The water stirs, as she creates a rocky plinth in front of him. His ears prick and he arches his thick neck to examine the structure through one gooey eye, intrigued. I can do that, too! Her having a similar magic to him makes his chest bubble with all kinds of pride - he, sharing powers with a demi-God! But it doesn't take him long to realise that she can do what he can and more, as the water in front of him heats and gently froths, like a geyser lurks beneath the surface. His sculpted brow lifts in approval. "At least you'll have warmth during those long Frostfall nights," he rumbles. Her own little portable heater.

It seems her mother's genetics are to thank for such a magic, and Volterra idles on the possibility of magic being hereditary. If so, he is surprised he chose the path of Earth powers, when his dam's burning saliva had seemed so appealing during his youth. Imagine if he could combine the two, the subtle menace of corrosion with the unsubtle, explosive power of earth...but his mind is wandering, and when he is with Isopia he wants to focus fully on her to absorb as much of her as possible in the short time they spend together. The salty tang of the sea aches in his oversensitive, tar-ridden nostrils, but he does not want to leave the gentle caress of the water and the earth-filly's company.

She suddenly looks at him, and his heavy head pricks, alert. What will she ask him? Will she even ask him anything, or is his free pass into the depths of his soul going to be rejected? The question she comes out with is...unexpected, but not entirely unwanted. "Nowhere and anywhere," is his reply, shooting her an enigmatic grin before elaborating. "I am an Outcast, and have been my whole life. My dam is something of a pariah on Helovian soil, and she chooses to live away from the herds." Unless she's forcibly stolen into one, that is. And when she's not trying to forcibly invade one. His upbringing has been far from easy - he and his sister had to learn from an early age to be always alert, without the comfort of a herd to guard them from predators. They had to age before their time, strengthen before their young bodies were ready to harden and grow, survive when all they should have had to worry about was where to play next. The life of a rogue horse is not an easy one, and weaker stock would have perished, either through the harsh conditions or through predation, but the twins had survived and flourished.

He tilts his head at her. "What of you? Have you lived in the Falls your whole life?" That herd that he'd floated on the borders of, admiring from afar. Whilst he wouldn't change his Outcast upbringing for the world, he does wonder how his life would have been different if he'd grown up in normal herd society, with an extended family instead of just his dam and sister. He would probably be a more refined, noble creature with airs and graces, rather than the somewhat primal, guttural and rough-around-the-edges beast he is.