"He's back."

Vadir's voice is a cold, crisp symphony in the giant's mind, causing him to jerk up his head from his grazing. What? Confusion taints his handsome features as he looks upwards, higher and higher until he can just make out the golden queen circling in the clear blue sky. Even when she's this far away, she is massive, her bulk unrivalled and her body a gleaming mass of gold that reflects the sunlight until she appears like a gem in the heavens. She is the Indomitable's pride and joy, yet she also possesses as many flaws as he does - her great sense of entitlement, vanity and arrogance, to name just three.

"HIM." The warlord is granted an image of Amaris' golden bonded, and the realistion causes him to unleash a mental ahh. The joy of meeting with Amaris again had been somewhat tainted by Vadir's inelegant slam into the ground, courtesy of the fact neither she nor Dramyrth had wanted to back down from their duel for royal dominance. It seems golden pride isn't specifically a trait of Vadir's - it's a curse of everybody of her unique scale colour. The queen had mercifully avoided any broken bones, although she'd obtained so many painful bruises that she hadn't been able to fly properly for days.

None of this has dented her desire to be the ultimate gold; if anything, it's only enhanced it. Of the golds in Helovia, Vadir has already asserted her authority over Babel, and the young male seems to have accepted his place readily. This has earnt him her favour, bordering on her obsession. She does not acknowledge the existence of Abraham's companion, because any gold that willingly bonds to a man who has sullied his mind with a white runt is unworthy of being recognised as a sister of hers. That leaves Dramyrth, and Vadir has taken his fightback as a personal affront. He might be large and devilishly handsome, but he is a male and he needs to learn his place. If he is to be seen as a suitable mate for a queen like herself, then he must achieve a mixture of deference to her yet defiance to all others. He must submit when she demands it yet display his strength and worthiness as a sire; this may seem like a contradiction, but queens like Vadir want mates that can exhibit raw golden power whilst also respectfully accepting their place as second-class citizens compared to females. That, after all, is why they are made smaller.

Only once a male has achieved that tricky combination will Vadir consider acknowledging him as an equal. Breeding is not on her mind yet, but crafting Dramyrth into her vision of perfection just in case certainly is. Volterra doesn't bother trying to stop her as she barges determinedly forwards, knowing that any attempt to prevent her actions will be utterly futile. That's another of her flaws, probably gained from him - bull-headed stubbornness.

The titan moves swiftly behind his golden queen, keen to keep an eye on her and meet up with Amaris again. His stride is a fluid canter, hardly affected by the considerable heat - he's used to it now, his body grown hardy by these difficult living conditions. Vérzés rides on his back, his claws dug deeply into thick flesh to anchor himself against his bonded's stride, his long red tail blowing in the wind as he screeches his pleasure. Amaris is second only to Isopia in his eyes for none-Volterra horses that he likes, and he especially adores when she generates dragon-spirits for him to speak to.

Volterra is soon in front of the dragonmare, a broad grin upon his handsome muzzle. "To what do I owe the pleasure again, Amaris?" he questions, realising for the first time that she is not alone. He glances politely at her travelling companions, a question in his eyes as he looks between them.

In the skies, Vadir searches for her quarry. "Why he fly so high?" she wonders, more to herself than to Volterra. Concerned that hunting down Dramyrth may lead her into a trap, the queen unleashes a blast of flame and thunder, calling him down to her. Round two of their battle beckons, and this time she's determined that the ground won't ruin their splendid duel.

Vadir's eyes narrow down to crimson slits as she glares at Dramyrth. How dare he not obey the queen's beckons? Unfortunately for the royal female, she's so engrossed in her own self-satisfaction and golden pride that she can often forget the fact that she's as mortal as any other dragon. Any musings on a trap are quickly forgotten in her indignation, and she unleashes another loud roar and cloud of flame. The queen's great size is hewn with thick, powerful muscle - despite Dramyrth's thoughts to the contrary, she's built for battle as much as any male. How could she not be, given that she's bonded to one of the greatest warlords to grace Helovia's surface? Despite her royal colouring, she knows Volterra would not abide a simple trophy queen, twinkling away like a gemstone but lacking any power or substance. Pretty things such as egg-bearing and grace were forgotten when Vadir was formed, and her huge bulk is knotted with raw strength that is more than a match for any member of her species. How else will she make them bow? She's not the most agile or nimble of beasts, but she doesn't need to be when she's a deadly combination of size, strength and fire.

