One of Volterra's greatest flaws is the fact there's an innate selfishness running through his blood. Combined with his greed, it creates a man that thinks he can bend the world to his will and reap whatever he likes from it. It creates a man that thinks he can have a harem of women and as long as he chooses one favourite, she and the others will be alright with that, will be content with their lot in life. He is a man that thinks giving Isopia his heart is enough, even though his body is shared around the many broads that he calls his.

It never crosses his mind that she won't be okay with that. In his simplistic, primitive brain, he thinks that as long as he shows her that she's favoured above all the others, she will happily accept that and force aside her desire to be the one and only. He thinks that, clever woman that she is, she will understand the natural order of things - that a stallion has a harem, that monogamy is as unnatural to him as growing a set of fins instead of hooves. Wishful thinking, yes. Utterly selfish, definitely.

But that is what Volterra is. He isn't perfect - he's as far from perfect as it's possible to be. He's also, in his own way, rather gullible, so when Isopia proclaims that she understands, his face breaks out into a great, happy smile of relief. The beast is not a liar, and thus he's utterly hopeless at detecting it in other people. He takes the Mountain's words at face value, and he finds the tension in his muscles seeping away like water cascading down a rock. He shifts closer, wanting to press his body to her again, to hold that warm skin of hers against his own and feel the familiar shape of her. They are older now, yes. Wiser? Perhaps not Volterra, although he tries to be. He's learned from his mistakes, but that doesn't mean he's not prone to making more.

Her question concerns him, and he blinks several times as he contemplates how best to answer. She might be shocked and revolted at his current total, yet there's no way he's going to lie - he just isn't capable. "Nine," he rumbles. He tries to make his voice sound sheepish, almost ashamed, but it simply sounds proud. Not because he has so many, but because he loves each and every one like they're his only one, and dotes on them unconditionally. "There's Kid and Sabre, my twins. Zhu, who is a man in his own right now, and Astarot, one of my healers in the Throat. There's Tyrath - he can shift into a dragon, you know." He beams at Isopia, hoping that this common ground between her and Tyrath will make her dislike the boy less because of his status as Aithniel's son. The smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, which remain rather anxious as he contemplates the Mountain's reaction.

"Then there's Valdis," and here his face clouds slightly, his ears darting momentarily backwards as he thinks of his little crippled girl. "She was attacked shortly after her birth, and badly maimed. I won't hear a word said against her, though." His voice is fierce, as though daring anybody to call his precious Valdis a cripple or a weakling. "Vezér and Victorina too. Both of their mothers are dead...raising them alone is challenging, but I do my best." Then he looks over to the grave, his voice softening, his expression folding with sorrow. "And there's Kókkino thanátou, loved as much as the others."