. He doesn't extend the greeting to Harcos - as much as he adores dragons, even ones that aren't his own, he learned from a very young age not to try and touch one, especially a fractious hatchling. Lilomiel's bite scars have lingered between his nostrils to this day. "Congratulations, son. May you and Harcos strike fear into the hearts of your enemies." Vérzés circles around and lands on Volterra's broad back, whilst Vadir preens her gleaming golden scales in the most imperious manner possible.