Alas, she's also forged from prideful arrogance. She's easily goaded, as much as she likes to think that she's better than Volterra and Vérzés' red-hot tempers. The golden male's impetuous snow-shower causes her eyes to flash with frozen fury, and her next roar is so loud it threatens to shake the very ground they walk upon. Down below, the Indomitable pins his ears and glares upwards at her. Really, Vadir? He's answered with a great swing of the gold's scythed tail and another thunderous bellow.

Forgetting her vow to not rise towards him (in any sense of the word), Vadir flares her wings and launches upwards. Despite her annoyance, she's still an intelligent creature and she knows that trying to fly above Dramryth at this altitude could result in her losing oxygen. That would be most inconvenient, so instead the queen approaches from underneath this time. Flying upwards is a lot harder than flying downwards, and Vadir's powerful wings scream their protest as she forces them above and beyond what they were designed for, but simple flaps of leather aren't going to hinder a queen determined to put her subject in his place. Her jaws unfurl, and this time she releases a blast of thunder. It's harder to guide than her flame, resulting in a cloud of errant lightning that sparks in every direction, although she makes a conscious attempt to aim it towards the male's soft underbelly - the stomach, the armpits, the groin. She hopes to paralyze him with her shock breath, to slow his movements and enable her to perform what she desires.

Opening her massive forearms, Vadir seeks to slam her full bulk upwards into Dramyrth, trying to wrap around him in a death grip. Her jaws hunt for his throat - not hard enough to kill, just hard enough to hold - and she tries to barge him firmly upwards, higher into the clouds than either of them have ever been before. The higher they go, the more chance that their breathing will grow haggard on the thin air, that their limbs will become slow and sloppy - and because he's above her, Vadir hopes it will happen to him first.

With a pitying shake of his head, Volterra returns his attention to Amaris. The word Sultan poured from her tongue feels....delightful, carnal, although probably not intentionally so. Vérzés croons happily as she says his own name in that draconic way of hers, and returns her greeting with gusto. Her promise of a new trick causes him to peek eagerly over Volterra's back, watching as the air explodes into no less than five dragon-spirits. Even Volterra is impressed as he scrutinises the spirits, remembering with a smile how enamoured he'd been with them as a boy. "Beautiful," he murmurs. Vérzés screeches happily and dives among the spirits, frolicking in particular with the two reds. His voice is a chorus of chirps and grunts, speaking to them in the most primitive of dragon-tongues. "No need to apologise, Amaris. You're right, he does enjoy playing with the spirits. He doesn't get much chance to interact with other dragons...Vadir doesn't really like him, you see." There's a frown on the titan's face as he explains this. His dragons are more agreeable to each other now that they're older and more mature, but it's still far from harmonious and they squabble often.

The mare says that she's chosen to join the Edge, and a frisson of disappointment ghosts across the stallion's features. He'd truly thought that she would join the Throat, and it's painful to realise that she's chosen to go elsewhere. He tries to hide any such deep emotions, though, schooling his face into neutrality and simply nodding to the information. Amaris then reveals her reasons for being here, and it causes the warlord to quirk a brow. "I must say, the Diviner's Fire is rather popular these days." Only a few weeks ago, Isopia had come to take some for her own quest. Since he gave it to her, he supposes that it's only fair to give some to the Edge, too. "You're welcome to take some. I cannot think of anything to ask for in return, but just think of it as you owe me and the Throat a favour." He gives the dragonmare a somewhat sultry wink, trying not to think of all the favours she could provide him with. In truth, he'll consult with Ampere and see if there's anything healing or craft-related that they can ask for to benefit the whole herd, but he's still allowed to dream of what he would ask for.

"Come, it's this way."

A wave of fire comes towards her from the male's jaws, and Vadir spurts her own blast of static electricity to coat herself and sizzle away the flame with the same impunity that Dramyrth had done with her own breath. She's rising upwards like a golden eruption, her jaws open, gaping, ready to seize him, to dominate him....

