The sea water laps against his legs, matting his foot-feathers against the stout mass of his fetlocks. A gentle ocean breeze ruffles the thick mass of his mane, and sends a wave of spray against the thick muscles of his arched neck. He stands still, silent and stoic, simply staring out at the vast expense of roiling blue sea. What is out on that horizon, he wonders? There could be untold splendour there, reachable only by the gulls that screech and flock above his head; they disturb his silence with their wailing, and his ears pin crossly.

Their screeching intensifies as, with joyous bellows, the goliath's dragons dart amonst the fleeing feathery forms. They snap and bite at the flying lumps of meat, and Vadir happily barbecues one with a single blast from her gaping jaws. They circle and devour as many of the unfortunate flock as they can, until only a few precious stragglers manage to escape towards the setting sun in the far distance. Volterra emits a low chuckle as both red and gold plummet towards the sand with their kills held firmly in their mouths, feathers poking askew out of the corners of their scaled jaws and bits of blood and gore splattered against their proud faces.

He pays them little heed. His thoughts are elsewhere; they are with his herd (it still feels odd whenever he remembers that he has a herd now) and his numerous duties. His days are no longer his own; when he isn't sparring, he's recruiting, and when he isn't recruiting, he's patrolling. The behemoth has never been so busy, and so as another day dies on the blood-red horizon, he vows to simply relax in his own company.

That is why he stands, a colossal statue of blackened flesh and rigid muscle, staring aimlessly out to sea, whilst his dragons squabble and snap at each other over the tattered bits of seagull.

Amongst their feeding frenzy, the dragons spot a stranger approaching. A vivid red warning flashes down the bond into Volterra's mind, and he immediately tenses his bulking muscles in preparation for a possible ambush. He turns, ready to fight, but instead of being faced by a savage opponent intent on predating him from behind, he sees a very familiar and welcome face.

The mare has lingered on his mind since their previous meetings. Now he is a member of a herd, he has contemplated how he will work with the harem that he hopes to keep. He'd always imagined gathering a group of his mares and children and then moving into a herd (ideally with him ruling said herd), which is not what has happened. Of course, most of his children and their mothers reside in the Throat, but not all. He has no true allies, and fewer friends. He will need all of these if he is to rise to a throne, which is his eventual intention. Airlia, the enigmatic spider-painted mare, was his first recruit, and still remains a valuable part of his plans.

Her appearance, then, is a source of much delight. She is just as beautiful as he remembered, and his eyes roam freely across her as she circles him like a wolf around a deer. "Airlia," he rumbles, his voice like gravel dragged across rocks. "It is good to see you again. What have you been up to?" Volterra's head extends towards her, trying to touch her shoulder. The dragons huff and return to their feast.

Afraid of someone? The goliath's ears pin, his masculine pride prickled. "My dear, I am the thing that fear itself flees from," he rumbles, hulking each mammoth muscle just for good measure. He likes this woman, but he is a proud beast and will not have her think him a weakling - he is only too happy to prove otherwise. She is a tricky one, though. She is unafraid of insulting him, showing a distinct fearlessness in the face of somebody far larger than herself, someone who could easily lash out at the insult. It is perhaps foolhardy, but also to be admired.

His wounded, purring vanity retreats slightly at the coquettish way she says his name, however. It rasps in his ears like a melody, bidding each tense muscle to relax with a happy shudder. I've been looking for you. His mammoth head lifts, delighted that she's been actively seeking him out. Does that mean that she is as intrigued with him as he is with her? "Oh? I'm flattered, Airlia. You are in danger of inflating my...ego." For the first time he allows flirtation to slip into his voice, implying that his ego is not all she may inflate. It has been a while since he had a mare - he has his needs, and he's keen to see how far he can push his boundaries with her.

She reaches out to touch him, and he folds eagerly into her caress. He has always been touch-orientated, especially when a pretty woman is involved. Again his pride is prickled as she asks where he was, as though he has neglected his duties - again he puffs up like a courting peacock. "Has something happened? Has somebody tried to hurt you?" If so....he will destroy them. She is his, even if he has not yet bedded her, and the idea of another man touching her....he will not allow it.

Perhaps he has been neglectful, given his recent movement into the Throat, but he vows that it will not happen again. He will keep an eye on her from now on - she is the first member of a harem that will, one day, rule Helovia.

What is it about this woman? She is so....alluring, a silver-tongued temptress, a slender stream of webbed beauty. She is remarkably attractive, there's no doubt about that, but Helovia has no shortage of attractive women - so what is it that makes this one so captivating to him?

