The realisation that he should take more of an interest in herd politics is one that has hit Volterra squarely between the eyes in recent weeks. Despite how worldly the leviathan can be in some aspects, in others he is deeply naive. The coup shook him to his core - he truly believed that loyalty to a leader would trump personal gain, that the herd would stand behind Sikeax for her past endeavours rather than rising against her for her current sins. To find out that this was not the case....it perturbed him in more ways than he could possibly articulate. Volterra is a simple man, and he'd rather foolishly assumed that herd politics are as simple as he is.

That is not the case. Within the makeup of a herd, there's hundreds of infinitesimal spiderwebs that hold everything together. There's dozens of interlocking things that bind the fragments of a herd into a whole - different horses loyal to different people, friends and enemies, lovers and family and a whole concoction of other smaller, seemingly insignificant relations. Being part of such a complex web is nowhere near the straightforward task Volterra had always assumed it would be, and he knows that if he is ever to rise to leaderhood, he needs to learn more about the things he's never previously been interested in.

After all, herds may be won on the battlefield, but they're not kept on there. Herds are kept in the boardrooms, seated around the tables of power; they are kept on alliances, on activity, on sensible decisions, on diplomacy. Raw brute strength will not cut it.

So when a pair of delegates from the Basin arrive, Volterra feels honour-bound to take an interest. He moves across the Throat as fast as he can, muscles rippling beneath the obsidian hide that is somewhat patchy in places with his winter coat. His stride is assured, his expression focused, his dragons darting along above him.

He arrives after Aithniel, but swiftly slips to her right side. His mind is not made up about his next move, whether he will stay or leave, but until he decides, he knows that he is loyal to her. After all, she is his Sultana....and she's damned good in bed, which always helps. "Inquisitor," he rumbles, dipping his heavy head in a gesture of respect to her. Then his gaze travels to the two mares from the Basin, his expression neutral and guarded. He does not trust the Basin. Their king holds his mother's armour, and he knows how much Confutatis was a thorn in their collective sides. The mantle has fallen on Volterra to continue the feud, but truthfully the Basin has never done anything to warrant him naming them as enemies. He intends to get his dam's armour back one day, but he knows it will involve the long game. Nor is any alliance his decision to make - it is Aithniel's, but he is going to take a great interest in what gets said and done here.

To the two Basin mares, he looks like a simple hulking presence at his queen's side, there to protect her should discussions turn sour. That is only part of the truth - he's also here on a learning mission, an eager student to the art of politics.

"Greetings, Basiners," comes his baritone earthquake of a voice, looking between the two women as he speaks. "I am Volterra the Indomitable, the herd's Gladiator." His new title takes some getting used to, but it's growing on him. He loves its connotations - its firm assertion that he is not a man to be trifled with.