DEAD I AM THE DOG, HOUND OF HELL YOU CRY
DEVIL ON YOUR BACK, I CAN NEVER DIE

He is used to getting advanced warning of any approaching strangers from his dragons, but his red is hunting and his gold is sulking, so he is only made aware of Roskuld's presence when her voice bids his muscles to jolt as though pierced with electricity. In one fluid movement he's hobbling around to face her, as though simply looking fearsome will undo how badly damaged he is, how damn near helpless he has been rendered by the hellish blows to his ribs. He silently berates himself for letting his guard down; he has become far too reliant on his dragons to keep him informed. Then his eyes fall upon her, and he sees her.

A whole bevy of emotions crash against him as he realises that the stranger is not an erstwhile attacker but the small mare who witnessed the fight. Confusion, concern, humiliation (she likely doesn't think him much of a warlord after seeing the beating he soundly took), and that horrible, sickly sweet blossom of hope. He is assaulted by the overwhelming knowledge that, save for himself, Isopia and their companions, this is the only other living creature who saw what transpired.

And he doesn't know who the hell she is.

From the small snippet of interaction he'd managed to glean between the two mares, though, they seemed to be....friends. And if they are friends - friends enough that this woman's words were enough to dissuade Isopia from attacking him further - then it stands to reason that they may have met up since the challenge, as the last thing the mammoth saw before passing out from pain was the two women leaving together. If that's the case, then this could be Volterra's one chance to gather as much information as possible about the Mountain's motives, her feelings, and - the hope flares again for a blessed moment - whether she has expressed any signs of guilt or regret in the days since.

"You," he manages to grunt. Given the persistent pain in his side, his voice somewhat lacks its usual commanding air, nor is it punctuated like it usually is by the growls and hisses from his dragons. Vadir lays flaccid and silent upon his back, not even raising her head to acknowledge the mare's presence. The stallion's ears launch forwards and he's hardpressed to mask his surprise as she asks if he's alright, his pain-addled mind unable to comprehend the concern of a stranger who he is quite sure will be firmly on Isopia's side. But his own welfare isn't his concern. "I am fine," he responds, his words spilling out with the impatient air of a man keen to move the conversation on; it is as close to a lie as the brutally honest behemoth will ever get, because he is anything but fine. "But how is she? How is -"

He's about to say it until alarm bells begin to thunder inside his mind. He knows her name now; it's easy to forget that she never told him herself, that it was the simple slip of the tongue from her father that finally imparted the stolen information onto him. The leviathan's deep-rooted arrogance, shaken as it is by Isopia's actions, likes to think that he has always been her closest friend and that if she didn't tell him her name, then she certainly wouldn't tell this mare. He does not want to risk alienating the Mountain further by giving out the name that she protects so highly, for reasons unfathomable to a creature like Volterra who hides very few aspects of himself from others.

"- kis hollo?" He limps a step forwards, a living embodiment of agony; each muscle is tight with the shuddering emotions that he suppresses, each sinew thrumming with the effort it takes to not bombard the mare with every question that enters his head. Some slip free, his vice grip unable to hold them as his frantic thirst for knowledge overwhelms him. "Have you seen her since? Is she...hurt?" He is like a starving man begging at the stranger's feet for any scraps she can throw him; he needs to know how Isopia is more than he needs air. He needs to absorb every single aspect of her behaviour since the fight, to see whether their impromptu grief counselling has helped any or whether she is still as shattered as him. He mourns a child he didn't know existed; she mourns a child she held inside her, so he cannot even begin to contemplate how she must be feeling.

And if she feels better by a single iota, if her grief is lessened one notch by the punishing blows she inflicted upon him, if their relationship can begin to repair itself from the crushed embers that it currently lies in, then every broken rib will be worth it.

DEAD I AM THE ONE, EXTERMINATING SON
SLIPPING THROUGH THE TREES, STRANGLING THE BREEZE