It is the feline that has the stallion's attention now. Venati is crying overhead, insistent, but Coris does not heed him. His eyes are set on the striped cat - a beautiful coat really. It would make a nice blanket, Frostfall is approaching after all and Coris has seen some brutal ones in his lifetime.

The voice of the stallion calls him away from the entrancing eyes of the tiger. The noise is sharp and it rings like a bell in Coris' ears. He blinks as though awakened from a trance, but it is only clarity that spreads across him, no absence of witchcraft. He recalls now the statement spoken before the command. His beard twitches as his lips smile, coy and cruel.

"Isn't that you?"
Venati alights upon the stallion's leather laden withers, wings ruffling before placating along his backside. Nervously he picks at the leather with his beak, hunter's eyes wary of the larger predator ahead. Coris hopes to soothe him, but their bond is weak yet and their emotions conflict rather than merge.

"You won't find them under that rock," Coris drawls, unimpressed by the lack of wit displayed by one so previously witty. He tilts his head, leather shifting like a whisper on his body. "You craft?" he queries, remembering the chains. "Metal."

Coris strides forward now, no longer afraid of this strange bones-but no bones, metalsmith with a punished cat. He may have retained the fear except for Prometheus' complete lack of interest in him. Truthfully it wounded the stallion who took great delight in finding a fellow crafter, though it was not unlike them to be antisocial. Though, this one did not seem truly passionate - he was different.

"But not born into it, am I right?" He tilts his head as if studying a new animal's corpse in which he must figure the cleanest and most efficient way of skinning. He's focused and dry, all sense of empathy fled from him. "What would a metal smith want with bodies, does your cat not bring you enough?"

Here his gaze flicks back to the cat. He is reminded of the words of the Earth God - here is a terrestrial companion, though it seems more a slave. Yet its claws are sheathed and its eyes, wounded rather than furious. It is a servitude of some fucked up love. Coris drags his gaze away. The cat is important, but minor. This stranger is the true potential here and Coris must dig into his core, or at the very least grab his attention.