A growl of agreement leaves the hellion's throat at the other man's words. Yes - magic costs. For Volterra to summon an entire mountain, for example, would likely take the same toll on his energy as running up and down said mountain fifty-eight times, or something similar. For Calor to control somebody for long periods of time would, most probably, cost him the same amount of energy as it would for him to physically wrest them to the ground and manipulate their limbs through sheer brute force. "That is likely your survival instinct. From what I've learned, magic takes as much of a toll on your strength as physical activity does. It is not limitless - if you were to push too hard, try to control too strong a horse for too long, it could kill you. The same as if I tried to build an entire stone city with my magic." Volterra is stronger now, and his magic takes less of a toll on him. However, he knows his limits. He pushes them, increases them through painstaking work, but is always careful not to go too far.

Of course, he has the advantage of another pool of strength in the form of his dragon. Should he ever use too much magic and show signs of slipping into the abyss, he is sure his red would lend him the power he needs to survive. In addition, perhaps what Calor is describing is not survival instinct as Volterra assumes, but some other drive as a result of mental magic alone. Perhaps the unicorn's body is telling him not to linger too long in the uncharted territory of another horse's mind, that most precious of sanctums. After all, a man's mind is his fortress. Should the other stallion get trapped inside said fortress, untold torture awaits at the hands of those he has trampled to get inside.

A somewhat elaborate metaphor, but fitting, the beast feels.

He flips his heavy head to launch his tangled forelock out of his eyes. The conversation seems to have ground to a halt, and he is keen to move back into solitude. He is an outcast not only out of convenience and because he has no desire to be controlled by a herd, but also because he is far from a social butterfly, so used is he to his own company. "I will leave you to practice your...gift." Is it a gift, or it is a curse? To play puppetmaster undoubtedly comes with its own burders. "Until we next fight a God together, bábjátékos." The Hungarian word slips unbidden from his lips - puppeteer. He has a penchant for giving nicknames in his mother's tongue, and it certainly seems fitting.