Holy shit is a rather accurate description of his magic, and a wolf's grin makes its way onto his face. One of the filly's vines begins to stroke the golem, which stands vacantly and dribbles lava down its stone body like an untrained foal dribbling its mother's milk.
"It is a golem," he responds to her question.
"And yes, I am its creator. It is not sentient and cannot respond to commands, but it seems to work off my impulses." He can't
ask it to attack someone, but the fury of his mind usually bids it to; it is a queer relationship, one he is still growing used to. As he rarely uses his magic in battle, he hasn't yet mastered what his golems can do except for these attention-seeking party tricks.
Kid. That brings life into the filly, and with a painful twist of his gut Volterra is again reminded of the similarities between this set of twins and himself and Nymeria. "He is fine. He possesses far too smart a mouth for one his age, mind, but he is alive and well." The Gladiator gives a small snort of amusement as Kid's sharp words slip into his mind.
She steps forwards, demanding proof that he is her father. He does not flinch; he has been expecting that. Instead he lowers his head until he is on her level, and looks directly into her eyes out of a face as white as her own. "Look at our faces, Sabre. You did not inherit that skull from your mother - you inherited it from mine." It has often been a point of contention for him that he doesn't have Confutatis or Nymeria's perfectly-defined skull upon his face; his is simply a crude approximation of one, just a broad blaze with no teeth. But he passes the distinctive markings down to his children with great regularity, and there is no finer litmus test than comparing facial decorations.
Vadir chooses that moment to plummet from the skies and land heavily upon the goliath's back, her mouth full of feathers and bits of bone. With her eyes fixed upon Sabre, she slowly and pointedly swallows the remaining feathers and begins to carefully clean her glimmering golden scales with lethal, predatory grace. Volterra frowns. Don't scare the girl, Vadir, he warns. The massive dragon simply snorts smoke, and redoubles the painstaking cleansing of her gemlike scales. "Any hatchling scared of dragons should not be hatchling of yours," she points out.
The behemoth glances back to Sabre. "Unfortunately I have not seen your mother recently, so I am unsure of her whereabouts. Kid, however, I bump into regularly. Much to his delight." The sarcasm drips lazily from the stallion's tongue, but it's not venomous in the slightest. "He is an outcast, as I was until recently. To my knowledge, he has no fixed home, but I know he has been extremely worried about you." The beast's penetrating red gaze looks directly at his daughter. "Did your mother never describe me to you?" He's slightly hurt at this - he always thought himself so memorable.
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