The weeks since Aithniel's rise to Sultana have seen a change in the massive black Gladiator. Determined to turn over a new leaf, he has resisted his urge to go to the Threshold and has instead channeled his resources into being the model warrior. He has arranged spars between his underlings, has taken a greater interest in the fortifications of his island home, and has taken a great liking to patrolling the Throat's borders whenever the opportunity arises.

Usually, such patrols are a thankless task. So far, his meanderings have turned up nothing of interest, and he often wonders if they're a waste of time. After all, given the fact that the Throat is surrounded by sea, the only way of accessing it is by sky. There's little chance of a vengeful bear or pack of wolves entering the land and terrorizing its inhabitants, meaning Volterra's patrols are usually in vain. Nor do many roving outcasts tend to turn up and pose a threat to the citizens he's sworn to protect.

Until today.

His dragons are his tireless partners in crime when it comes to patrolling, and their eagle eyes are valuable assets. It's Vadir who spots the butterfly-winged intruder and helps direct her mammoth bonded towards it, sending him an array of sharp images to guide the way. He breaks into a thunderous canter, sand flying from his hooves and muscles flexing beneath his flesh as he hurdles towards the stranger. Part of him hopes it's a massive stallion with murder on his mind, just so he can have the pleasure of taking him down and proving to the herd that they've made the right choice in keeping him as Gladiator.

Alas, he is to be disappointed. The 'intruder' is a young mare, decidedly nonthreatening. The Gladiator deflates slightly, blowing heavy breaths from his nostrils as he approaches in time to hear her words. "What is it you wish to speak about?" he rumbles, fixing the mare with his penetrating crimson gaze. His disappointment in the fact she's not an invading rogue soon subsides, and he assesses her with interest. He's never seen wings like hers before, and he finds himself hyponotised by them. They look too fragile to hold her weight, yet they obviously must have, else how would she have got here? "I am Volterra, the herd's Gladiator."

It's quite clear that this woman has no intention of being a threat, and the final simmerings of tension slip from the leviathan's muscles. She introduces herself as Myrrine, and inquires about becoming a healer in exchange for a place to stay. This is a new situation for him. Normally he goes to the Threshold to actively recruit new members, but to have one stumble upon his very doorstep? It's an interesting turn of events, and the stallion isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to do.

He doesn't allow his misgivings to show on his face, however. His features remain unfazed, as though he introduces himself to potential new members every day of the week. "A pleasure, Myrrine. I see no reason not to accept you into the herd, although I am not a leader. What sort of healing exactly do you specialise in?" It's probably best to find that out before he makes the invitation formal, because she could be an expert in poison who intends to kill them all in their sleep for all he knows. Her muzzle extends in greeting and he returns it with a gentle huff of his nostrils, pleased that this one seems to be as touch-orientated as he is.

She answers his question even as he's asking it, by revealing that she does not have healing magic but that she does have a rudimentary knowledge of herbs. The Indomitable nods his massive skull in understanding. "I cannot speak for them, but I'm sure our healer ranks will be glad of your expertise." As far as he knows, they're quite dwindling, and were one of the areas of concern raised in the meeting.

The mare suddenly becomes nervous, and the leviathan's jaws twist into a concerned frown. What she reveals, though, is nowhere near as bad as he'd thought - she has a child. His frown turns to a grin, as he's not the sort to judge anybody for having offspring of their own. "I cannot think of many herds that would chase a mother and her child from their doorstep. If such herds do exist, we are certainly not one. Families are welcome here." The mare looks too young to have a child of her own....then again, Volterra himself sired his first foal when he was barely out of boyhood.

She seems rather awkward and nervous, and the colossus does his best to make himself appear nonthreatening and welcoming. Given his monstrous size, muscles and scarring, that's quite difficult, but he gives it a valiant effort. At least his dragons are off hunting, else they would certainly not help put her at ease. "You needn't apologise, pillangó. I don't bite." He offers a somewhat devious wiggle of his eyebrows to suggest that he can bite when necessary. "What made you decide to join the Throat rather than one of the other herds?"

The beast gives a low, gravelly chuckle at her mangled attempt to say the Hungarian word. "Pillangó," he repeats. "It means butterfly." He has a penchant for nicknaming people and then sticking to that nickname even when he learns their real name - Isopia springs to mind and his chest gives an unpleasant lurch. It is simply his way of attaching faces to names, and he feels sometimes his descriptions can be more apt than the names themselves.

He rather likes the way she calls him Sir. He could certainly get used to it; it's a delightful little boost to his already expansive ego. Her explanation is vague, but the leviathan does not pry. It strikes him that she may be running from something in her past, but again, he's certainly not one to judge about that. "I understand," comes his thunderous rumble of a voice.

She adds that a dear friend used to live here, and he idly wonders who it is. Still, there is little time to dwell. He has a new member to show around, to demonstrate the various regions of the place he's come to call home. She frets that she's coming off as crazy, and the stallion gives another small chuckle. "You aren't," he reassures. She steps forwards, then seems to question her own decision and quickly retreats, but Volterra simply fixes her with his crimson gaze. "You haven't made me uncomfortable. Closeness and touch play a valuable part in how we communicate - I've always valued movements over words, truth be told." His booming laugh is largely humourless as he dwells on his lack of ability when it comes to wordplay. To prove his point, he takes a step towards her, closing the space between them with fluid ease. She's an attractive thing and it occurs to him than his stallion-ness may inspire his body to react accordingly, but he stifles any urges. He's vowed to the Earth God to be a good boy, or at least try to be. Besides, he has to remain professional - he is here to be the welcoming Gladiator, not the rampant lover.

"Welcome to the herd, Myrrine. Come, I will show you around." He begins to walk, flicking his head towards her in an invitation to follow.