He enjoys this land. It reminds him of the first God battle; the blood, the glory. That was the first time he felt the thrill of war, the incomparable tingle of excitement, the sheer unbridled joy of inflicting pain. This is where he learned true beauty; everybody else can keep their pretty sunsets and their twinkling stars, because they are ugly stepsisters next to the feral delight of battle.

The crimson pool glimmers ominously under the weak dawn light, as if inviting unwary horses into its plunging depths. It is early in the day, but already stiflingly hot; here in the north it is marginally more bearable than the south, but the leviathan still finds himself sweating profusely. His tail swings against his muscular flanks to beat away the most persistent flies, aided by Vadir on his back who happily immolates any insects that Volterra's own ministrations fail to eliminate. She rests her massive golden body on his haunches, facing his rear end in order to better aim her torrent of flame towards any nearby flies whilst her viciously spiked tail waves dangerously close to his neck.

The stallion pauses at the water's edge, lazily musing over the odd colour of the liquid. The peace and solace is broken when Vérzés, who had been soaring above whilst jealously eyeballing his golden sister upon Volterra's back, lets out a joyous bellow and dives from a great height directly into the ruby depths of the pool with a massive splash. Droplets of water flick into the behemoth's face and he grunts irritably, although it's hard to be annoyed at the red dragon for his sheer childlike joy at swimming in water the same colour as himself. Vérzés emerges from the depths and paddles happily across the surface, propelled by his powerful tail, hardly distinguishable from the deep red backdrop.

Vadir sniffs haughtily and looks away, as though offended by the sight, whilst Volterra idly watches his crimson bonded's activities.

Unusually, it is not Volterra himself who detects the presence of the mare. Usually, he's quick to realise that a woman is nearby; his greatest weakness, his kryptonite. But today, he's more relaxed than usual - his life has settled into a relatively happy rhythm, fueled by his recent successes on the battlefield and his knowledge that he's soon to rise above his peers once the time is right for him to seize a herd. When he has so much else to focus on, he does not find himself quite as obsessed with indulging his most basic of urges. He is still quite an opportunist, and if the chance to bed a woman presents itself then he will be sure to take it, but he rarely finds time these days to go out searching for it.

No, it is Vadir - facing the opposite way to him as she lounges upon his back, lazily scorching nearby flies - who spots the approaching equine. She lifts her proud, royal head and scrutinises the mare through piercing red eyes, before transmitting an image to her mammoth bonded. He turns, a slow and cumbersome movement given his size, until his feral gaze can rest upon her. She's a pretty little thing, young like himself but most certainly a woman, with a strange dog-creature at her heels. Vadir fixes the hellhound with her piercing stare, deciding whether it is edible, before deciding it's far too hot to summon the energy to attack - besides, her belly is full from her previous hunt.

The mare speaks, and the brute's ears naturally venture forwards to scoop up her words. Is it just his imagination, or is she looking at him? He is quick to return the favour, his eyes roaming freely and shamelessly across each and every curve of her body. She remarks on Vérzés' similarity to the crimson falls behind, and the stallion releases an earth-shaking chuckle. She asks about his bondeds, and suddenly both dragons are interested; they love to hear him talk about them. "They are dragons - the most fearsome predators in all the land. As well as their claws and teeth, they have an affinity for a variety of elemental breaths, so it is wise to offer them respect at all times." He flashes a wolfish grin, and Vadir makes a sound similar to a cat's purr. "I am Volterra, who might you be?" He glances at her with evident interest.

He bulks up beneath her stare; his firm, battle-hardened muscles stand to attention and his piercing crimson eyes seem to glow with molten fire. A few months ago, he would have been attempting to bed her straight away, but now...he is beginning to learn the art of self-control, a slow and painful path but one that, nevertheless, he feels obliged to walk along. He is starting to realise that, perhaps, less is more when it comes to mares. Fewer women, but ones that he's closer to, that he knows, that he can add to his harem so he can keep them under his watchful eye at all times and ensure that the children they give him know him as his father from birth. Of course, he'll need the occasional fling, to keep himself sane, but he is beginning to ponder the possibility of getting to know them first.

