His dragons return Hubris' cries, sadness tinging their proud voices. They know something is changing. Although they are not privy to the workings of Isopia or the bronze's mind, they can tell from their bonded's evident concern that this is something big. Colossal.

Vadir, despite her concern over the stallion's welfare, is shamelessly smug about the fact she, moreso than the red, had had misgivings about the tryst. She wraps her knife-tipped tail around the branch, standing tall and leaning forwards so she can examine what's going on below her with a sharp eye. His agony is an emotion for her to dissect, analyse, just as she had with his lust.

She's almost enjoying it, poking and prodding at the turmoil within the goliath's skull. He hardly notices, because his world is too busy falling apart.

Kid and the others. Kid. And others. "Kid? Others?" This is what he imagines it feels like to have a stone shoved forcefully down through your throat, into your chest, nestling next to your beating heart. Surely - surely - the gods would not be cruel enough as to have created more than one child through his seed. He racks his brains, counting his conquests - Mirabella, Colt, Sikeax, Zandora. Isopia is not counted in that number, because she's so much damn more than a simple notch on an ever-expanding bedpost, but that still leaves three women who could possibly have borne his child.

Perhaps Isopia has fallen pregnant to him, too. The thought fills him with a bombardment of emotions - power, to think he could have created a foal in the belly of a Goddess, and fear, because to add another progeny to his list at this tender age...it's too much.

The beast's eyes narrow to slits as the giantess speaks again. The fact she knows Zhu has a speech problem means she's spoken to him for longer than just a passing glance, and a cold hand nestles neatly around his heart.

I don't think Sikeax will want him running off to be a warrior. "She will not have a choice," he growls, firmly, half-forgetting the company he's in. If he wishes to teach his son to fight, then he will. He will not have a sissy little brat bearing his name.

She speaks again, but her words are blurs. The beast barely has enough nous to muster a response, because he's really beginning to realise that something is badly, horrifically wrong. "I assumed you would want to know." Not for the first time - and not for the last - he feels dumb in her presence, frustrated at his inability to wield words like weapons or, in this case, like armour to fend off the daggers she's throwing at him. He can only deflect them from his heart with careless swipes of his arm, inferior swirls of his tongue.

Then, she moves towards him. His ears prick, hopeful; perhaps this unpleasant misunderstanding is about to come to an end in the form of them colliding as they had in the Fields. She becomes horse again, and his eyes darken into carnal pools at the sight of her in all her glory. He arranges himself, preparing for her to nestle beside him where she fits like a puzzle piece, ready to pepper her with bites and and use his body to make up for any offense he may have caused her. On her branch above them, the golden queen deflates. She had truly thought a fight may be on the cards.

She could still be right.

His eyes are drawn to the mare's sides, greedily hunting for the telltale swelling. It isn't that he wants her to be pregnant, as that could be far more trouble than it's worth, but the idea does not repel him as it does when he thinks of siring a child with another mare. Again.

She meets his eyes. The hand tightens around his heart, pressing, crushing, as his vastly inferior brain struggles to comprehend what she's trying to prove. Is she trying to notify him that she is pregnant, or make a point with the fact she isn't? He doesn't understand. His manhood is spared insult by his inability to suss out her ulterior motives, so it is only his mind that she has made to feel inadequate. Frustration at his own idiocy makes his ears bat momentarily backwards and his lips grit into a snarl, muscles tensing subconsciously. "What are you trying to show me, kis hollo? Be straight with me - you know I haven't the patience for games like this." His voice is firm, unwavering despite the tidal wave of emotions that pulse through his bloodstream. Surely they are close enough that they can be honest with each other - surely she owes him that, if nothing else.