After all, his usual policy if something disagrees with him is kick it until it agrees. But he couldn't even contemplate doing such a thing to Isopia, his only semblance of a friend.

She does admit he has never let her down, however, and a throb of excitement bubbles in his chest as he wonders what she will show him. Before she shows him anything, she transforms back into herself. The beastling is fully expecting her to grow into a filly of a similar size and age to himself, a half-developed yearling of considerable weight and power but not yet completely filled out into her adult form. He expects unruly tufts of winter foal-fluff, spindly legs and a sense that she's growing into herself. But he's wrong.

The mare in front of him looms over him, her hooves less feathered than his own, her bulk less evident, yet her height admirable.

She's bigger than him.

How rude of her.

His features - hard lines and sharp, stern contours that are beginning to look more man than boy - contort into shock at the sight of her in all her gigantic glory. She's...well, beautiful. Up until now, when Volterra thought of beauty, he thought of gleaming dragon scales and the slick hide of his twin, but now he has to concede that what he sees in front of him makes his insides twitch oddly, and the first hums of testosterone between his stout thighs begin to send strange tingles through his body. Quickly he schools his face back into normality, trying not to stare too much at those curves that no girl of her age has any right to have. He is, after all, a teenager, with unfamiliar hormones driving his sudden growth spurt and the thickening of muscle and sinew. He isn't used to being around unfamiliar females, especially ones who are his age but have the bodies of mares, of women grown and flowered.

His dragon gives an indignant bellow, not liking where his bonded's thoughts are going. He is not used to not being the centre of attention, and his powerful wings tuck to send him into a dive that ends with him landing heavily upon Volterra's broad shoulders. His weight and the prick of his claws jerk the giant yearling from his reverie, and his crimson gaze shifts north to meet Isopia's eyes. As if she's read his mind, she informs him that yes, she's bigger, a juicy little side-effect of her God-genes. I age faster. "Don't you just," he murmurs, his thick baritone so low it's almost inaudible as his feral gaze unbiddingly rakes slowly up every inch of her body. At least this explains why her mental age has always been so far ahead of his own. Idly he wonders if this means she'll die young as well, but decides now isn't the time to ask that. "You...well, you're clearly your father's daughter." The giant had spawned a giantess, a woman of leviathan proportions. Damn, the power she possesses!

Before his thoughts disappear to uncharted territory again, the colt clears his throat and flicks an ear to bat away an errant fly. "So, where are we going?"

@[Isopia]