His dragons have turned into his spies of late; their sole purpose is to follow Isopia around and ensure no harm comes to her and her ever-expanding stomach. Babel and Hubris are more than capable of doing exactly that, but what fool would dare try and fight off four dragons, three of them royal? In addition, it means that Volterra can get regular updates on the pregnancy without appearing smothering by following the Mountain around every second of every day.

It also means that the Indomitable can be notified immediately upon the giantess entering labour, something he's been unable to stop himself thinking about for weeks now. He is no stranger to women giving birth (after the initial shock of realising that foals didn't hatch from eggs as he'd thought upon seeing Tyrath's birth) but there's something different and so much more worrying about Isopia doing it. The Mountain is one of the strongest women in Helovia and childbirth is as natural as anything, yet Volterra can't shake the rising tide of what ifs? that plague every waking thought. What if the foal gets stuck and a healer can't get to her fast enough? What if she dies? What if the foal dies? What if it's twins as suspected and her body can't take the strain of them? So many worries, but under all of his anxiety there's the thrum of excitement at the idea of finally getting to see the beauty that he and Isopia have created.

When his dragons give the signal that the pregnancy is progressing, Volterra loses no time in crossing the Throat to get to her. No sand dune, log or puddle will prove any sort of an obstacle to the onyx monolith as he roars through his home at a gallop, led by the mental urgings of the gold and red beasts in the heavens. He soon locates Isopia, and slows to a halt with his heart pounding due to the run and the anticipation. "Kis hollo, it is time?" It's both a question and a statement, as her sweating state, posture and those unpleasant-looking fluids tell him that yes, it is time. As much as the warlord wants to go to her and offer the reassurance of his physical touch through the haze of her pain, he keeps his distance. He knows better than to get too close to a mare during childbirth - it can cause even the most gentle of women to aim a bite or kick at their erstwhile lovers.

Instead he hovers a short distance away, his tail swishing anxiously and his eyes scanning around to make sure there's no imminent danger. With four dragons and two fine warriors for parents, this is possibly the safest child ever to be born, but that doesn't stop Volterra from fretting.

It takes all of his control not to move closer to her, to resist all instincts and stay away. Worried that she may feel shy in his presence - his suspicious seemingly vindicated by the way she nestles into her wings like shrouds - he turns away so his eyes aren't boring into her, even though it kills him to do so. She needs privacy, that he appreciates....not that it stops him sneaking into the eyes of his dragons so he can still watch, albeit in the odd curves and shades of dragon-vision.

Finally he can resist no longer, and turns as a foal slides from beneath her tail onto the sand. It is a colt, and the beast's heart soars; before he can utter his joy, though, the mare's sides are rippling again. Vadir tilts her head, hums deep into her bonded's mind - "a clutch," she purrs. Soon there's another little body next to the first, this one a girl, a daughter. One of each - it's far more perfect than even Volterra could have thought, and there's no stopping the radiant smile that lights up every hard line and scar upon his face. His name upon her lips only makes the smile spread wider until it beams out of his eyes as well, even his posture showing his joy.

Isopia stands, and there's no stopping him from going to her now - he seeks to touch his muzzle to hers, a soft and gentle nuzzle that will hopefully portray all the things he can't put into words. Then, he looks to the children. "May I?" It's unlike the Indomitable to ask for permission, but again he knows from experience not to touch a mare's newborns without asking her first. There's a vague memory in the back of his mind of his own birth, when his father was so bold as to caress his progeny without the World Eater's permission; her rebuke had been fearsome, and Volterra does not want to sully the twins' first moments on earth with the sight of their mother aiming a bite at their father.

