Gladiator.

The word sits oddly upon his tongue, as does the notion of a herd. All his life, the leviathan has been a free man, beholden to none. Now...now he is like everybody else.

Strangely, though, adjusting has not been as hard as he thought. The searing Throat heat is not as bad as he feared, thanks to Orangemoon taking over from Tallsun, and he has to confess that the herd is....pleasant, in its own way. It is home, for now at least, so the beast is doing his best to force aside his prejudices and embrace his new duty.

But old habits die hard, and he cannot help but wander the unclaimed lands of Helovia with the same vigour that he always has. He is simply not a man created to spend his entire life around others of his species - he needs his own space, to marshal his thoughts and converse with his dragons. Unusually, today both dragons are with him; the red rising on his hindquarters and studiously cleaning his gleaming crimson scales, whilst the gold soars lazily beside her bonded on leathery wings, enjoying the rippling power of her own body.

As he has left the Throat to get away from the presence of other horses, he is certainly not looking for company. When he sees a winged stallion staring into the middle distance, Volterra contemplates turning around and moving to graze elsewhere before the male sees him. Competitive and arrogant as he is, the beast does not tend to appreciate any socialisation with others of his gender, preferring the company of women whom he can either bed, add to his harem, or both.

Still, now he is a fully-paid-up herd man, he supposes he needs to get that bit more social. So, with a resigned sigh, he moves towards the smaller male, drawing alongside him but enough of a distance away for them each to have their own space. "'Lo," grunts the behemoth, his body language neutral, if not overtly friendly. "That stream seems to be of great interest to you."

He gets the distinct impression that perhaps this stallion is as wary about Volterra approaching him as the beast was about doing the approaching. This could well be a short meeting, if neither of them are the sociable type. It keeps better company than most, says the other male of the stream; Volterra gives a small snort of amusement. He is quite inclined to agree - a steam will not answer back. "You have a point there." The goliath looks away for a moment, contemplating the stream in question, before glancing back to his companion.

The stranger asks what has him out and about so early, and the giant hesitates a moment before replying. It would seem....antisocial of him to admit that he left the herd in order to escape from company, which inadvertently thrust him into....well, company. So he simply shrugs his powerful shoulders, glancing between the other male and the surrounding landscape. "The confines of a herd can be rather, well, confining sometimes. I needed some space, and to clear my thoughts." This is as close to the truth as he can get without directly confessing that he finds it hard to be around other horses every hour of every day. He is a man who is used to his own space, having had the freedom to go where he wanted for the first three and a bit years of his life. Now he has to share his favoured grazing and sleeping spots, now he has to help other herdmembers rid themselves of their flies instead of focusing on his own; it is selflessness that he is unused to.

He will grow used to it, though, of that he is quite sure. It is just...difficult. He needs to adjust if he is ever to claim the crown he so desires - he has to adapt to survive.

"And yourself?" Smalltalk is not usually the giant's style, but he has little else better to do today, and perhaps it will do him good to socialise with somebody outside the Throat.

I have no herd. I find it easier that way. A wan smile spreads across the behemoth's jaws at his compatriot's words. Oh, he knows that feeling so well. How long had he avoided the confines of a herd for the sanctity of his own freedom? How often had he shirked invites, abandoned friends, all because he loved his outcast life so damn much? For over three years, it has simply been him and his dragons. Save for his mother and sister, anybody flitting into his life had been temporary, hardly remarkable. He relied on himself to survive, and nobody else.

It hadn't been an easy life, by any stretch of the imagination. For a prey animal like a horse, surviving alone takes considerable guile and good fortune, and lesser men would have crumbled long ago. Instead, Volterra thrives on the challenges that roguehood offered him. He learned to sleep with one eye open, always watching for opportunistic predators or any other assailants. His dragons had been a considerable help, with their sharp senses and aerial prowess, but he likes to think that he could still have managed even without them.

Nostalgia grips him like a vice, and not for the first time, freedom calls out to him. He could just leave. Like this man before him, he could stay an outcast. Live by his own rules, his own laws, his own timelines. Answer to nobody but himself.

But he can't. He owes Sikeax more than that; he owes himself more than that. He was born to rule, and he cannot rule nothingness.

"I was like you, for many years." In the back of his mind, he wonders why he's admitting this much to a complete stranger. It is not like Volterra to willingly share emotions, but the words simply flood out of him. "It is a hard life to give up. Enjoy it while you can - you never know when fate will intervene and alter your path to something you never expected." He never thought he would live in the Throat; he always had his eyes on the Falls. He never thought he would serve beneath a woman, and certainly not a former lover. He never thought he would follow at all, come to think of it - he just assumed he would march onto a throne, despite having no prior experience.

How wrong he was.

The man speaks again, a passionate defense of his decision to live alone. Volterra raises an eyebrow, interested by the point that the older stallion puts across. "That is a rather cynical viewpoint," he rumbles. It is not a criticism - no, there's genuine interest in the goliath's thunderous tones. "I would be inclined to agree with you, except I find that certain types of loyalty can benefit rather than hinder. Loyalty given freely is worthless, but when it is earned....it has its uses." And that is deep, by Volterra's standards.