He finally reaches her, and lowers his head towards her golden scales. In the back of his brain, it occurs to him that dipping his skull in the middle of what is essentially a battlefield is not a good idea, that presenting such a vulnerable part of himself to an angry demigoddess is about as sensible as politely offering his throat to a starving wolf. But he only cares that his dragons are hurting, because of him. When he took their eggs, he swore an oath to two dragon-mothers; that he would protect their precious hatchlings at all costs. He swore that they would come to no harm whilst they remained bonded to his mind; he swore that he had a duty of care to both magnificent creatures.

He has failed them.

His muzzle gently touches Vadir's heaving side, and her anguished howls are like razors in his ears. I'm so sorry, he whispers. The ironic thing is, if this was a real battle, the beast would be thrilled with the queen's never-say-die attitude. He would be flushed with pride about Vérzés' self-sacrifice, and awestruck by Vadir's fiery defiance. But, try as he might, he cannot see this as a proper fight. Not against her, his kis hollo, whom he would never dream of laying a hoof upon; and, indeed, has refrained from attacking even as his shattered rib cries out for retribution. He would never hurt Isopia, therefore to him this cannot be a battle.

It is simply grief counselling, with added dragons.

Volterra might not be the sharpest thorn in the thicket, but he thinks he understands why Isopia is doing this. She has lost her child, which would be enough to send even the coldest mind into a downward spiral. He placed that child in her womb, therefore, by extension, her pain and misery is his fault. This is a logic that he can work with. The death of one's foal must incite grief beyond comprehension, and it strikes him he and Isopia are more alike than he'd ever dared believe - she, like him, is channeling unfamiliar, unwanted emotions into rage, because the alternative hurts too damn much.

Oh, how wrong he is.

Out of the corner of one eye, he sees Hubris attempting to help. Volterra's exhausted, pain-addled mind is warmed by the sight, and for a moment the dragon has his attention. He wonders what the bronze has seen, bonded as he is to Isopia's broken mind. He is privy to all of the Mountain's most personal thoughts and feelings, and Volterra cannot contemplate how he copes with such a burden placed upon his young shoulders - after all, he's barely older than Vadir, who (despite her many protestations otherwise) is hardly into adulthood yet.

Crunch.

Isopia's summoned earth catches him unawares, smashing into his already damaged right side. One rib was broken by her first attack, but the one next to it had only been fractured - until now. Mercifully, the break is clean - no splinters to invite infection or pierce lungs - but that is little consolation. He staggers sideways, his breath catching into his throat and transforming into a wheeze; it is unbearable, needles of suffering inserted into his entire right side, pain that no mortal man should ever have to endure....

Darkness engulfs the edges of his vision, but through the hazy mist he hears her voice. Love. "You...know?" He thought he'd kept it private, locked inside his mind, only whispered in post-coital bliss to the sweat upon her withers. It is the Thing That Isn't Said, the world's worst-kept secret, and yet the fact she knows makes him feel naked. Vulnerable. Open, his weakness displayed for her pleasure, because that's what it is - weakness. He is not supposed to love, simply fuck; it is the domain of lesser men, even if the woman in question is his childhood best friend, his slow burn...even if he reassures himself that love does not require monogamy...

He holds on by the thinnest thread of consciousness, unwilling to succumb to his torment. With a final roar, Vadir aims another blast of flame towards Isopia, a last word. Then she sinks reluctantly into sleep, and leaves Volterra's mind empty of everything but his own faint, flickering thoughts.

_______

'And rub it in so deep, salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me'. Salt in the wound, an earthy punch to the broken ribs....

4/4 - 799 words

Thanks for a great fight Odd! <3