Until, suddenly, he's not there anymore. The queen unleashes a roar of confusion and disgust as she twists in the air to see that he's now behind her, carried there by a lithe backflip. "!!!!!" radiates into Volterra's mind, and he can't help but smirk at Vadir's unholy fury. She always mocks him for his temper, yet here she is with steam practically coming out of her ears because her opponent is as slippery as a fish and as cunning as a cat. Despite herself, the gold is filled with a strange, albeit begrudging, admiration for Dramyrth's technique - rather than taking on the impossible task of besting her in a battle of raw strength, he uses his wits and his agility instead. He's taking things to his level, refusing to play her at her own game and instead trying to make her play at his. Clever, if irritating.

The fact is, though, that he is now running away, and Vadir takes this as a small victory. She huffs a wave of smoke into the sky, gliding down on lazy wingbeats just enough so that the air isn't as uncomfortably thin. She has no intention of chasing him; she just hovers where she is, her great bulk gleaming like a golden gem in the heavens. She is simply far too royal to chase; the higher ground (well, air) is now hers, and she's loathe to relinquish it. Let him run, let him flee, then let him come shooting back on his own time - if he wishes to be seen as equal, he'll need to come back close enough to lock claws with her, to let her test his strength and find it satisfactory. Sure, he can fly fast and can twist like a corkscrew through the skies, but that is not what Vadir's instincts are telling her to look for in a potential nest-mate.

The dragonmare bumps her nose against Volterra's, and he returns the gesture with vigour. The smell of her, the warmth of her, doesn't exactly help his already decadent thoughts, and he is forced to add an extra layer of steel to his mind to keep them out. As they walk, Amaris asks how his life is going; the beast is hardpressed to keep the grin from his face as he thinks of the distinct upturn in his fortunes of late. Not only does he have a herd to call his own, two fine dragons, strong magic and an unheard of strength upon the battlefield, he also has legions of children that he adores and dotes upon. Volterra will never be satisfied - he always strives for more - but he cannot deny that, at the moment, he is happy.

"Igen, it is." The Hungarian word for yes drifts off his tongue instinctively. "And you, Amaris? I confess that given the amount of time you were gone, I half-expected you to return with a foal at foot." The thought fills him with a surprising amount of jealousy - she is a dragonmare, and who else would be fit to mount her aside from him, dragonlord, warlord, golden-queen-bonded? None, so secretly he prays that she has no children, although none of these salacious thoughts show upon his face.

The cry of invitation rings in her ears, and despite herself the golden queen is tempted. It would be so easy to give up on her hell-bent quest for domination and follow the male as equals, to relinquish her desire to be the best and be content with being the same. Must she always be so competitive, so ferocious? They could just enjoy each other's royal company and fly together without the crippling exhaustion of their ongoing battle, and Vadir can't help but wonder what that would be like.

Alas, her great pride is overwhelming. She is born to rule, to crush everything put before her just like her mammoth bonded, to rise beside her black king as his golden queen. After all, of all the males of any species, only Volterra is her true equal, and that's why she often listens to his commands where she'd willfully ignore a lesser man. He's urging her to follow Dramyrth's invite and give up on her hellbent desire to assert herself upon him - the Indomitable adores the queen's dominant side and usually encourages it, yet he's growing bored of her behaviour that is distracting him from his precious time with Amaris.

Vadir's wings twitch, her horned features twisted in an expression of great indecision as she hovers where she is, staring after Dramyrth as her body and mind wage war against each other. She's truly torn, and unleashes a frustrated blast of flame as she yo-yos between her options.

As it turns out, though, the decision is made for her. The queen is suddenly aware of wingbeats behind her, and flips her massive bulk to see what dares approach her and interrupt her musings. A loud bellow erupts from her clenched jaws as she claps eyes on the beast soaring towards her; it is a huge vulture, larger even than her, its great feathered wings so wide she wonders how it can possibly fly. She's no stranger to the Throat's resident scavengers, but they usually leave her well alone - her flame is enough to deter all but the stupidest of creatures. Indeed, this particular vulture doesn't appear intent on attacking her, and is perhaps simply minding its own business. But, like Icarus, the vulture has flown too close to the sun, meaning her, and she can see an opportunity.

