It doesn't occur to him that she might refuse. The old Isopia would surely not have refused...and yet, as Volterra must keep reminding himself, this isn't the old Isopia. This is a new woman forged from the ashes of the old one, with her predecessor's memories locked away but without the true meaning behind those memories. When she repeats his words back at him then hesitates, the stallion finds himself fretting that she might actually turn him down, that perhaps the desire to ignite what they once had is his and his alone.

The fact that eloquent, clever Isopia is so rarely lost for things to say only makes the Indomitable more convinced that she's contemplating how to politely refuse. He steels himself in preparation, tries to come up with a gracious acceptance of whatever apology she offers, but instead....instead, she says something that makes the guts drop out of his world. Our child is buried there. The beast freezes, his face an odd mask of confusion, sadness, and surprise. Maybe he should have known that Isopia would choose to bury the body there, and yet....he hadn't actually contemplated the possibility that she'd buried their son at all. After the Earth God's revelation around the circumstances of the foal's death, he'd assumed that it had been something Isopia had wanted to happen, and thus that the remains would have been squirreled away like a shameful little secret. He hadn't thought for a second that she'd bury them, because burying them implies caring, and caring implies....well, he's not entirely sure, but it's enough to throw out everything he thought he knew about what happened.

Once again, it appears, he's underestimated the Mountain. He's made the mistake of assuming something about her, and if there's one thing he's learned, it's that he should never make assumptions about this remarkable woman.

He knows he's treading on dangerous ground now. This is a very sore point between them, and if he puts one foot wrong in this particular minefield, he could lose everything. "I would like to visit the grave, if...if you wouldn't mind." His usually authoritative voice is surprisingly hesitant, because he feels like he's asking her to reveal a particularly raw piece of her soul. Their child's grave is a secret that she and only she knows - or so he thinks - so asking her to share it is akin to asking her to share the deepest, darkest part of herself. If the roles were reversed, Volterra would be unwilling to let anybody into this sacred little place of his, a place where he can grieve in peace.

He offers that escape rope tentatively, hoping that she won't take it but knowing that he must dangle it regardless. "We don't have to if you don't want to. I don't want to intrude." Which is about the closest thing to a lie Volterra will ever tell, because he wants to visit his dead son more than he can possibly put into words.