"Hatchling."

Vadir's voice is cold and clear in the hellion's mind; it is the queen's frigid croon, the self-assued purr of the golden royalty.

Which one? the stallion asks her, lifting his colossal head from where he has been idly biting at the dried scabs on his right foreleg from his fight with Seanan.

"Oldest. Son of She-Bitch." The gold's voice turns decidedly unpleasant as she sends him an image of Sikeax. It is unlikely she will every forgive Sikeax for the humiliation the mare subjected her to, and the edges of the image are tainted with red-blood-rage. Volterra smothers an amused smirk, and demands that Vadir send him an image of Zhu himself; the dragon duly obeys, and the beast's mind is filled with pictures of his oldest son, rolling in the sand of the Flats. Vadir circles high, high above the antlered youth as she sends her bonded the images, so Volterra can hardly make out particulars of the boy's features - he appears to be just a blackened dot down below, blurred by the rain.

The giant loses no time in shaking his muscles into life and launching into an earth-shaking canter across the moist sand, whilst the rain smacks against his taut hide and the thunder rumbles in tandem with his heavy hoofbeats. Vadir flies back to him, circles, and pelts like a golden bullet alongside him; Vérzés is nowhere to be seen, having remained in the forest to hunt. The queen delights in having her bonded all to herself, and is somewhat disgruntled that he seems intent on seeking out his son. Perhaps she would not have shared Zhu's location with the mammoth black stallion had she known he would immediately move to hunt down the colt.

It feels good to run. Volterra is not overly fond of wide open spaces like the Flats, and spends the majority of his time in the mountains and forests; yet there's something thrilling about feeling his gargantuan body purr through the gears as he charges through the featureless expanse of sand and grey sky. His canter soon blends smoothly into a gallop, his thick neck bending and flexing with the rhythm of his stride, Vadir easily keeping pace with sharp beats of her massive leathery wings. His breath comes in sharp huffs but he hardly feels tired, revelling in his increased stamina born of constant battles; he's sure he was never this fast, either, and euphoria burns through him at the knowledge that his training is working. The storm echoes above him and the rain pelts into his eyes, running in rivulets down the contours of his white face. He feels free, he feels elated, he feels alive.

Soon, he can make out the blurry black figure of Zhu on the ground, and he allows his stride to slow into a high-stepping trot and then a walk. He stretches his neck, feeling cascades of tangled black mane tickle against his skin; he's sweating, but he feels like he could go again, and again. Closer and closer he ambles towards his son, expecting to see the young, gangly-legged boy whom he'd last interacted with many months ago. Imagine his surprise when, instead, he sees a man. A stallion, grown and muscled; there's no longer smooth nothingness between those thighs, instead there's the means of creating grandchildren. Jesus, had he missed so much time? His son...looks like he could be his brother.

So deep is the behemoth's shock that he doesn't even notice Vadir land heavily on his back - something he usually does notice, because the gold is so huge and heavy that her weight is quite formidable when it's resting against his spine. "Zhu," comes the goliath's thunderous voice. "You've...grown." He looks the lad up and down, and approval brings a spark to those crimson eyes of his; he sees strength, he sees potential. His son has grown well.