She stares at Dramyrth, and this time it's her cry that is full of invitation. Hunt with me, it says in its lilting, powerful song; show me what you can do. At the end of the day, hunting is one of the most important things a dragon can do. A male must prove his ability to provide for his potential mate before she even considers engaging in the sky-dance with him, and Vadir's eyes glow with cold passion as she contemplates watching the other gold at work. This is an opportunity to put their squabbling aside and see how they work together at the expense of an unfortunate vulture; the queen turns, begins to fly after her chosen prey, her wingbeats slow as she waits for Dramyrth to catch up.

Oh, she adds to him in the form of another haunting roar; no breath. Hunting is too easy when she can immolate her prey with a single breath, so she's keen to see what the male can do without his flame. It's not long before she is above the vulture, swooping down to grab it with her claws into its wings; it screams, flapping against her iron grip and thrashing its massive beak to try and bite her. It's so big that killing it without her breaths would be a difficult task, which is where Dramyrth comes in.

Down below, Vérzés watches the events above him with evident interest. He's keen to see Vadir taken down a notch, but appreciates that is unlikely to happen, so is content to see two golds working in tandem instead. Volterra feels his red's excitement thrumming through their bond, mingling in with the raw predatory lust of Vadir. He's so distracted by these twin emotions that he almost misses Amaris' laugh and her following words. His ears flip towards her, surprised at her easy dismissal of something that is a part of life, especially a mare's life. Foal-carrying is just one of those things that they will inevitably do, in Volterra's mind anyway.

Her addition that her dragon is enough work causes him to snort an amused half-agreement, but he's not fully sure he thinks the two can be compared. "Raising a child is vastly different to raising a dragon, Amaris." With his inability to correctly articulate his point, he leaves it there; he can't put into words the differences between the two, how his dragons learned from his mind but his foals needed to be taught by his body, how there's a world between the shared consciousness of a companion and the unconditional love of a child. There's similarities, yes, but the two cannot truly be compared.

The Diviner's Fire is close, and Volterra takes the lead as he moves towards it. He dips his head in the direction of the inferno, a silent gesture of respect to the Sun God, before hearing Amaris' question. "She is, yes. I do not see her around much, but she is still the Throat's Diviner." He looks between the dragonmare and the fire. "How will you transport the flame?"

He comes to hunt with her, and the queen bugles her delight. This, she has to admit, is more fun than fighting against him. This is a way for her to demonstrate her strength and superiority without needing to do so at the expense of somebody else, and it's a quite refreshing feeling inside the mind of the queen. The struggling vulture is a formidable opponent and Vadir feels her flame bubbling in the back of her throat; it is instinct to use it, but she refrains. That would be cheating. It is more enjoyable this way, drawing out the unavoidable conclusion of the raptor's death.

Dramyrth joins her, flipping and latching beneath the vulture. Sandwiched between the two great golds, the vulture shrieks and thrashes even more, yet there is a sense of inevitability about its movements. There is no way it can hope to escape, although it rages against the dying of the light with everything it has. The male's jaws snap against its neck at the same time that Vadir's do, and together they squeeze the life out of the avian until its body goes limp between them. The queen shrieks her pleasure, thrashing her scythed tail so that it accidentally chops a few of the dead bird's tail-feathers off. Then, unbidden, she releases the corpse and hopes that Dramyrth will do the same; if he does and the dead vulture is allowed to fall, then the queen will swoop with it, using the great bulk of her shoulder to try and shove it towards him. Her crimson eyes are sparkling now, her jaws twisted into a feral smile that is playful despite its menacing appearance; she's inviting him to engage in a game of dead-vulture-ball, to push the tumbling corpse between them both in an attempt to keep it off the ground for as long as possible.

Disrespecting the dead, perhaps, but nonetheless fun.