Perhaps it is because she does not seem swayed by his masculinity, nor daunted by his obvious attempts to seduce her. Perhaps it is because she is making him wait, and that she seems to have the wit to go toe to toe with him. Whilst not a scholar himself, it appeals to Volterra's inner beast to surround himself with more intellectual women, the brains to his brawn. He likes to know that he is physically superior to a woman, even if he is not mentally so - the exception being Isopia, who was blessed with great wit and great power. Thinking about her makes the leviathan's chest hurt, so he swiftly forces her from his mind to focus on Airlia.

Whatever it is that she uses to trap him so delightfully, it makes him crave the notion of having her as part of his harem. He is like a magpie, a collector of pretty things, and she is quite ravishing. He is unaware that he is allowing himself to be drawn into her web; his arrogance blinds him to that fact, ensuring that he thinks it is he that is controlling their conversations.

Her muzzle caresses the thick contours of his neck and he leans joyously into it, feeling the familiar shiver of desire flutter through the flesh that she touches. She confesses her loneliness, and the stallion releases a long, low sigh. "It was not my intention to abandon you, Airlia, yet I have had certain matters to attend to." An eager swish of the tail; he wonders how she will take this news. "I have joined the Dragon's Throat as its Gladiator. Being part of a herd so soon was not part of the plans I had set down for myself, for us - but it has its advantages." Without having to worry so much about his survival on his own, the black colossus can focus more on his plans, his machinations, his ideas. He can continue to hone his body and his battle skills ready for when he seizes the crown he so desires. "Would you care to join me there? Your company would certainly liven the place up, and you know how I like to keep my women close." The possession in his voice is clear to hear; it is the first time he has mentioned the notion of her being his, and a frisson of excitement spreads down his spine at how she will take the words.

It is perhaps a sign of his newfound self-control that he only now notices the delicious heat-smell wafting from her. A few seasons ago, the first whiff of that heady aroma would have had him hunting Helovia high and low for its source, but he has tried to train himself to grow less addicted to the woman-scent that mares love to parade. Exercising such control over himself has been far harder than any battle he's ever fought, but he has come out the other side feeling much stronger and much more able to resist the allure of the other species.

Or so he told himself. Now that he can smell it on Airlia, all his training is liberally launching itself out of the window.

His neck arches, each powerful muscle rippling heartily beneath the blackened skin that encases the battle-forged sinews. A thin sheen of sweat breaks out across each plane of his body, excitement sizzling through him like an electrical current. She's so close to him, and it has been so long since the last time he took a woman beneath his bulk...and there is no denying the hold that Airlia has over him. He is a juicy fly trapped in her web, and she is the swollen spider sat in the centre, reeling him slowly closer and closer...

Of course I will come and live with you. A rising tide of joy spreads through the leviathan's chest, and he steps boldly closer to her until their bodies are touching. Skin to skin, heart to heart; his chest vibrates with the baritone earthquake of his voice as he presses his muzzle towards her ear. "I believe a celebration is in order." And she seems equally as interested; there is no resistance in the delectable curves of her body as he slips behind her, no hesitation in his own movements as he hauls his massive frame upwards and takes what is his.

-fade-

The aftermath of their union finds the behemoth stood beside his spider queen once again, his body heaving from its exertions but his loins sated and his ears pricked forwards with satiated delight. "We will build an empire, kis pók," comes his heady growl. It is already known; he will rise to greatness, but this delicious spider woman will rise with him. She is already his friend - he thinks - and part of his harem, and now she is his lover too. It is perfect; they are perfect.

It has not escaped his notice that he is the first to have her. This inflames his masculine pride with glee, knowing that he has claimed something irreplaceable, something that no other man can ever take. Not that he intends for there to be other men, now. She is his, and they will rise together.

She asks what kis pok means, and a wolfish grin spreads across the goliath's satiated face. "It means little spider," he rumbles. Her cobweb markings intrigue him, and he can't help wondering if their child - should they conceive one - will inherit them. Volterra never considers the creation of children as the sole reason for his bedding of mares, but on this occasion he thinks there would be something poetically beautiful about conceiving a foal with Airlia. It would cement their bond, ensure that they are tied for eternity. With a wife and a child in tow, the leviathan will have the first segments of the harem he hopes to raise and nurture.

It is a delightful thought that sends a shiver down his spine. Glory is so close he can taste it, his childhood dreams preparing to reach fruition.

Shaking his massive neck to send swathes of black mane cascading across his muscles, the beast nudges his head against his woman. "Come, let us graze." They will need to keep their strength up - Volterra is quite keen to indulge with her again. He begins to meander along, seeking to lead Airlia to the lush grass near the beach. His colossal body remains close to her at all times, however, possessive and present.