So follow her he did.

Part of him, however small, had swelled up a little at the way she'd landed on him, that she wanted his help. Of everybody in Helovia, she - strange filly of God and mortal - needed him. Of course, it hadn't made her father give him any more pretty gifts, but there is little point in dwelling on that.

Truthfully, he is grateful for the company. He finds himself wandering aimlessly these days, training to bulk up his titanic young frame but without any real purpose. He does it simply for something to do, because he no longer has his mother's guidance or her own special way of pushing him. He has to take his training into his own hands, but it simply isn't the same without the rare compliments the World Eater used to give him, that he used to work so hard to obtain. He hasn't seen his precious Nymeria for a while either, so all he really has is his dragon. He is truly grateful for the red in times like these, and their bond strengthens as both of their bodies do, becoming even more closely entwined around each other's consciousness as they develop from children into teenagers. However Volterra possesses the natural craving for equine company, and despite himself the earthen yearling has grown fond of Isopia during their meetings. They will always have a bond after they slaughtered together, and, save for Amaris, she is the closest thing to a friend he has. Not that he needs friends, but the company is enjoyable.

He follows her feathered frame as it travels from the Meadow, far faster than he can walk - so he canters, his heavy, feathered hooves drumming out a rhythm on the chilled ground. He has fine stamina thanks to his constant physical training, but despite this - and despite the cool air - there's still a fine sheen of sweat beading across his powerful flanks as he tries to keep pace with her. Oh, for a pair of wings. Vérzés wheels above the black leviathan, his amusement evident as he uses his own wings to demonstrate quite how fun flying actually is, darting after raven-Isopia with distinctive glee. The dragon is rather fond of the filly, too. After all, she was only the second face he ever saw after he hatched, and he recognises that it was her crusade against fire that created earthen strength in his bonded, that allowed the colt to erect walls and hills at will.

The more they move, the more Volterra becomes aware of the fact he may be about to enter a herd's lands for the first time, a thought that causes a fission of excitement to pass through his mind. After all, he's never been in or around a herd for his whole life, and all he knows is the little mini-heirarchy of him, his mother, sister and their companions. When he followed his dam's scent when she was stolen, he ended up on the edge of the world itself, with her aroma disappearing towards a distant island - he doesn't count that as actually being in a herd's lands, however, because god knows how anybody not-winged got across the vast expanse of water. So this is his first experience of being around a place where horses live together, and the hoofprints in the mud are just the first indication that he's about to enter a world he's never been a part of before.

The path seems to end and the beastling slows to a halt, blowing slightly through flared nostrils as he looks down at the raven-girl. Again she asks him to promise, and again he rolls his feral crimson eyes and releases a small, exasperated chuckle. "I promise, kis holló. Have I ever let you down before?" His voice is a baritone rumble, a far cry from the immature squeak it had been during their killing spree. He's grown since then, mentally and physically - little does he know that Isopia has, too.

@[Isopia]

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]

God dammit, this is not normal.

With a herculean display of strength, he focuses his mind on Vérzés' claws that are digging deep into his tight skin, so deep they draw blood. Pain he can concentrate on, pain he can use to take his mind off this bloody woman-girl and the things she's doing to his confused teenage brain. His most primal stallion's instincts - that he'd assumed he wouldn't get until he was at least two years old - scream at him to press his side against hers, to bellow mine mine mine and let the world know the Earth God's daughter is his woman, but he can't. Not least because she belongs to nobody, but he's also still too young for his body to co-operate with all the things his mind is telling him to do. She's his Everest - oh, the irony if he could read her mind and know she wants him to react like this, wants to be an unconquered mountain that every damn man and his dog wants to plant his flag in. He's ashamed of this sudden burst of desire, and assumes that she'll be as disgusted as his dragon is.

