In the absence of wings, he ascends the old-fashioned way.

His muscles scream and sweat blossoms on his flesh despite the chill of the mountain air, but he revels in the ache. Mountain-climbing is one of the best ways to train, and this particular peak is a colossus amongst its kind. The rocky goat-paths hewn into the side are not designed for one as large as he, but hunting for footholds to place his massive hooves is quite challenging for his brain. It's mental stimulation as well as physical, and the brute takes satisfaction in that fact.

In contrast, his dragons find the surroundings effortless. The thin mountain air is heavenly for the lazy beats of their wings, and they duck and dive amongst the clouds with the ease of creatures who know they control every ounce of the air they fly in. Volterra's mind is bombarded with images of birds, of the trees far below, of prey moving across the sparse surface of the mountain. The dizzying heights that his companions fly at gives him vertigo, and his stomach lurches as Vadir dives downwards hundreds of feet to snatch a goose out of the sky and savagely tear it apart. All the time, she spirals like a crocodile's death roll, sprinkling feathers and flesh like rain. The beast is forced to block out his golden queen for fear her gruesome aerial acrobatics will turn him so dizzy he topples from the peak, and he braces his legs against the ground which seems to be swimming beneath him.

His red chooses to drift lazily on a gentle breeze, and through his eyes Volterra suddenly sees a flash of bronze. His heart lurches and he commands Vérzés to fly closer, closer, closer, until both dragon and stallion have their minds filled with Hubris' glimmering scales.

But the bronze isn't alone. Volterra bids Vérzés' head to turn, and there - there is a wild dragon.

It is huge, reminiscent of the wild dragons he encountered when he received both his companions' eggs. But its colouration is like nothing he's ever seen before, and he frowns. There's something about the crimson splatters on the sides, the skull-marked face, the browns and blacks and whites that he knows like they're part of himself, a canvas of beauty and power...Isopia! But since when has she been able to shift into a dragon?!

The thought makes him grin. Why wouldn't she be able to? She can turn into a raven, melt into the ground, summon creatures of earth. She is the daughter of a God. Nothing she does should surprise him.

Despite the way she'd disappeared without a word at Vadir's hatching, despite how he'd mused over all the possible reasons for such an exit, he finds his legs hurrying themselves to bring him higher up the mountain without giving a thought to the fact she may have been avoiding him. Finally, aching and breathing heavily through gaping nostrils, he arrives at the top, where he can see the great dragon in all her glory. He admires her, feels his heart and loins lurch at the sight of her, and prowls closer like a predator. Vérzés thumps heavily down upon his back, offering a shrill screech of greeting to Hubris. Vadir remains circling high above, devouring the remains of her goose - she has no qualms about sprinkling the ground with blood, but does her level best to ensure it doesn't go on her gleaming golden scales.

The black monolith steps closer to the dragon, admiring it, oggling it. "Kis holló?" He looks at her, questioning, awestruck. Shit, she's beautiful in horse form, but as a dragon? She is resplendent. "Or should I say kis sárkány." Little dragon. Or, as the case appears, not so little dragon.