The beast continues his ambling stride, tail lashing at the final persistent Orangemoon flies. He has no plans for today - every so often, he rewards himself with a day of rest, when he isn't sparring or training or pursuing mares with a single-minded determination. These days are few and far between, but he enjoys them immensely. Just him and his dragons, grazing, sleeping and relishing one another's company - even his bondeds know better than to squabble during days like these.

It is Vadir who sends him the mental image of the unicorn, not too far away. She shows him an inverted horn, and a plentitude of scars on the chest. Despite the fact it's a down day, the black hellion finds himself approaching, swallowing the last fragments of grass and moving into a slightly faster walk. This new momentum jars Vérzés awake, and the red gives an irritable growl as he hooks his claws into Volterra's flesh to keep himself balanced in his bleary-eyed state. It isn't long before the behemoth and his companions are stood before the snuffling unicorn, and three sets of eyes scan his body. "Gods, who did you piss off?" One regal brow lifts, scrutinising the painted unicorn's wounds.

Vadir's circles become lower and lower, until finally she alights upon the ground next to her bonded. She tilts her royal head, folding her haunches into a proud sitting position and scrutinising the folded-horned unicorn. She admires the cuts, contemplating whether they could have been created by the claws of one of her kind. But Ashamin reveals his wounds are from a friend, and the brute's gaze scans them again.

The older stallion moves forwards, extending a cheek. Volterra's eyes narrow, confusion spasming across him. This is...unusual. In his experience, only women touch for reasons that aren't sexual - and yet the black monolith is very orientated towards touch, whether it be friendly or otherwise. An outcast life for one of his craving for physical contact is painful, to say the least. He nudges his muzzle forwards to touch the proffered cheek once in greeting, before taking a step backwards, careful not to tread on Vadir's tail. "Volterra. The red is Vérzés, the gold is Vadir." Both dragons lift their heads at their names, curling their tails like anxious snakes.

The power inside the young stud tingles as he summons his magic, lifting the ground beneath Vadir into a small plateau. She squawks indignantly and lifts back into the air, displeasure radiating into her bonded's mind. "Perhaps I can assist, if you need more pain." One twitch of his mind and the plateau sharpens to a savage point, wicked enough to slice flesh. Quite why the brute is offering his help, he doesn't know, but the chance to inflict pain is not something he's going to pass up.

But the man accepts, all the same - he must be desperate for whatever magic the Goddess has offered him. Sensing that the brute needs to concentrate, the red dragon vacates his back and takes to the heavens, circling a good distance away from the gold. Volterra shuts his mind, cutting the bond with both companions down to the thinnest thread of consciousness. After all, two conflicting personalities in his mind can prove distracting, even though he's slowly becoming used to Vadir's forceful presence.

The older male offers a leg, and Volterra concentrates on it. "It will hurt," he warns, as though that's not obvious enough. With a rumble, his current spike collapses back into the dirt, and he aims his magic instead for the ground just beneath Ashamin's leg. With a grunt of effort, he erupts the earth into a thin, razor-sharp spike of rock, high enough to rip into flesh and muscle alike. He doesn't, however, put enough force into it that it will pierce straight through the leg, as much as there's a slight temptation to do so. No - he's being a good boy, attempting to cause a wound that will hurt greatly but won't irreversibly maim the unfortunate unicorn.

He's unsure how long the pain has to last for the quest to be considered a success, but as blood fountains down the rock he thinks it's probably time to stop. With a flex of his mind, he crumbles the structure back into dust, feeling the familiar drain on his strength as he does so. His dragons, scenting blood, grow excited at the notion of prey, but a powerful eruption of their bonded's mind quickly deters them from striking. They will save their energy for another day, for another unfortunate creature.

As the painted one thanks him, Volterra lifts a sculpted eyebrow. How graceful, to thank the man that carved up his leg! "You're very welcome," he replies, cheerily. Inflicting pain is always fun for the macabre youngster, so the deal worked out quite well for both parties. "You should probably consult a healer, though," he points out, eyeing the wound. Unless that compromises the quest, but somehow the beast doesn't think even Moony is sick enough to make her worshippers risk infection in order to please her.

Deciding to leave Ashamin to his wounds, the behemoth dips his massive head in a goodbye nod. Then, dragons in tow, he moves away, skulking back into the shadows.