It is Vadir who spots the mare first, and her hatred bubbles up through her bonded's mind like poison squeezed from a wound. Her eyes blaze and smoke billows from her nostrils as she sends Volterra multiple pictures of Sikeax on fire, running and screaming for her life.

Ordinarily, such images would amuse Volterra, if they were directed at anybody else - as it is, he frowns and glances up towards the massive golden dragon. Vadir, don't. She is a good woman - just because she prickled your pride doesn't give you the right to attack her. The gold gives a contemptuous snort and circles lower and lower, until she lands heavily on the goliath's broad back. "You just say that because you want to bed her," comes her crooning hiss of a voice, and her deadly pronged tail lashes hard across her bonded's flanks.

His frown deepens and his ears pin, lunging forwards a few steps to unseat Vadir, who rises with a grunt of anger into the skies. That's not the reason. He wishes Vérzés was nearby to agree with him, but the red is off hunting the plethora of animals that live beneath the shadow of these trees. With just Vadir's overwhelming personality to contend with, Volterra finds himself feeling rather resentful. He adores his golden queen, of course he does, but she is painfully stubborn, willful, and utterly convinced of her own importance. "Just like you," she points out as she hears this train of thought, and he can't help but give a snort of amusement at the truth of that statement.

I'm going to see her, he tells his dragon firmly. You go and hunt. I won't have you upsetting her - God knows I've done enough of that by myself. Guilt plagues him at the manner in which Zhu was conceived, although he tries not to dwell on it. All he can do is try to make amends, and let her know that he has changed. He likes to think that their previous meeting helped that, but there is still more that can be done. With a loud huff of displeasure, Vadir flies away through the trees and out of sight, whilst her mammoth bonded alters his stride to move towards Sikeax.

He soon sees her, standing idly in the forest. Her bonded is nearby, looking suitably hideous and frightening, but his attention is focused soley on her. "Sikeax," he rumbles, moving closer. "How are you?"

Volterra. She doesn't say it hatefully, either, and hope growls like a beast within his soul. Of course he wants to be on good terms with her, as he wants to be on good terms with all of his children as well. He knows he has a lot of redeeming to do until he gets into her good books, but he's happy to try - and, for once, he's not doing it out of the hope of bedding her again either (he can get his fill of women anywhere he likes). No, it is a genuine deep-seated need to do the right thing that drives him to make amends, and at the end of the day he has grown rather fond of her. She's strong, loyal, and has helped raise more than one of his children when their own mothers abandoned them. The leviathan raises them too, of course, but there's some things a father simply cannot do. Every foal needs a mother, and this champagne mare has stepped up to the mark admirably.

Honestly? she asks, and the blackened colossus' ears pivot forwards with concern to pick up whatever issue it is that she is about to confide in him. Truthfully, he doesn't expect her to be quite so honest - it pleases him that she is willing to share such things with him, even if her words themselves are definitely a cause for concern. "What's happened? Is there anything I can do?" He does not think twice about offering his help, although he naturally things that she might simply need somebody pounding into submission - perhaps someone in the Throat is bullying her, and she needs them putting in their place. That is a job Volterra is more than happy to do, although he racks his brain to think of any other alternative issues that he might have just inadvertently offered his services for. He could not have guessed the truth in a thousand years.

She asks how he is, then, but that is of little importance; he is as well as he always is, with his plots and machinations churning inside his head. He grows stronger by the day, and each minute he spends on the battlefield is a minute closer to swooping towards the prize he so desires. "I am as well as always," he simply says, eager to shift the conversation away from himself and back onto her.

He listens intently; she has his full attention. She tells him of Gaucho, and the behemoth's eyes flash once at the mention of the man. Volterra has never truly forgiven him for stealing his mother and essentially rendering him an orphan when he was barely weaned, and in his mind's eye he has always visualised revenge in the form of a dominance battle. He had been so tempted to do it the moment he was old enough to fight, but his small sense of self-preservation had told him to wait, to grow more experienced on the battlefield himself before challenging the Wildfire. Gaucho's skills as a warlord were well-known across Helovia; Volterra saw it almost as a barometer of success, to take such a battle-hardened man down.

Now he is dead, and selfishly the leviathan is irritated that he will now be unable to gain the revenge he'd promised his mother that he would, in her name.

But this selfish, childish thought only lasts a handful of seconds, because his gaze travels back to Sikeax and he sees her....broken. Not fully broken, but falling; crashing like a star to the earth, still glowing, still burning, but fading. He has never seen her like this before. She's not crying, but he's willing to bet that her eyes are burning with unshed tears, that her throat is aching with the force of biting it back.

He has never really been around upset women before, and he doesn't entirely know what to do. But he has to do something.

His treetrunk-like legs move as though independent from his body; before he's quite aware what he's doing, he's closed the distance between them and he's moving his muzzle to try and touch it reassuringly to her shoulder. There is nothing sexual about the touch, no ulterior motives, no burning craving or starving lust; it is simply an attempt at reassuring, an attempt at friendship.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sikeax," he says, his voice a murmur instead of its usual growling baritone. The words sound odd coming from his lips, and his muscles clench at this perceived weakness. But is sympathy truly a weakness? Is it so wrong for him to try and help out a woman who he owes so much to, who he is beginning to see not as an object but as a living, breathing creature with emotions and feelings? A creature who embodies goodness, a stark contrast to the darkness he possesses?

Is this newfound layer of his psyche not a strength in itself?

He doesn't know. He is not used to this kind of emotion; he is used to anger, lust and battle-glory, and nothing deeper.

