He fucking hates summer. He hates the flies, the heat, the sweat, the dry grass, the thirst, the heat, the heat! Long, hot days and short, cool nights blur into one another as the Sultan performs his duties admirably despite his suffering, his onyx pelt glistening with sweat as he completes yet another circuit of his borders. He moves at a fluid, collected canter despite the temperature - these long-distance runs in such conditions help improve his stamina and tone his already formidable muscles, and Volterra is not the sort to shy away from potential training merely due to discomfort.

His dragons fly alongside him, gleaming hulks of red and gold. They test their own stamina with these flights, their wings straining against the humid air and their scaled snouts pointed determinedly forwards. Whilst Volterra has nobody but himself to compete against, Vadir and Vérzés race shamelessly against each other. The Indomitable knows from experience that both of his dragons are just as stubborn and competitive as he is, and even though he can tell that both of their bodies are aching and their lungs screaming for air, neither is willing to admit defeat. Stop, he finally commands them. They cannot sweat like he does, but their tongues are lolling as they desperately try to inch their noses in front of the other. You're going to kill yourselves. Tinglings of relief flow into his mind as both companions submit to his whims and slow their frantic wingbeats, whilst putting up a valiant show of disgruntlement.

When Vadir suddenly deviates from the path and barrels forwards again, Volterra rolls his eyes. What did I JUST say? But the queen's determination is resolute, and with a small grunt the stallion alters his own track to follow her. Vérzés growls crossly and reluctantly follows as well, whilst Vadir finally reveals the source of her interest - two more circling dragons, and a very familiar mare. The gold makes a beeline upwards towards Isopia's companions, studiously ignoring Hubris whilst sending little blasts of flame in greeting towards Babel like the shameless attention-slut she is, according to Volterra anyway.

Despite the heat, despite the discomfort, despite his already sweating body and despite his already punishing pace, Volterra's stride lengthens as eagerness overtakes his exhaustion. By the time he reaches her, he's feeling decidedly the worse for wear - his obsidian fur is stained with sweat, his ears lolling flaccidly to either side and his sides heaving with tiredness that he desperately tries to mask. He must have cantered for several miles without a break in this unrelenting sunlight, and he hopes his frothing and travel-worn body is attractive in a raw, masculine, look-at-my-stamina way and not repugnant in an eww-you-stink-get-a-bath way.

Just to complete the image, the moment Volterra halts he almost disappears beneath a blanket of flies, as though they are drawn to him by a magnetic pulse. He pins his ears and slaps his tail against them, but he can feel their persistent little suckers sinking into him in a haze of pinpricks. "Kis hollo," he greets the mare, forcing a smile. It still feels wrong to call her that after everything that's happened, but the Indomitable is a creature of habit. "To what do I owe the pleasure upon my sands?" Referring to the sands as his is purposeful, hoping she will notice and ask what he means so he can gleefully reveal his new title. In the depths of his brain - the folds of consciousness where hope gets caught - he thinks she may be here to see him, to add the second chapter to their fledgling new relationship. In reality, it is probably something business-like, but it is a joy to see her all the same...even if that same part of his mind still feels betrayed by what she did.

Approval glints in the queen's ruby eyes as the younger gold rises to meet her. He offers submission, yet displays his own power in a way which demonstrates the fact he is gold and worthy of such a royal hue; it is the perfect blend to appeal to Vadir's vain desire to be superior yet also her desire to find an equal. Something burns in the pit of her stomach, something different, something that feeds back to Volterra and causes a somewhat smug expression to drift across his face. This time, it's her turn to studiously ignore him, and she sends another blast of flame into the sky before circling away from Babel in an attempt at aloofness.

Vérzés returns Hubris' cheery wave, waggling his paw so fast he almost topples from his perch on his bonded's back. Volterra pays little heed to the antics of either of his companions, focused as he is on Isopia. It does not matter how many time he meets this remarkable woman, he is always slightly taken aback by the sight of her. Despite everything that has happened, everything they've been through, he still finds himself yearning for those great, muscled curves, those elegant wings, that sacred hide. The most painful thing is that she surely can't see the same when he looks at him - he is just an unremarkable peasant boy who has risen to king, black of pelt and half-heartedly splashed with white, muscular and well built but not godly.. The fact he now wears a crown is surely secondary.

But these are dark thoughts for a darker time. The yours? causes him to break into a shit-eating grin, preparing to launch into a tirade about his newly-owned home, but then the Mountain speaks again. He realises his mistake, then; gloating about his new position would only remind her of Aithniel, and that has always been the straw that broke the camel's back. Oops.

Now it's Vadir's turn to be smug, and she seizes the mantle gleefully as she glides lazily past on a helpfully-placed thermal of air. "At least I only give attention to one," she purrs into his mind, shooting a sidelong glance at Babel. "This what happens when you whore yourself." The stallion pins his ears and glowers up at her, before returning his attention to Isopia. "Yes, I am the Sultan, but not alongside Aithniel. The Sun God has sent her on a quest in his name - I rule alongside Ampere." He is almost waiting for the questions that he sees as inevitable - are you bedding her? Is that why you've promoted her? - but for once he has his answers ready.

