He feels the urge to drift off to sleep, and it takes quite some effort to resist it. He is relaxed, yes, but he is still a warrior at heart and this would be too vulnerable a position to sleep in. Volterra always takes his rest up against a tree or in a cave, and he always ensures at least one dragon is awake when he is asleep, to ensure he will not be caught unawares. So, as much as he wants to drift into a delightfully cool snow-induced slumber, he doesn't. He simply relaxes, eyes half-shut but ears still turning in circles to detect any noise.

There is a crunch of snow, and the beast's eyes snap open fully. There, approaching him, is Kid; his son, perhaps his eldest. They have met only once, and Volterra's bruises took some days to disappear - the boy can pack a punch, and the proud sire loves this. He thinks how different things would have been if he hadn't got any mares pregnant for a couple more years, until he had a throne beneath his royal backside and an empire at his back. Kid would have been his firstborn, still, and would have been the son he'd have groomed for greatness. Oh, yes, the others would have been trained to fight and to take herds of their own when they were able, but it is Kid who would have been named Volterra's heir, and who would have been trained with that in mind. It is Kid who, many years from now when Volterra is a senile old man, he would have passed his crown to, after countless years of prosperity within his kingdom. For all his flaws, the behemoth has some traditional ideals, and he would have ruled his herd with this in mind - that the firstborn son is the one bred to inherit his father's empire.

But this is all just a dream, now. Kid has been born far too early, when his father is hardly out of boyhood himself. What's more, he was sired before the great black mountain learnt responsibility, before he realised that sometimes sex results in children, and that children are not forgiving creatures when they think they have been abandoned by their sires. Kid does not like him - the venom he put into his kicks and bites made that fact abundantly clear - and that's his own damn fault for not realising the boy existed until he appeared before his very eyes.

So Kid might not be his heir at this exact moment; Volterra still owns no herd, although he one day will, so at the moment the boy has nothing to inherit even if he wanted to. His little story, dreamed of since he was a wet-furred colt, cannot now come to pass, but he likes to think it will still happen, albeit with a few changes to the original plotline. He prays they will reconcile, that the colt can still be the heir Volterra needs, and that when the beast takes a herd he will have his firstborn son by his side to groom into perfection.

Judging by the fact Kid looks like he's just stumbled across a steaming pile of shit on the ground rather than his much-respected and adored father, Volterra rather thinks reconciliation is still quite a distance away.

"Son." He uses the term pointedly, because whether the boy likes it or not, he is his son, a fact he will need to learn to accept. At the lad's remark about his vulnerability, the goliath gives a low, harsh chuckle. "I am never defenceless, dear boy. A wolf still has teeth, even when it rests." Although Volterra will allow his son some liberties (such as throwing a range of kicks and bites at him that would have earnt any other horse a firm and thorough beating), he draws the line at letting the boy literally walk all over him. As the dainty hoof extends to plant upon his shoulder, the giant gives a warning pin of his ears and rises, like a monster from the deep, to his feet. Snow tumbles in an avalanche from his fur and he shakes further flakes from his mane with a hearty grunt, fixing his penetrative red stare on the grullo youngster. The boy is unfortunately small, which is a shame, but he supposes his great size cannot be inherited by all of his offspring. Provided thick muscle grows to lace that petite frame, that testosterone thickens the neck and the quarters, the boy still has potential. Volterra has fought enough short-arses in his life to know that height is not everything when it comes to battle.

At the lad's remark about his fat ass, he raises a sardonic brow. "And what brings your unfortunately un-fat ass this far north?" It is not truly meant as an insult, rather a way to test how easily Kid offends. Does he have Daddy's temper, he wonders?