Volterra can hardly believe what he's seeing. Vadir is usually about as playful as a boulder, but here she is thrusting a corpse towards another dragon in a clear invitation to join her in something that isn't rooted in dominance, or superiority, or an attempt to prove her utter magnificence. It's almost childlike, and he can't help but wonder what's caused her change of heart. She ignores these musings; her mind is cut off from his to focus fully on her game, and he knows she's too stubborn to let him back in until she's good and ready. So he leaves her be and focuses his attention on Amaris instead, enjoying these precious moments with her that remind him so much of his childhood.

The beast takes her comment at face-value. It's true, after all. He is versed in dragons, being bonded to two including the most complex and regal of all, a golden queen (Vérzés sends a ">:[" face into his mind). He is versed in children too, with nine of his own, eight living. He takes no offense, instead swelling with pride. "You could say that." He beams, remembering a piece of news he'd wanted to tell her. "Two of my sons have recently bonded to dragons, you know. Astarot has found himself a blue, and Tyrath a red. Tyrath can also transform into a golden dragon - I cannot help but be rather jealous of that." He chuckles softly. His own transformation magic is fearsome and frightening, but it is not a dragon.

The red's ears perk at his name, and he gleefully nods his head at Amaris' request. Vérzés is nobody's slave, but he's very fond of Amaris (or, as he calls her, spirit-dragonmare) and happy to help her out. He swoops from Volterra's broad back, grabbing the jar between his dextrous fingers and flying towards the fire without a single hint of fear in his face. The flame tickles his crimson scales but he's only in the depths of it for a moment, not long enough for it to burn through and damage the skin beneath; he scoops the jar across the ash at the base of the inferno, then bursts free in a shower of sparks. Shaking bits of ash from his eyes, the dragon deposits the filled-up jar at Amaris' hooves, then returns to his bonded's withers to painstakingly groom his scales.

There's emotions rolling from Vadir into Volterra's mind that he's quite unaccustomed to feeling from her. They are emotions usually broadcast from his mind to hers, not the other way around - hunger for something other than food, desire, feral need. Lust, to put it simply. He's felt ebbings of it when she was around Babel, but Isopia's gold is still too young to be able to reciprocate. Dramyrth is different. He's old enough to entertain the salacious whims inside the dragon queen's great chest, old enough to be capable of anything that she desires from him. Their battle for dominance remains inconclusive, but the golden demoness vastly prefers this.

She catches the corpse by the neck as it's flung back at her, and to her great dismay her teeth sever its head with ease. She's left holding the bloody skull whilst the truncated body tumbles to the ground, and she folds her wings to plummet down after it. Her limbs wrap around it and tumble with it, driving it hard into the Throat's sand and landing atop it to cushion the force of her descent. With it pinned beneath her claws she takes a luxurious bite of feathered flesh, before staring up at Dramyrth in a clear invitation to dine with her. This in itself is deeply unusual, as the queen is fiercely possessive of her prey and has been known to even attack Volterra if he comes too close to it, so the stallion is almost shocked into silence as she freely offers to share with the golden male.

Maybe he doesn't know her as much as he thinks he does. She's unpredictable, and he makes up his mind to discuss these events with her once they're alone.

Amaris thanks Vérzés, and the red swoons with the attention the mare is placing upon him. As she retreats, her muzzle brushes against the Indomitable's skin - whether intentional or not he's unsure - to send shivers of primal want like a frisson of electricity through him. He smothers the sensation down, but it's hard when his mind is full of a twin emotion from Vadir, making it difficult to switch himself off when he's getting a double dose of lust. Only Vérzés remains as a paragon of calm inside his mind, and that's not something he ever thought he would associate with his dangerous red companion. "He says you're welcome," he rumbles as a way to distract himself from what he's feeling, and from how much he wishes Amaris' touches would linger that little bit longer upon him.

The dragonmare makes to take her leave, and Volterra nods. "The same to you, Amaris...and if you ever tire of the Edge, which I hope you do, you will have a place here among my ranks." The words are light-hearted, but there's an edge to them too - he would dearly love to tear her away from the Edge's grasp, to covet her here in the Throat. The idea of another herd having her makes all his monstrous masculine instincts flare into overdrive, and the idea of the Edge's stallions flashing their lecherous glances at her....ah, it makes him prepared to tear the whole world down!

Unless she says anything further, the beast will move to take his leave, dragging a reluctant Vadir with him.