This particular specimen is certainly intriguing. She was the one who approached him, and she seems interested in him and his companions. She steps closer, like a curious little lamb prowling ever closer to the wolf, and he watches her with interest glowing in his ruby gaze. "A pleasure to meet you, Vitani. The red dragon is Vérzés, his golden sister is Vadir." He feels a pulse of infantile displeasure coming from Vadir because he introduced her red brother before her; he snorts his amusement and studiously ignores her outraged complaints.

His gaze travels to the dog near to Vitani. It is not a dog like one he has ever seen before, so he assumes it is mythical. Unfortunately, he knows little of none-dragon companions, and he scrutinises the creature with interest. "And what of your companion? I've never seen one like it before." The hound is no dragon, but it is impressive in its own way.

The beast's eyes travel to the hound as its back begins to glow, and both his dragons start to hiss warily as the air crackles with magic. But the creature doesn't release whatever power it possesses, and both red and gold allow themselves to relax into their usual easy predatory grace. They eyeball the hellhound with mingled interest and distaste, because it is not-dragon and therefore, in their eyes, inferior.

Vitani mentions his herdlessness, then, and his ears prick proudly forwards. "I am an outcast." He says it with evident pride; he enjoys the fact that he is unbound, without ties. His freedom is one of his most cherished possessions, and he is loathe to give it up...although he is rapidly beginning to think that the time for him to take a crown is growing ominously closer. His third birthday has come and gone, and he is delightfully experienced upon the field of battle. Only his mental state is holding him back from challenging, and he rather thinks his time will come soon.

But they are not thoughts he is keen to share with this mare just yet, however friendly and attractive she may be. Instead he flares his nostrils to drink in her scent, noting that is is the aroma he associates with the Falls. With Isopia. "You smell of the Falls. What is it like there?" He's interested in finding out more about her, but also in obtaining more information on the Falls, the herd which has caught his greedy eye.

His wolfish grin widens at her first words, whilst his tail flickers idly behind him. "It is only unsafe if you are unprepared for the toils it entails. I have grown up as an outcast; I know nothing else, and my mother taught me how to survive from a very young age. Without a herd to protect you, you have to learn to protect yourself. Adapt, or die." Not the most glamorous description of roguehood, but it is completely true. Being an outcast isn't easy, and it takes a certain type of character to be able to survive without a herd behind them. The leviathan prides himself of being one of those rare few, and he has survived to the grand old age of three without any life-threatening incidents.

His eyes lazily roam across her; she looks strong and sturdy enough, so he is fairly sure she would be able to survive in the wilderness. Perhaps he should try and lure her away from her herd, to live with him as part of his harem....But he is getting ahead of himself. A collector he may be, but he has received no signs that this mare actually wants to be collected. He has his plans in mind, and they will require loyal followers. Yet there is no ulterior motives behind his genuine interest in this quirky little mare, and he listens to her description of her home with rapt attention.

It is interesting that the Falls' leaders took their crown by battle - that must mean they are good at it, which will make it all the harder for Volterra to seize control. But, he reasons, this is why he has trained so hard since he turned two - so he can fight for the throne he desires. It will not be easy, but war shouldn't be. "Your parents fought against the current leaders? Did the leaders not chase them from their lands once their invasion was complete? The young stallion is interested; if it was him, he would have chased out every single horse who fought against him, but perhaps this is too....harsh. Perhaps forgiveness, and welcoming one's vanquished foes into your ranks, is the way to run a successful herd. These are all things the beast needs to learn if he is to be a good leader.

She steps closer, and the goliath eyes her with interest. She's either brave or foolish to so brazenly approach a stranger in the forest, but he's inclined to go with the former. He remains standing; stoic, strong, a tower of blackened muscle and masculine brawn. It is...unusual for him to not already be attempting to bed this mare, but now he is older he has realised that the thrill is in the chase rather than the capture. The release itself is so quick - it's the buildup that really gets the blood going. After so long of being a take it, leave sort of man, Volterra is finally realising the joys of delayed gratification.