She continues. The Sun God made me fucking Sultana instead. The behemoth's head jerks upwards and his ears ram forwards as the shock of this statement truly hits him. "You are queen?" A whole tidal wave of emotions smack into him. First, and as much as he'd like to ignore it, there's a little smattering of jealousy - jealousy that Sikeax, who has never wanted a throne to his knowledge, has been given one by the Sun God whilst Volterra, who craves it more than anything, must walk the long path to glory. But this is just a momentary stab of vice, and it is quickly smothered beneath everything else he's feeling. "You have my congratulations. To be deemed worthy of leadership by a God - it is a high honour." He has always dreamed that he would take his crown by force, yet he can't stop the thrill of pleasure down his spine at the idea of being lifted to power by a God. What a blessing that must be!

And yet the mare does not seem happy with the news. Volterra can understand, to an extent. Leadership is not for everybody, and if she is only used to following then it will certainly be a shock to the system. "I can understand you must be afraid, Sikeax, and scared of failure. But you said it yourself, you taught those below you when you were a healer. That is all you need to do now, essentially. You have the Sun God's blessing, and from what I gather most of the herd already know you as their dedicated healer. You should already have their respect, which is half of the battle already won." But the fact she is not a warrior is...worrying. What if someone tries to take advantage by challenging her to battle? Come to think of it, would she even know how to marshal soldiers, to train them to protect the herd in times of invasion?

An idea comes to him; an offer, bursting its way into his head. First he dismisses it, thinking it stupid. He remembers the Throat, he remembers the heat, the uncomfortable heat, and he thinks of the smothering captivity of being part of a herd. He thinks of his plans for the Falls, his machinations, his carefully-calculated plots for his future. The Throat is not part of those plans, save for his ill-though-out notion of revenge against Gaucho that he will now have to abandon.

It's a stupid idea. He cannot live in a herd, not unless he's leading it. He certainly cannot live in that herd, with its desert heat.

So why is he even contemplating this?

Because he feels like he owes it to her after everything he's done. Because he would hate to see her usurped because she hasn't got a loyal warrior to her name. Because his children are there, and it would be good to spend more time with them. Because he's a fucking idiot.

Whatever the reason, his lips form words before he can fully decide whether he should actually be saying them. "If you ever have need of a warrior, you know where I am." It is not an outright offer to join, because that would be presumptous - what if she doesn't like him enough to want him in her herd? What if she's afraid his presence will suddenly result in a batch of pregnancies in the Throat? Perhaps she might just wish to 'hire' him in the future, which suits him just fine. Or perhaps he could have just offered himself for something he'd never planned for.

The touch between them feels odd. Ever since his youth, Volterra has used touch as a way to communicate, whether it be the tentative and affectionate nuzzles towards his sister or the frenetic, lust-fuelled nips towards his conquests. His skin is a canvas crying out to be daubed with the paint of those he meets, and he feels that he can learn far more about someone by judging the lines of their body with his muzzle than he can through words.

But this...this is new to him. Compassion and empathy are two things that he has always considered weaknesses, and thus has attempted to purge from his bloodstream. Yet it has never been easy for the beast to smother his emotions, as proven by his volcanic temper and shameless bodily hungers, so despite himself he feels bubblings of weakness begin to brew beneath the surface. He thinks that he would never feel these things towards a stranger, but Sikeax is not a stranger. They have been together in the most intimate way two creatures can possibly be, and have created life together, albeit unwittingly. If he cannot feel these odd emotions towards her, when can he?

So he allows the touch to linger for a moment before pulling away. She thanks him, and he nods his acknowledgement.

Then comes the small matter of his offer.

I thought you hated herds. Why? He looks away, desperately racking his brains to try and put his emotions into words. "I don't hate them, per say, I just...distrust them. Save for my dragons, I have lived the majority of my life alone. It is all I know. I have never had to rely upon anybody but myself, nor have I ever had my freedom curbed by the confines of a herd." These are all things that make him reluctant to join a herd. Following commands, relying on others for things he can just do himself, sharing...they are alien to him.

"But I told you of my ambitions during our previous meeting - I wish to rule one day. I would make a poor king if I had never experienced herd life prior to taking a crown, however. I need to learn how herds work, how they function, and what my role is within them. For a while now I have been contemplating joining the Hidden Falls, as that is the land that I feel most affinity towards...But if my help is needed elsewhere, my plans can change." Heavens, it almost sounds like he's thought this through. He hasn't. He rarely thinks anything through. Like most things in his life, his offer is impulsive, ill-thought-out, stupid, rash, reckless.

So why does it feel so right?

She asks why he would suddenly decide to join, and under her. He feels he has already answered the first part, so he focuses on the second. "Why not under you? I would rather serve beneath somebody I know than a complete stranger." It goes against his sexist beliefs to listen to a mare, but he knows that is how herds function - they are not necessarily lead by a stallion. "And it will be good to be so close to Tyrath, Astarot and Valdis."

She continues, offering him the position of Gladiator. It sounds high-ranked, and immediately the brute's brain begins to contemplate. It would be excellent experience to hold such a rank, to have people below him whom he must command and marshal, and fighting is the one thing he is good at....He is silent for a moment as he ponders, and wishes his dragons were close by enough for him to ask their opinions. But they have blacked out his mind in order to concentrate on the hunt, and Volterra is alone.

This decision has to be his. It is possibly the biggest and most momentous decision he has ever made. It is life-changing. Indecision clouds his features; is he ready? Will this hamper his plans to take the Falls, or aid them?

In the end, he answers how he always does; on instinct, with what feels right, with what feels good.

"Yes. I will do it."