A small smile creeps across his face as Isopia's reaction to his comment. She is an intelligent woman, vastly more intelligent than he, but he's noticed over time that certain nuances are lost on her. It's endearing, and the stallion's fondness for her grows just a little notch higher. She flushes, as though flustered, then snatches her head quickly away; his smile turns to a frown, fearing that he's offended her. It would not be an exaggeration to say that Volterra - who is so rarely subtle and hardly ever considers the consequences of his actions - feels as though he's treading on eggshells around her now. He's so afraid of upsetting her and losing her all over again that he immediately begins to go over what he said, trying to work out which part might have hurt her so he can try to make amends.

It's warm. The comment bids one of his brows to lift, and his inner arrogance wonders if it's his proximity that is turning her into an equine inferno. He likes to think so; likes to believe that he still has that....not power over her, as such, but that ability to crack her stony exterior with primal peaks of want. It's quite possible, though, that she's merely remarking on the weather, even if Volterra thinks it's the cooler side of comfortable at the moment. He reminds himself not to try and second guess himself or believe that he does genuinely incite such reactions in the Mountain - doing so will only set him up for a crushing disappointment when she inevitably reveals that she was just referring to the weather.

Then, her cape falls to the floor. The leviathan does a double take; he's not seen her without that adornment since their earliest meetings, and he's so used to its presence that he hardly even notices it. Only now does he marvel at the fact that she always seems to be wearing it, and he wonders how she copes with it hindering her movements. He even struggles to move around in his armour, and only vast amounts of practice have stopped him being cumbersome and useless when he's wrapped in the red dragonhide. He's granted with a whole panorama of toned brown skin and lavish curves, of muscles and power and beauty...

Now it's him who feels rather hot under the collar, and he snorts loudly whilst shaking his head to rid his mind of the mental images that have just leapt into it. "You're...naked," he remarks, not realising until he's said the words how lame they sound. After all, they're all technically naked, and indeed it's more unusual to see somebody wearing an item of clothing rather than simply strutting around as God intended. Those images snowball inside his head, not helping the already sizzling concoction of smut that almost makes him blush - and making Volterra blush is a fine achievement indeed. He clears his throat and tries to look anywhere but at the bronzed planes of feminine beauty that joyously flex and move beneath his hungry gaze.