His eyes roam across her, too; he knows that those curves hide a warrioress, a steel-edged soldier with cold blood and colder resolve. She was a worthy opponent, testing him with her underhanded techniques and devious attacks, and he rather thinks that if she is here alone, then her herd has lost a fine member.

But there's also something of the snake about her; Volterra does not know whether she can be entirely trusted. He thinks she can, but he has been wrong before.

She looks relaxed, idling with a cocked leg as though she has nothing to fear from the forest that surrounds them, nor the mammoth Gladiator that stands in front of her. She's astute, too, and it does not take her long to glean the reek of herd upon his coat. Mongrels and false kings, she says - a few months ago he would have been inclined to agree, would have reveled in the idea of a former herd-mare flinging off the chains of normality and shifting to the life of the outcast. Now, however, he is a fully paid-up citizen of the Throat, and his attitude towards living with a group of other horses has certainly changed.

It hasn't been easy adapting to this new way of life, nor is he one hundred percent sure that he made the correct decision. The leviathan misses his freedom, and loathes some of the more mundane tasks he is forced to perform as part of the Throat. None of this shows on the harsh lines of his face as Orithia speaks, however; he simply gives a benign smile and a sharp chuckle. "What can I say - I'm a sucker for a pretty title." And Gladiator is certainly that.

Astonishment - and a hefty dose of delight - flicker across his features in the form of a slight grin and idle twitch of an ear as she speaks of a bloody reunion. "Always....as long as we agree that my balls are off-limits." He flashes a good-natured grin that, nonetheless, holds a stern warning and subtle threat behind it. Volterra is not a master of subtlety, of veiled insults and a thousand meanings behind one slight titter or snort, but he rather thinks that he does quite a decent job of this particular facade. His ribs give an angry protest as he dares contemplate fighting again, but he's sure that they will be fine by the time this battle actually materialises.

"I am now a resident of the Dragon's Throat, where I serve as its Gladiator. You would be more than welcome to join me there; then, we could spar whenever the need took us." He fixes her with his penetrating red gaze. Having her a warrior of the Throat would be quite the coup - and the possessive beast inside Volterra shudders at the idea of losing her to another herd.