Like the sword that's either going to drop onto the condemned man's neck or lift to let him live, her wing rises.

So does his heart. It soars, because this had been a gilt-edged chance for her to back off if this isn't what she wants. She's chosen to accept it, accept him, and the euphoria that spreads through him is unrivalled by even the strongest drug.

His dragons' emotions are mixed as Hubris nears them, the gold perched on a rock and the red circling above. Both are privy to the depths of the stallion's sordid mind, yet neither of them quite know whether this development is good or bad. Vérzés, for whom Isopia has been a constant in his life since his hatching, is all for this progression of their relationship. He likes and respects the young goddess, even if he has found Volterra's emotions towards her too overpowering sometimes - as the brute had painstakingly explained to Isopia, he and his dragon are so similar that times of high emotion can sometimes be too grating to cope. So, at Hubris' question, the red nods his proud horned head vigorously. "Good", he trills back to the bronze, enthusiastically but also quietly so as not to disrupt his bonded.

Vadir's emotions are contrasting. She has no real feelings towards Isopia - although she finds Hubris' bronze scales acceptable to her discerning eye, far more so than her brother's inferior red ones, and thus thinks Isopia to be adequate as she is capable of bonding to a royal - and she hasn't been around long enough to see his relationship with the mare develop from childhood frolics to this. She thinks this just another one of her bonded's conquests, but she's also mildly concerned that the earth-girl will steal Volterra's attention away from her. She can't have that; she must be the most important woman in his life, as she is the queen, his queen. So, to the bronze's question she simply gives a haughty sniff, curling her scythed tail delicately around her gleaming body. She says nothing, simply fixes her penetrating gaze on the distant giants and bids them to hurry up, so she can have Volterra's attention back on her.

But his golden companion couldn't be further from the young mammoth's mind. This is the moment everything has been building to; their first exchanges, debates about names, burnt animal slaughter, magic discovery, hot-tub creation....it all fades into a blur behind them, ascending to this. They'd seen each other at their best (he remembers her in all her glory during the God battles, fighting strong and hard like a woman worthy of his attention) and their worst (oozing black snot, sweating in the ocean, unknown diseases rampaging through their bodies). They'd grown from boy and girl to stallion and mare, they'd watched each other bond and obtain magic, they'd survived the growing pains of youth. This is their reward.

The monolith doesn't know what will happen after. He cannot do monogamy, and she is the daughter of a God who is destined for more than dedicating her life to a lowborn mutt, but those are thoughts for another day. This is here and now. Truthfully, he did not think this moment would ever come; she could do so much better than him, and although the primitive beast parts of him croon with delight about the notion of possibly conquering the peak that is her, the rest of him pulses with terror that far outweighs what he felt when she flew with him.

What if he's a letdown? The giant has certainly not had any complaints before, and has quite a high opinion of his prowess, but the earth-mare's standards will be exacting. He has to meet them, and exceed them. The idea of this not being perfect makes his masculine pride throb with disgust. No, he tells himself, firm. He steels his determination, arches his neck and swells his shoulders; he will make this a day to remember.

He - wrongly - assumes that there've been others before him, but he's going to make damn sure that he's the best she ever has.

He moves forwards, not wanting to move so fast that he seems overeager nor so slow that she thinks he isn't keen. Her feathers tickle his back, sending thrilled shivers down his spine, and his jaws slip to their right to continue their line of kisses across her skin. His own tingles with her touch, and the way she leans into him sends passion sparking through his body, a frisson of fire as though a dragon is razing him from head to tail. A low, guttural growl of desire slips unbidden from his jaws - a rough, harsh noise quite at odds with the delicacy of the situation, and he wonders whether she will find it frightening or arousing. Naturally, he hopes for the latter.

The beast's heart is pounding so hard he thinks she must be able to hear it. Blood roars in his ears, migrates south, and he begins to circle to try and come up behind her. Her haunches - taller than his, rising like beautiful peaks into the heavens - are a mass of sumptous curves and hardened muscle, and another feral growl rips its way free from his lips. His hindlegs bunch, instinct telling him to lift, but with great effort he remains on all fours and instead presses a hopeful nibble to the dock of her tail. His eyes dart warily downwards, as thousands of years of nature have made sure stallions stay alert when they're stood behind mares - those massive hooves could leave quite the dent in his chest should she decide she's had enough of his advances. This is the moment of truth. She can move forwards and away, and call this a happy little almost-mistake. Or she can stand where she is, signal her permission to him, and let him pass the point of no return.