The ah isn't quite what he was expecting, but he does not react to it. The following remark - that it must keep him quite busy - brings a nod of agreement. His youthful dreams about leadership hasn't prepared him for cold hard the reality of it. It's not all valiant battlefield trips, destroying invading predators and drinking his fill of every mare that crosses his path. It's hard work, often boring, rarely glorious. He loves it, and thinks he will grow into the role as he ages and gains experience, but he would rather like to dart back in time and forewarn his younger self that it isn't the cakewalk he'd thought it would be.

I was wondering if I might borrow some of your fire. He glances towards the stick clutched in Hubris' mouth, his brow twisting in puzzlement. Embarrassingly, he doesn't know a great deal about the diviner's fire. The resident Diviner Maren isn't around much, and during his Gladiator days he hadn't really had reason to get to know that particular role. This strikes him now as willful neglect on his part, but he tries to keep this indecision out of his face as he nods sagely as though he totally knows what the purpose of the fire is. "Ah." He echoes her words without even meaning to, distracted as he is by staring at the fire and vowing to himself that he'll not rest until he knows everything about it.

Personally, he doesn't see why she can't take some of it. Surely the fire isn't sentient, and even if it is, he's sure the Sun God would understand his brother's daughter taking some of it for a quest. But then there's the nagging worry that letting Isopia take a piece of fire might be akin to letting her trot up and piss on the Sun God's shrine, an inadvertant act of sacrilege that will result in angry fireballs falling from the sky.

But he forces this indecision aside. A Sultan cannot dwell on his decisions too long, cannot pretend to be anything but utterly assured in his answer. "I don't see why not." The beast looks between Isopia and the fire, convincing himself that the Mountain would not ask something of him that is truly scandalous.

With anybody else - or, indeed, maybe even Isopia herself a short time ago after their argument - Volterra may well have used his title to his advantage. He is, after all, a man of many vices, one of which is a primal need to assert his dominance in any way possible...and what is the use of being Sultan if he can't occasionally fondle his ego by using it? Such a thought does not cross his mind when the Mountain asks, though. Doing such a thing to her, despite what's happened, seems more petty and spiteful than he can possible contemplate. Not just because of the carnal reaction his body always has to her - tingling flesh, aching there, darkening eyes and a flicker of something softer in the depths of his heart - but because she is his friend, and that is something Volterra values.

He watches Hubris soar along and snatch up some of the fire, surreptitiously glancing upwards as though expecting the Sun God to descend and immolate him for allowing somebody to desecrate the fire in such a way. He's distracted from this unpleasant musing as Isopia speaks again, asking him how he is. There's a deep sorrow in his chest at the notion that she feels the need to fill these silences, and that indeed the silence had felt awkward in the first place - time was, they could simply stand together in companionable quiet with nothing but the beating of their mirrored hearts to break it. Alas, that is what happens when one must start afresh without the burden of a shared past, or at least with a shared past that only one of them truly remembers. They have to earn the right to enjoy their silences again, to be content in simply sharing each other's company.

Until that time, small talk is the best way to go. "Well enough," comes his response, conversational and jovial in tone. "Ruling the herd takes up most of my time, but it is something I enjoy doing so I would not bemoan it. Whenever I get chance, I scour the Marsh for any way to defeat Kaos, but these trips have proven futile." He frowns, feeling the familiar frisson of displeasure at his failure to discover anything about the false God. "And you?" At lot must have changed for her, what with the Falls disbanding and all.

It's stuttering, awkward, fumbling. Compared to the fluid ease with which they once conversed, this is a stark reminder that you don't miss the water until it's gone. Volterra thinks of all their other discussions, from the trivial to the vital, and how they'd all just...flowed. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, like the easy synchronicity of two dragons in the sky, the old Volterra and Isopia could have discussed the finer points of fungus and they'd still have managed to make it feel natural and comfortable. In the past they'd just worked regardless of what they were talking about, but this....this is almost painful. This makes the black beast yearn for those lazy conversations about nothing, because prior to this, they didn't need to speak properly in order to understand each other. The unsaid things were often just as loud as whatever left their mouths, whereas now there's nothing but empty space and awkwardness hanging between the words.

It's more troubling than Volterra can possibly have imagined it would be. He'd been naiive to think that, now the Mountain has her memories back, they'd just tumble back into the same easy friendship and more that they'd always been. He'd expected it to be like pulling on an old glove, friendly and comfortable and warm, yet instead it's like walking through one's old home only to find it cold, empty and unfamiliar. It makes sense, he supposes. Just because she has those memories back doesn't mean that she still feels everything like she had during those times, because to her, those images must seem as though they've come from somebody else. Even when somebody describes to you what love feels like, it cannot compare to actually feeling it for real, and that's how he imagines it must work in Isopia's head.

His dreams of slipping back into the old routine, then, seem entirely stupid now. This conversation - if it can even be called that - only proves it.