Her hindquarters swing towards him, and hundreds of years of evolution try to demand he press his chest against it, try to nudge him to lift onto his hindlegs and...stop it! With an anguished snort he throws his head up and reverses, before his self-control snaps completely and he ends up doing exactly what his mind is telling him. Heaven knows what that would do to their fledgling friendship, their growing and carefully-cultivated bond of trust. He focuses even harder on his dragon's claws, and helpfully the red leans down and takes a chunk of flowing black mane in his jaws. Each time he feels Volterra's mind wander off the safe path, he gives an obnoxious little tug, and the sharp pain drags the colt's mind back to where it should be.

The giantess' elevated head and just-so-teasingly lifted tail don't help matters, and when he trots after her, he's careful to keep a very safe two paces between their bodies. Staring at her delightfully rounded backside during their journey is hardly the worst way to spend the day, and his mane is soon sore from the amount of times Vérzés tugs at it to firmly bring his bonded's mind away from the nefarious. Thorns snag his feathered feet and nettles tickle his lower legs, his long, flowing tail catching on twigs as he fights his way through the thicket, ducking every so often as branches Isopia has pushed aside swing back and almost hit him in the face. But finally the trees clear and Volterra moves out from beside the filly to see the land she's kept so carefully guarded; his hooves press across ground that only she has ever trodden.

The clearing is beautiful. The little river seems made to be swam in and drank from, and the half-finished hut in the distance is a handsome structure that blends into the landscape rather than standing out of it. He casts his gaze around Isopia's home, feeling deeply honoured that she's shown him a place so precious to her. This, more than Vérzés' mane-tugging, help take his mind off his newfound lust. She must trust him to show him this place - she, born of the loins of God himself, trusts him, base-born bastard of earth and corrosion. He would hate to ruin that by doing something impulsive and stupid, driven by the testosterone he can't yet control.

So with a deep, shuddering breath, he finally pushes every lingering urge down, to a safe locked box that it will hopefully not escape from. "It's lovely," he rumbles, and manages to flash her a boyish grin. He fixes his bloody gaze on her as she stumbles over her words, one ear flicking idly in concern. Isopia never trips over her words. She asks him for help moving some earth, and the colt's grin widens. Oh yes, finally something he's good at! It doesn't even cross his mind to say no, because any excuse to use his magic is eagerly seized upon. "I'll do it for you," he says, the second she's finished speaking. "I have more control over my magic now. It doesn't tire me out as much as it did when we were younger - I should be able to do it in a couple of hours, depending on how big you want it to be." He isn't arrogant enough to believe he could do such a mammoth task all in one go, but it certainly won't bring him do the verge of death as his hastily-conjured wall did all those months ago. "How do you want to do this?"

@[Isopia]

And he doesn't even know her name.

Sensing that his bonded is no longer in danger of doing anything stupid, the scarlet dragon unhands his thick lock of mane and takes to the wing, landing in a nearby tree and nestling comfortably down on the wide branch. His proudly horned head rests on his forepaws and a small sizzle of icy air leaves his nostrils as he rests, keeping one beady eye on Volterra. The strange behaviour of horses is of little interest to the red, and his sleep is far more appealing.

Momentarily distracted by watching his companion move, Volterra doesn't notice Isopia's stutter, nor does he observe the weighted pause after her single I... If only he knew what thoughts ran in her head! It would certainly make him feel less guilty about his own thoughts. Large enough for two, she says. Who is the second, he wonders? Perhaps her king, perhaps a friend, perhaps her future lover.

The thought fills him with a most unnerving stab of jealousy.

She flips her head, locks of luscious mane landing just so, and Volterra realises he's gawping again. Clearing his throat, he jerks his own heavy head in a stiff nod of acknowledgement as she stands where she wants the pool to go. Here? she asks, and the colt ruffles slightly with delight that he's being asked. "There looks good." He has to admit, sitting in a warm pool in the depths of winter with a view like this, and a gorgeous demi-god nestled against his side, is quite an appealing picture. A throaty chuckle leaves him at her final words, ears flipping in mock disgust. "Slave-driver," he lightheartedly accuses.

