He ignores her. Erebos is no enemy of his, and right now the Basin is no enemy of the Throat's either. That may change by the time this meeting is over, but for now Volterra huffs a welcoming snort to the General with his ears pricked forwards in neutrality and warmth. "Hello again, General." The Indomitable's great earthquake of a voice holds none of the hidden meanings that it had last time they'd interacted - he long ago realised that he isn't capable of lying, that he must wear his heart on his sleeve and deal with the repercussions of that. No, this time his tones are open, honest and broad, hiding nothing behind their thunderous syllables.

He glances down to Pippigrin, then. The pegasus had hardly shut up during the journey here and Volterra's ears are sore from the constant stream of babble that had entered them, but he still listens with interest as the tiny warrior informs him that Weaver is nasty. "Hmmm," is his somewhat suprised reply. He'd found the mare pleasant enough and a fine warrior, but he supposes first appearances can be deceiving. A curt nod is given to Pippigrin to show that his words have been heard and noted, and there's a hint of steel in his expression as he looks back to the Basin's members.

Another mare follows, this one armed with a spiked tail and a surprisingly deep voice. Her bulk, size and presence is enough to pique Volterra's interest, although he's sure to keep this interest strictly professional as he looks at her. Then he hears his own name, spoken in the voice of a man he's very familiar with. "Rikyn!" comes his booming greeting, followed by a chuckle at the Puppeteer's remark about the mountains.

But then, as though struck by lightning, the Indomitable's features harden to steel in the aftermath of Rikyn's laugh and his second comment. Volterra might like Rikyn, consider him a friend, even, but Pippigrin is one of the Throat's warriors and like a protective father the beast will accept no mocking of him. His eyes flash dangerously, narrowing to crimson slits as he glares at Rikyn. In his mind the dragons screech, their sights set firmly on the deer should a fight break out - it takes a lot for the stallion to hold them away. Ampere is quick to defend Pippigrin as well, and Volterra's respect for the mare edges up another few notches for this fact. Her swift rebuke is like an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove - humour with hardness underneath, a barbed comment with just enough innuendo to not cause detriment to their hopes of an alliance. Oof, think he'll need some ice for that burn, he thinks to himself, although his initial amusement soon fizzles away as he responds as well. "Pippigrin has the heart and bravery of a warrior twice his height, and his size also lends him the ability to attack certain parts of a man that you'd prefer to keep safe. Underestimate him at your peril."

It's glowing praise from a man as versed in battle as Volterra is, and he's sure to keep his voice level as he says it as well. His frisson of anger has faded and he does not wish to compromise chances of an alliance, so he's sure to keep his tones light...although his eyes are still glowing, and as hard as chips of flint. It hasn't escaped him that Rikyn introduces himself as Lord, and the goliath raises an interested eyebrow. Before he can question the comment, Ampere speaks about why they're here, and he nods before talking himself. "And I am Volterra, Sultan of the Dragon's Throat." He introduces himself for the benefit of those who do not know him, before continuing. "We are keen to see where our herds sit with regards to each other. In times like these, it is important that we all know where we stand." Here he falls silent, unsure whether to mention the last set of failed alliance talks. He leaves the ball in the court of the Basiners, his mighty head swinging between each of them - he would be the first to confess that he's not entirely comfortable with situations like this, when words are required rather than bodies. It's a discomfort he'll need to overcome, and he's sure not to show it in the harsh, stern planes of his face.