The foals, though....they are stunning. Courtesy of Isopia's tribrid blood, they possess both wings and horns, and he'd hazard a guess that they've got equine genes too. The colt has his face marking, the girl a beautiful leaf between her eyes. In short, they are perfection wrapped in damp fur, and the stallion feels that bizarre, delightful quirk of love that blossoms in his chest. Unusually, though, they don't seem inclined to stand up, and Volterra's smile shifts into a concerned frown as he looks down at the colt. On the boy's right shoulder there's a strange marking, almost as though his skin is ripped to display livid fire underneath....he's reminded of his lava-golems, and his frown deepens even more when something that looks like magma begins to ooze from the marking. "Ah, kis hollo, our son seems to be...leaking?" That isn't something he's ever experienced before.

With her permission granted, Volterra loses no time in extending his muzzle to blow warm air in greeting towards each twin in turn. The smell of them is truly unique - damp, sand, youth, and pure Isopia-ness seems infused into each of them, and he softly tries to run his nose across both spindly young bodies, memorising every plane of them and committing it to memory. He leans closer to Isopia as he does so, offering one broad, muscular shoulder for her to lean on if she so chooses.

For the first time he notices the succulents sprouting next to the girl-foal, and his eyes widen further in surprise. He's never had children whose magical abilities were so advanced at such a young age - even Tyrath, quick-bloomer, hadn't shifted into a dragon until later on. The Mountain's words bring the smile back to his face, realising that this is probably just a side-effect of their blessed God blood. "They are strong," he agrees, glancing proudly between each of them. If their powers are so advanced now, think what they will be like when they're older! He remembers how quickly Isopia had seemed to age, far outstripping the marginally older Volterra, and he wonders if this is a genetic quirk of hers too. Will he soon be looking up as his children instead of down?

The boy makes a couple of failed attempts to stand, which is a relief - he'd began to worry that the children, for all their magical strength, might lack the primitive urge to feed from their dam. After his second tumble to the ground, the colt's horns begin to leak lava at the same time as his shoulder, and Volterra unleashes a small chuckle of approval. "He is a little vulkán," he says, the Hungarian word for volcano slipping easily from his tongue.

Vadir cranes her neck from her perch in a nearby tree (fashionably away from Babel, whilst casting furtive and hungry glances at him when she thinks he isn't looking) to silently assess both children, whilst Vérzés hops merrily down towards them and waves a red paw at each.

She repeats the word, and he grins somewhat sheepishly. "It means volcano. Apt, no?" He glances again to the now-crusting lava emitting from the newborn colt. As the boy then parrots the word too, Volterra's grin widens and he presses himself even closer to the Mountain at his side.

The mare adds an anecdote, and Volterra looks at her curiously. She's always seemed to have a thing about names, as evidenced by the fact she'd refused to tell him her own and had commented upon Vérzés's during their very first conversation. The Indomitable himself has never really thought about such things - his father gave him his name, adding to a long family tradition of similar ones, and he'd quickly grown to love it. Imagine, though, if his sire had decided to call him Fluffy, and he'd had to live with that forever. Maybe Isopia is right - maybe the foals should be free to choose their own name, rather than being condemned to something by the whim of a parent. "I didn't know that." Not for the first time, he's reminded that he has never actually met the giantess' mother, this woman who the Earth God saw fit to take to his bed. She must be a remarkable creature.

As Isopia invites the children to pick their own names, the lava-colt repeats Vulkán once again. The monolithic stallion chuckles. "I think he's chosen his," he remarks, pleased. His gaze lingers on the foals as they begin to stand, together, and he's torn between admiring their teamwork and wishing they'd have achieved the feat alone rather than relying on their sibling. Nymeria's face floats in front of his eyes, reminding him that one can never fully rely on a twin.

Strange footsteps set the beast on guard, and his ears flatten whilst his muscles bulk fearsomely outwards. He quickly relaxes whe he sees that it's Astarot, however, and snorts in greeting to his son whilst returning to Isopia's side to offer his shoulder once again. "Ah, Astarot! Meet your new siblings, Vulkán and....?" He glances quizzically down at the filly, his expression open in an invitation for her to insert her own choice if she's capable of doing so.