He isn't surprised when Isopia questions him. She is a clever woman, and he's sure that she thinks it something akin to naive stupidity to believe in an afterlife. "No," comes his reply, swift and brutally honest. "But I want to. I want to believe he's in a better place, that he's happy." He gives her a sidelong glance. In truth, the alternative is deeply disturbing. What if it does just turn black? What if you just...cease to exist? Volterra rarely contemplates death, and when he does he's more concerned about inflicting it than suffering it, but he would be lying if he said that he didn't sometimes wonder... He does not fear it, but he is in no hurry to find out for himself what happens after. "Don't you?" For a rational, logical mare like the Mountain, she probably believes in the simple facts - that your body feeds others, and that's all there is to it. That's an admirable way to look at it, if a tad daunting.

She does not return his touch, but nor does she reject it. That is enough, for now. Once upon a time Volterra would have read into her lack of a returning gesture, but he knows how new this must be for her. It's new for him, too - it's been so long since they touched intentionally, not the inadvertent brushing of skin that comes from walking close together. Even during their fight, their physical contact was minimal. The last time they truly allowed their sensitive muzzles to roam across each other's flesh was that day in the meadow, and the memories return afresh to bombard Volterra's mind. With a ferocity that surprises even him, he forces them aside. Now is really, really not the time for that. Not when the result of the last time they did that lies rotting in the ground a few feet away, a stark reminder that impulsions like these should be resisted else untold suffering will be caused.

That's hard for a man like Volterra, though, and it always has been. He lives off his rash decisions, exists in the heat of the moment and all the pleasure it brings. Spontaneity is a big part of his life, but age and maturity has taught him that sometimes he must fight against his selfish instincts and do what is right rather than what feels good. Now is one of those times. Now, as much as he wants to let the touch linger, to try and fill the Mountain's mind with the same thoughts that currently plague his own, he doesn't. He gently withdraws his muzzle, although he keeps his bulk close enough to her that he can still feel the heat of her body.

Her apology surprises him, and it takes him a couple of seconds to compose himself and think of a suitable reply. This is the first time they've spoken about this, and again Volterra thinks that this is a pivotal moment between them. How he responds could prove either beneficial or catastrophic to their relationship, and that's why he considers his reply carefully. "I understand," he rumbles, and he does. There was never the right time, what with everything that happened after their son's conception. The beast shifts, then, turning to face her directly and seeking to look her straight in the eye. He is about to be open and completely honest, kill or cure, and the vast white expanse of his face and crimson clearness of his eyes should hopefully reassure her that no lie will leave his lips.

"Kis hollo, I am sorry too. Not for bedding the other women, because that would be saying that I regret the existence of my children, and I certainly do not. I should, however, have been more open with you about my activities, and should also have been far more responsible for the foals I'd sired." The stallion had sort of assumed that he'd given Isopia a clear enough idea of his attitude to monogamy during that conversation they'd had a Hubris' hatching, when he'd admitted the lusts in his body and his comparison of them to hunger. "You must understand, though, that to me sex is as natural a function as eating, drinking, breathing. That is not to say that I do not value it, but I do not see it as something that should be restricted. As you know, I do not believe in monogamy, but polygamy only works when a man can adequately care for the mothers and raise the children properly. I will admit that I did not do that correctly, although that's a mistake I've worked hard to remedy. His voice is always level, calm, kind, almost soothing. Volterra will not grovel, beg for forgiveness or admit fault where he believes there is none to be had, but he is man enough to own up to his mistakes and admit them freely. He has worked hard to amend them, and he only hopes that Isopia will appreciate his honesty rather than condemning him for it.

"That brings me back to you. Kis hollo, never think for a moment that you are not special to me. I...do not possess the words to explain how special you are to me. You will never be just one of a number, and nor would our son have been." The boy would not have been favoured above the others, but he'd have been loved more than he could ever understand. He'd have been cherished, valued, protected, raised by adoring and powerful parents and groomed to greatness. "Ön a szívem, kis hollo." You are my heart, little raven.