The mare adds that she is the Edge's Seer, and Volterra nods absently. This isn't right. He refuses to be condemned to this, refuses to have his single most important relationship be broken down into two strangers pretending they know each other. This isn't how he wants to live. He wants the old Isopia back, as utterly selfish as that may seem, and he's going to do anything in his power to make her truly understand the things she's been told to feel through those memories. "Say, perhaps once you've collected your fire, we could go to the Hidden Falls." Now the Falls have been relegated to a neutral land, they can be explored at will. Volterra hasn't yet done so, because despite how much he longs to roam the realm that could have been his, he would feel almost like he was intruding if he went there alone.

His gaze snaps to hers, and a small, hopefully warm smile blossoms across his lips. "We could visit your clearing, like old times." His plan could surely not be more obvious - the only thing he can think of doing to bring back Isopia's feelings is to take her back through memory lane, through all the places that had defined them. The day in her clearing had been perhaps one of the most important for their growth as friends and lovers, and the stallion's remaining tendrils of hope convince him that going there with her might help start the spark to rekindle them. At the very least, it might enable them to talk with slightly more normality than this stunted, miserable excuse for a discussion.

It doesn't occur to him that she might refuse. The old Isopia would surely not have refused...and yet, as Volterra must keep reminding himself, this isn't the old Isopia. This is a new woman forged from the ashes of the old one, with her predecessor's memories locked away but without the true meaning behind those memories. When she repeats his words back at him then hesitates, the stallion finds himself fretting that she might actually turn him down, that perhaps the desire to ignite what they once had is his and his alone.

The fact that eloquent, clever Isopia is so rarely lost for things to say only makes the Indomitable more convinced that she's contemplating how to politely refuse. He steels himself in preparation, tries to come up with a gracious acceptance of whatever apology she offers, but instead....instead, she says something that makes the guts drop out of his world. Our child is buried there. The beast freezes, his face an odd mask of confusion, sadness, and surprise. Maybe he should have known that Isopia would choose to bury the body there, and yet....he hadn't actually contemplated the possibility that she'd buried their son at all. After the Earth God's revelation around the circumstances of the foal's death, he'd assumed that it had been something Isopia had wanted to happen, and thus that the remains would have been squirreled away like a shameful little secret. He hadn't thought for a second that she'd bury them, because burying them implies caring, and caring implies....well, he's not entirely sure, but it's enough to throw out everything he thought he knew about what happened.

Once again, it appears, he's underestimated the Mountain. He's made the mistake of assuming something about her, and if there's one thing he's learned, it's that he should never make assumptions about this remarkable woman.

He knows he's treading on dangerous ground now. This is a very sore point between them, and if he puts one foot wrong in this particular minefield, he could lose everything. "I would like to visit the grave, if...if you wouldn't mind." His usually authoritative voice is surprisingly hesitant, because he feels like he's asking her to reveal a particularly raw piece of her soul. Their child's grave is a secret that she and only she knows - or so he thinks - so asking her to share it is akin to asking her to share the deepest, darkest part of herself. If the roles were reversed, Volterra would be unwilling to let anybody into this sacred little place of his, a place where he can grieve in peace.

He offers that escape rope tentatively, hoping that she won't take it but knowing that he must dangle it regardless. "We don't have to if you don't want to. I don't want to intrude." Which is about the closest thing to a lie Volterra will ever tell, because he wants to visit his dead son more than he can possibly put into words.

He's almost forgotten his dragons, so engrossed is he in this conversation. Amazingly, this is the first time it doesn't feel awkward. Vadir glides lazily overhead, unleashing a loud, pointed sigh. "One woman kills hatchling, you kill her. This woman kills hatchling, you....go with her to see grave." He's not looking at her, but he can picture the sneer that sits upon that royal muzzle of hers. "What so special about this one? Has gold-bonded, but...."

Volterra cuts off her mental tirade firmly. Vérzés, in stark contrast to his haughty golden sister, squeals excitedly at the idea of his bonded making amends with his second favourite horse, and his eyes are wide and happy as he croons over to Hubris. As Isopia begins to walk, a seeming invitation for Volterra to follow, the red dragon hops excitedly up and down on the black's broad back, hardly able to contain his relief that things seem to be going well.

The Indomitable's relief is just as profound, and he falls easily into step beside the giantess. He keeps a polite distance, because as much as he wants their skin to move a hair's breadth away from each other until electricity sizzles between it, he thinks it may be too much too soon. Her words seem like an invitation to talk, and when he replies it doesn't feel forced or difficult. "I confess that it was a surprise to me, as well. It concerns me that Kaos managed to force us to such catastrophic measures so soon." Surely destroying a herd is a last resort, not a first one? "Have you spoken to your father since then?" he questions, curiosity momentarily overwhelming any inhibition. It's nervous chatter, too, because secretly he's worried about seeing his son's grave. Seeing it will make it real, and Volterra has been trying his best to smother his grief since he found out the truth.