He scans every glorious inch of her body, from those diamond-hard scales to the great leathery wings, from the nubile tail to the perfectly sculpted skull-marked head. So strong are his emotions that he feels jealousy stab into his mind from both his dragons - they are used to having such reverence from him, and they are not accustomed to sharing it. He does not know how they can be surprised, however. They know how he admires and respects their kind, and they have seen his body's primal reactions to Amaris, who embodies both mare and dragon. They both know how he feels about Isopia - Vérzés from experience, Vadir from memories she's greedily delved into with careless audacity - so it should not surprise them that seeing her in dragon form combines two of the things he favours most, and that his body and mind react accordingly.

The red tilts his head in pleased astonishment as Isopia addresses him in his own draconic language. He trills happily back, whilst Volterra looks on in puzzlement and tries to decipher what they're both saying. Hubris joins in with a response to Vérzés, and from her slow circles in the heavens Vadir adds her own high-pitched caw to the cacophony of dragon-noise. The black beast looks between the four dragons, feeling decidedly left out. He had considered attempting to get shapeshifting magic for himself that would allow him to soar alongside his companions, yet the thought of being airborne makes his stomach twist with displeasure. He suffers enough vertigo just from admiring the world through his companions' eyes - he thinks he will keep the rest of himself firmly rooted to the ground, thank you very much.

She's facing him now, and he can assess this new version of her properly. A hazy thought in the back of his brain tries to tell him he's staring too long, too openly, but that one little dissenter is quickly smothered beneath the weight of the rest of his mind's desire to admire the divine creature stood in front of him. "You are...stunning." Perhaps his words are too bold, too obvious, but the leviathan has always been the sort to wear his heart on his feathered sleeve, unless he makes a conscious and painful effort not to. He says things how they are, although that obnoxious little segment of his brain pipes up again to point out that women generally prefer subtlety, not all-guns-blazing admiration of their beauty. Treat them mean, keep them keen. That's easier said than done when Volterra is a connoisseur of both women and dragons, and revels in admiring them both.

Combine them into one, and it's a small wonder he can even get his tongue to form coherent words - it's too much to ask for to screen said words as well.

She's so casual, so nonchalant, as though being this stunning is easy for her - he, on the other hand, feels like he's putting a lot of effort into standing particularly tall, muscles particularly bunched, neck particularly arched just so to demonstrate each sculpted line. He's dreadfully aware of each part of his body, as though her new dragon-eyes will be able to see right through the masculine facade and into the squelchy feelings that nestle inside his brain. Like how much he's missed her since she left the hatching, how much he's wanted to hunt her down but hasn't known whether he could or should, how much he's wanted to try and figure out what made her leave in the first place so he can put it right.

It's a shame you can't fly. He gives a throaty chuckle. "I think I would be quite the liability in the air." Agility isn't his strong point, so if even if he could somehow sprout wings he would probably end up faceplanting a tree before he did anything as spectacular as his dragons' aerial feats. His face shifts to seriousness and he looks at her, tilting his heavy head slightly and furrowing his sharp brow in question. "How have you been?"