All humour disappears from him then as he focuses on the task in hand; what a colossal task it will be! He's never created structures to last before. He always uses them until he gets bored then lets them collapse back into the soil, returning a little of his strength to him - not letting them collapse will therefore not give him that boost of strength. Admittedly the thought of scarring the landscape with a sculpture of his own making is rather appealing to his primal nature, laying his claim on his own little piece of Isopia's clearing with a creation built to last. The connotations, the symbolism...he was the first to be invited here and he will create something for the girl to use, for her to think of him every time she lowers herself into the warm waters...

In his half-sleep, Vérzés gives a warning rumble and sends the colt an image of his mane being tugged again. The monolith focuses his mind, braces his stout and powerful limbs against the ground, and reaches for the nub of magic nestled within his soul. Because he cannot drag earth down, he instead intends to create lifted sides, for the water to be put into - he intends to create a circle large enough for two horses to stand inside, but knows he can only do it one half at a time else the magic take its toll. He has a mental image of his creation; his circle around Isopia's rocks, with one bit of the side lower than the rest for access. A little bit of them both put into their structure. Her warm water lapping against his carefully-ascended sides.

Slowly, painstakingly, the rock beneath the ground in front of Isopia begins to wobble, poking from the sod like poison sucked out of a wound. Precision is surprisingly difficult, as he's used to simply creating errant hills and towers that have no particular shape, so to try and create a perfect circle of lifted stone is rather tricky. His strength begins to wobble as the rising rock drags it out of him, but the sap of power is slow, not a sudden explosion like last time. He can control it; he stops every so often to breathe deeply and rest, before continuing. Soon, a half-circle of chest-high rock rises around Isopia's gathered rocks, and Volterra allows his magic to slip away, slowly easing it out so his creation doesn't tumble back into the ground. It stands firm, and he gives a grunt of delight.

He looks to the hybrid. "Big enough so far?" he questions, admiring his handiwork. If she gives the seal of approval, he'll continue. He wants it to be perfect.

For you.

@[Isopia]

One day, maybe.

As he works with the ground, she uses her own powers to lift rocks onto her hut. Look at them, working in synch, two creatures of the earth manipulating their chosen element and bending it to their will. Volterra demands the rock's utter submission as he moulds it into what he wants it to become, his vision of perfection.

His gaze darts from his structure to Isopia's work-hardened body - her blowaway mane, her sweating sides, her heaving muscles...His mouth is suddenly dry, but he blames it on thirst from his exertions. His nostrils flare, desperate to drag in a breath of warm, unadulterated mare, and her single uttered word of agreement does nothing to remove his stallion's thoughts from those places he just cannot prevent them accessing.

He snaps his attention away and focuses on the half-complete hot tub. With another primal grunt of exertion - because the sound is manly and he wants to appear manly - the colt continues his task. He moulds the rock, drags it from the ground and forces it to his will, resting only when necessary. Sweat soaks his fur despite the chill in the air, and his already black body is darkened to the most starless midnight sky. He keeps his thick neck arched, ears pricked forwards, eyes focused unwaveringly on the hot tub. From a semi-circle, it becomes a full circle, chest-high and big enough for two. Two large, draft-breed horses, funnily enough. Provided they were willing to nestle fairly close, at least...

With another snort, Volterra coaxes one part of the circle back downwards, to create a place through which the inside of the circle can be accessed. He releases his magic and the sap on his strength as the rock remains standing is intense. His stocky legs quiver and his intake of breath is sudden and sharp, but he stays standing tall, swinging his heavy head towards Isopia. "Want to try adding water? Let's pray to the Gods it doesn't soak right through." That would be deeply annoying. He's done his best to plug the cracks with rock, but there's no saying that the water will stay in its stone prison.

