On the ground, Volterra trots beneath his companions, a hulking black shadow beneath the trees. The ground quivers beneath his formidable weight, each hard muscle propelling him forwards in the wake of his dragons. There is no hope of him catching them, with his ponderous pace and sheer bulk which is ill-suited to high speeds, but he marches after them all the same, smirking fondly beneath Gashad's patterned skull at the sight of their gleaming scales darting past. They are beautiful little death machines, and they are his.

Suddenly, his mind tingles as both his dragons send him visions of a mare - immediately his ears prick and upper lip elevates, scenting the air to see if she's in heat, to see if she will be receptive to his advances. He is a stallion before he is anything else, and even when women aren't his main focus, they are always on his mind, and he is always willing to change his day's activities if he detects his favourite aroma. His dragons halt their race and choose instead to circle directly above the mare, his prey, sending images of jet-black fur and delicious locks of purple mane. Hunger gnaws in the leviathan's chest and he alters his path to take him towards the woman, following his dragons' instructions to guide him through the forest.

They send him the image of something else, too; a little black cub, nestled beneath a tree. He feels their hunger, feels their desire to swoop and devour, but with a sharp mental jab he forbids them from descending upon the cub and feasting on it. The cub is likely the mare's companion, and the dragons eating it will not make the woman overly fond of their commander. Closer and closer he roams, until finally he sees her - a unicorn, stunning, resplendent in front of a pond. Muffled thuds ring through the forest as Vérzés and Vadir land on different branches of the same tree, their massive frames hulking over the clearing and watching both the unicorn and the cub with sharp, feral eyes. Volterra shifts closer, nostrils flared, thick neck arched to display each glorious muscle, crimson eyes peering through the holes of the patterned skull he wears. "Is it really wise for a woman to wander the forest alone?" he asks, his voice the gravelly baritone of stones rasping across concrete. "There could be monsters." And the wickedest of grins spreads across his beskulled face.