As expected, Ulrik had not named it. His response, though mostly void of emotion and any sense of mockery leaves Coris feeling embarrassed of asking such a pointless thing. He swallows hard, hoping that it's not saliva but nerves he manages to send to the pits of his stomach.

Amber eyes study the blue ones carefully. As Coris speaks of his faults they appear to harden, colden, darker. It's difficult to believe such things can happen to Mauja's already frozen wasteland of an expression, but Coris notices it well enough to shift his weight with discomfort. He's surely to get the run through on that icy horn now. Will his armor protect him better from frost than it does flame?

Ulrik parts the rising tension within Coris with a flicker of hope. Hastily Coris flicks his attention to the engineer, happy to have an excuse to look away from the growing dark on Mauja's stern face. "She has already asked much from me." Coris grunts in response to Ulrik's input. He of course is referring to the eternal exile from his homeland, and any others but Helovia. Although the weight of this request is beginning to soften, as weights tend to do when you grow accustomed to them. If anything Coris is pleased to hear Ulrik knows of these gods to, and seems to hold some ounce of faith in the deals they craft. He will head there as soon as this ordeal has finished, a thought which makes him eager once more.

Thankfully Ulrik takes the rest of the conversation unto himself. The short, easy way in which he responds has Coris shaking his tail in self-annoyance. He should have played his work off as easily and calmly. Too willing is he to say much, but lists are daunting - it's this need to build himself up when he has so little to offer; he'd recognize this if he were a bit more introverted and self-assessing. Instead he feels envy of Ulrik. Makers are just as legendary as he'd imagined them to be. A wistful sigh pours from his nose as he watches and listens to the tribal marked stud. Such a handsome marking it is. The sharp points and gentle curves of the design compliment the attitude of the dark stallion. It's then Coris notices with acute detail how buff Ulrik is. Good Moon God does the boy haul around metal and boulders all day long? Probably, and he likely does so with a nice sheen of sweat glistening on his sleek coat, mane drifting his eyes with each toss of the wind... What Coris wouldn't give to be a fly on Ulrik's rump. Or even better, one of those metal ores he so passionately touches and caresses into something artful.

His muscle definition has Coris feel instantly inferior and weak in the knees all at once. The fantasies certainly do not help either. The simultaneous combination of opposites leaves a deadly effect on the swooning hunter and with great dismay he rips his gaze away from the glory that is Ulrik's fore limb.

Coris' breathing has become heavier and sweat beads on his neck. Get yourself together he hisses internally, shifting his weight once more in the hopes to resettle his body as well as his mind. And anyway, he is just as athletic and studly as Ulrik. Chasing down game and ripping it open takes great finesse and body control. Anyone can lug around metal and boulders.

This attempts at self flattery and demeaning of Ulrik's skill bases help reduce the heat flushing in Coris' groin. Just in time to as Ulrik turns to him, a question just fled from his lips. Shit Coris snarls to himself, ears scrambling to dig up an echo of the query which his mind is drawing a blank on. Just a couple seconds later and he would have been listening!

Mauja is talking again. Don't skin the warden wolf, right. Wolf, wolves, pack of mechanical wolves, skin. "Of course," he responds matter of factly to both the question and the request posed by Ulrik and then Mauja. Although Coris is anxious to see this odd wolf - it's a shame he can't play more intimately with her, he has a fondness for taking on bizarre challenges when possible and if he can get a trophy from it all the better.

"Why stop at just wolves?" Coris asks, pressing the matter, partly to help show he is an asset, his favor likely still low with Mauja. It would be, he supposes, until the ideas are made real. Time, just give me time. "A figure head like yourself faces many threats. Perhaps employing a mechanical double with skin nearly identical to yours would provide a different target for foes?" He grins then, the idea forming wholly in his mind. He glances sidelong at Ulrik, "a mechanical Mauja." The possibilities are nearly limitless.