@[Isopia]

But that's a long way away. The circle of stone doesn't even have any water in it yet, and Volterra prays to every God he knows that his creation will obey Isopia's will. He shifts his gaze to the nearby stream, then follows the water's movement as the filly shifts it to the base of their creation. To the monolith's utter delight, it stays where it is. You did it! she exclaims, and he shoots her a toothy grin, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. "Did you ever doubt me?" His words are lighthearted and he pumps out his chest in mock pride - or maybe not so mock, because he is secretly delighted with his achievement. He built his biggest structure yet, and it didn't collapse into dust the moment he relaxed his concentration. The true scope of his magic has suddenly become apparent - the things he will be able to achieve when he's older and stronger!

He sends a silent thanks to whatever generous benefactor gifted him with his abilities, although he secretly hopes it was Isopia's father the Earth God, because that's poetic. The giant man gave him an amulet, so why not his powers, too? Perhaps it was all a grand plan of his to give Volterra something that would appeal to Isopia, to draw the two together like either end of a magnet. Had the God perhaps had a hand in giving him his dragon, too? After all, if it weren't for Vérzés' hatching, the two may never have met. This train of thought is one the giant hadn't considered up until now, because he does not believe in fate; he believes in achieving one's future based on one's own abilities. Yet he did like the idea of being moulded by the Earth God into an ideal suitor - friend, he meant, friend, not suitor, definitely not - for his daughter.

Or maybe that's all bullshit and he just got lucky.

Her words drag him back to reality, and for a moment he's not sure he's heard correctly. Are his tired ears playing tricks with him, or did she just invite him into the hot tub? With her? "That's a good idea. For, uhm, science. Wouldn't want to spill water all over the...." He looks around, desperately searching for an excuse. "...ground." Yes, definitely. Can't have the ground getting wet. What if winter comes early and freezes the water spillage and they slip and break their legs? See, Volterra is getting into the hot tub with Isopia for their own safety. Nothing else. Most definitely.

He shifts towards the creation, stumbling slightly as he tries to remember how to work his aching legs. He stands close to the lip where the inside can be accessed, and gestures with his head, not wanting to take the glory of being the first one inside their structure. "Ladies first," he rumbles, ever the gentleman.

@[Isopia]

Then she gets in, and he doesn't even try not to stare at her deliciously muscular backside as it propels her into the hot tub. She stumbles slightly and he bites back the urge to ask if she's okay, because he doesn't want to embarass her. Best to pretend he didn't notice, and focus on keeping his own balance when he steps in. If he tripped over, he would most probably land in her lap, and that would clearly be dreadful. Or not.

She makes room for him, and he quickly moves to fill it. He hefts his heavy frame over the edge of the stone structure, grunting at the exertion as his tired, magic-fatigued muscles protest against the movement. Then the water touches the feathers around his hooves, and he lowers himself down beside her.

In this confined space, it is impossible to keep their bodies from touching, and truthfully he doesn't even try. She is so close, so damned close that he can see every sworl of hair and every God-given curve of her. His bulky flank brushes against her own as he adjusts himself, lowers further, mimicking her; yes, there's enough room for the two of them, but they are snug. A tight fit, and the innuendo of that sentence makes him shudder with the thrill of it. "We fit," he says, and there's so many connotations to that phrase, so many ulterior motives. It is imbued with all the new feelings she's brought out in him today, every tingle that he had never felt before, every thought and emotion she drew from his stone heart.

He growls slightly, a deep rumble in the back of his throat as that familiar heat begins to rise in him. In here, so close to her - they are in their own little world. Nobody knows they are here, save for the crimson dragon in the nearby tree who has already drifted off to sleep. They should stay here, forever, doing whatever they please, and nobody would ever have to know. But he can't. "I should probably go," he says. He has to meet with his sister, to plot and plan to get their mother back. Heavens, his dam would be furious if she was to find out he had neglected saving her because he had been too busy dallying with a woman - your father's son, ruled by your balls, she would say.

But he can't bring himself to move. He is too blissful, too comfortable. He loves physical contact at the best of times, but the fact they're just barely touching makes it all the more pleasant, that bit more tantalising. He doesn't shift, simply stays where he is, his ruby gaze fixed on the earth-filly beside him.

OOC: We could end it sometime soon and have a more up to date thread? ^^