The long walk back from the Threshold to the Throat is now a familiar friend to the blackened Gladiator. He has made the journey many times, some alone but some with the fruits of a successful recruitment at his heels - he confesses he vastly prefers those. The blue-hued pegasus is not the most conversational of company, but Volterra does not object. There will be plenty of time for talk once Sunjata sees the Throat.

They soon arrive at the end of the world itself, or so it seems. The goliath looks out to the distant horizon, and to his own surprise he finds a queer fondness blossoming in his chest. Yes, he has grown to like the island, despite its annoyingly spiky plants and its unpleasant, sweltering heat. It is home, the first home he has ever known; within its boundaries he has flourished, taking and owning a rank for the first time and using it to help hone his battle skills. He'd never imagined himself living in the Throat, but he finds himself grateful for the quirk of fate that brought him there. The warmth that grows inside him at the sight of it is quite unusual, and he finds himself wishing for a moment that he was alone so he could explore this odd new sensation. As it is, he is focused on ensuring that the blue-coated man beside him agrees to join their ranks.

He is unsurprised that Sunjata seems to find it rather underwhelming. A knowing grin spreads across the giant's face at his acquaintance's words, and he looks from the blue pegasus to the distant island. "Aye, it is. No doubt you are wondering how one as wingless as myself can possibly access it?" It is a mistake he'd also made when he stood here three years ago, when he was still a boy, and watched his mother taken by Gaucho into the depths of her desert prison. He'd wondered whether the herd was made up entirely of pegasi, or whether the wingless folk simply had to suck it up and swim if they wanted to live there.

Neither, it turned out, was the truth.

He keeps the key tucked away in his mane; its safety is paramount. Without his dragons and their nimble fingers to disentangle it, it requires a lot of head-shaking in order for him to loosen it from the tangled folds of his mane. He holds it in his mouth for a moment, and waits for the familiar eruption of fire-wings from his shoulderblades. When it comes, he steps towards the cliff edge; with a glance back to Sunjata and a wolfish grin, he feels the wings begin to carry him across the ocean towards the Throat itself.

When he alights on the other side, he looks around, expecting to see Sunjata nearby. "Welcome to the Throat, Sunjata."

There's something he still finds rather unsettling about the unorthodox way that he is transported to the Throat. He dislikes heights, so a sudden flight across the ocean towards a distant island is not exactly something he's thrilled at partaking in. However, after dozens of flights, he is slowly growing used to the unpleasant flopping of his stomach whenever he sprouts his wings of fire, the sickening way that the ground is hauled away from him as he's carried across the water. It reminds him of Isopia and their flight together, and that only adds to the twisting in his gut.

It isn't long before the blue pegasus joins him, and Volterra's massive skull dips in acknowledgement of Sunjata's thanks. The smaller man is so elegant in the air, so accomplished; whilst Volterra is forced to hang limply on his stolen flaming wings, this male owns the warm Throat sky that he flies through. In a way, the leviathan envies the pegasi their wings. It must be euphoric, to soar through the heavens of your own volition. Yet he is also a creature of the earth, and the earth is what he likes to stay firmly rooted to. He can see the world through the eyes of his dragons; his occasional flights of fancy about possessing wings are always shortlived.

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest at Sunjata's next words, followed by a somewhat bemused flicker of the air at his final ones. "I cannot speak for the rest of my species, but as far as I know we are no more or less intelligent than the winged or the horned. I personally do not proclaim to be a great thinker - my strength lies in my body, not my mind - but I would not consider myself a simple dumb brute, either." Although others might disagree. He thinks again of Isopia, her beautiful face slipping unbidden into the sanctum of his mind. Dammit.

He fixes the blue male with his curious red stare. "In your homeland, might I assume that my kind are dumb brutes?" He's genuinely interested in learning more about the Dorobo that the large winged male at the Threshold mentioned - all information is like slaking a thirst to Volterra, the juicy droplets of fact filed away for future use.

It interests him to hear that, in Sunjata's homeland, equines seemed to have been univerally dumb and God-fearing in equal measure. "Were they your slaves?" he questions. The answer will not affect him, he doesn't think, even if it's a yes - after all, these equines are not him. But it will give him valuable insight into how this blue male thinks and operates, and the leviathan always delights in learning about other cultures.

Sunjata adds that an equine had once chased him with a fire-stick, and he chuckles. Evidently equines really weren't all that bright where he's from. At the male's question, Volterra ponders for a moment. "We do, but it is not always harmonious. The Dragon's Throat has been almost exclusively run by pegasi for years, until fairly recently. As you can tell by the land's location, it's geared more towards those who can fly. However, the herd's queen is now a unicorn, and I - its Gladiator - am an equine. This is quite a deviation from what a lot of the herd are used to, and I sense that they do not entirely trust us." He gives a slight frown as he remembers the herd meeting. It was obvious that he was not trusted - that other herdmembers wondered why he'd been given such a high position so soon. He can understand these misgivings, but they do not make his job any easier.

He is determined, however, that he will earn their approval. Not just through his deeds on the battlefield, but through his all-round activity throughout the herd, recruiting and socialising with everybody within its walls.

Volterra realises he's been gazing at the sand dunes as he thinks, and he swiftly returns his attention to Sunjata. "Does fighting interest you, Sunjata? If so, I would be more than happy to have you as one of my warriors. It is my intention to build up the herd's forces until we are unrivaled throughout Helovia." A bold claim and a hard task, but one Volterra thinks he is more than capable of.

He raises one scarred eyebrow. "They sound like beasts," he remarks. He is a beast, to an extent, but these equines of which Sunjata speak sound truly primitive. Volterra would probably get along with them, actually.

A small chuckle leaves his jaws at the male's mention of him fucking up anybody who disagrees. "Unfortunately, I doubt that would earn me many favours, as enjoyable as it would be," he says with a small grin. His battle prowess is probably known to everyone within the herd - it can be no secret that their Gladiator is good on the battlefield - but that, he thinks, is not why they don't trust him. It's....everything else. They know he can protect them, but he is not sure they are aware that he has any other skills. Nor is him being a good warrior necessarily something that would earn their trust - it may do the exact opposite. To them, Sikeax has invited in somebody who could, if he wanted, maul his way through the herd right to the top. They have every right to be wary of this new leviathan in their midst.

"I understand where they are coming from, to an extent. The vast majority of the herd are related to the previous king, and he was a legend in these lands. Replacing him will be no easy feat, although I have full faith in our Sultana. Those that cling to the old ways, however, will take a lot more convincing, and the fact that none of them know who I am does not help things." He's still unsure why he's telling Sunjata this, but he supposes it isn't anything that the blue man wouldn't have found out anyway. It is probably common knowledge that the Throat has a new Gladiator who most have never met - after all, he'd been an outcast his entire life before joining.

Sunjata adds that he is not a warrior by design, but appreciates the way scars appeal to women. Volterra gives a knowing chortle at this, pawing lazily at the sand with one hoof as he contemplates his many battlewounds. "The choice is entirely yours, Sunjata. If the life of a warrior does not appeal to you, we also have spies, healers and spiritualists. I would advise you to perhaps spend a couple of weeks simply acclimatising and meeting your other herdmates, then decide what you wish to pursue." Volterra himself cannot understand why anybody would not want to be a warrior, but he appreciates that it is the case.