In addition, he is truly keen to get to know his women before he allows them to bear his children. So far, his choice of mothers has not been the best, and with the plans he has in mind he needs faithful wives, not one-night-stands. So if this mare is to fit that criteria, he is determined to get to know her first. In a way, he likes this better, as it stimulates his brain as well as his body. It will work out better in the long run, too, having loyal women and friends rather than pointless lays.

The giant's ears pivot forwards as she speaks again. "They never returned?" The thought makes his blood itch - how could a parent simply abandon their child? Of course, Volterra himself could be considered guilty of this, but his crimes were borne of ignorance, not a true desire to leave the products of his loins behind. Now he knows them, it would be unthinkable for him to abandon them.

She speaks; her words reveal that her mother was killed in front of her. For a moment the goliath's stomach clenches, imagining the scene. He abhors the murder of children, but to slaughter a mother in front of a child...it is almost as bad, especially if the foal would be condemned to death as well due to lack of milk. "That sounds...horrific." The act of killing is not a pretty one, this he knows. To watching eyes, it must seem disgusting, terrifying. If that watcher is a mere child...it hardly bears thinking about.

He thinks that perhaps he should offer sympathy, but he still hardly knows this woman and has not yet judged whether she is the sort who mistakes sympathy for pity, and who would not appreciate such a thing. So he says nothing, although the expression of disgust in his eyes shows what he thinks of those who would kill the mother of a young child without good reason.

She steps backwards, and the stallion watches her with interest. She appears...almost concerned about the fact she has revealed so much to him, which he can understand. Although he wears many of his emotions on his sleeve - such as his anger - he also keeps several of them hidden within, smothered from the world. He loathes the idea of displaying any perceived weakness. "Do not be ashamed of your grief, Vitani. You witnessed something that no child should ever have to see, yet you survived it and have grown to adulthood. You should be proud." It's odd to feel his lips forming such a compliment towards a complete stranger, yet he knows weaker creatures would have crumbled after seeing such a thing. Hell, seeing his mother captured had almost driven him to madness - he cannot imagine how he would have coped seeing her killed.

He pauses for a moment before allowing his crimson gaze to cloud over with anger. "If it was me, however....then I would have made it my life's ambition to hunt down and slay my mother's killer. I confess it would not have been the healthiest course of action, but it would have made me feel better." At heart, Volterra is deeply and uncontrollably vengeful; an eye for an eye.

"You have magic?" As Volterra knows, a traumatic event can sometimes be enough to trigger magic buried deep within; he discovered his own powers only when he thought his dragon was about to die. The mare adds that grief is weakness, and at heart the beast is inclined to agree. Any 'soft' emotions like grief, sympathy, empathy are considered weaknesses by the blackened goliath - they involve depth of feeling, vulnerability, that he finds difficult. "Grief can make you weak, but it can also make you strong. If you met your mother's killer, her memory would undoubtedly fuel your blows and help you take them down." To Volterra, sorrow - like so many other emotions - is a catalyst to anger...and when he's angry, he is nigh on invincible.

She goes on to reveal something interesting - a lack of faith in the current Falls leadership. The stallion listens intently, his ears pivoted eagerly towards her in the search for any information that he can possibly glean about his future opponents. Even his dragons lean forwards to try and capture this potentially valuable information, their tails swaying like armoured vines from side to side as they twitch their proud skulls to listen. Vitani tells him that one of the leaders did not stop a thief because they knew him - Volterra, who already has a very low opinion of sleuths, thinks this quite abhorrent. To steal something whilst your foe slept, so they had no chance to defend themselves? Such cowardice! And for the leader to turn a blind eye....it is concerning indeed.

But the beast has a suggestion, one that could benefit himself and the creation of his harem. "Perhaps you should leave," he rumbles, fixing her with his crimson gaze. "As an outcast, you have free rein to protect your own belongings as you see fit." He couldn't imagine having to rely on somebody else to defend him; he is quite capable of that by himself.