ENGINEERS CREATE THAT WHICH HAS NEVER BEEN
Ulrik smiled, if you could call it that, at the little unicorn spawn of Mauja's who was still toting around one of his machines. He could see the gears in its side start to wear. Oil stains tarnished the otherwise pristine and polished sides. The young creature spoke to him (the live one, that is), and he tilted a dark ear, a brow raised on his wild face. "Well, but the journey from the Throat's borders was longer than I wanted." The stallion was not tired, simply irritated. Dealing with emotional women was like running nails on a chalkboard; it made you cringe and ultimately got you nowhere. He was glad the little one called for Psyche because he would have stood on the threshold until his horns froze over in waiting; he was not one for yelling. But when he did yell...

"You? How are you?" he asked, remembering that he was supposed to reciprocate conversation. Moments later, Psyche appeared, and he was at least pleased that she was giving some time to her herd now instead of running off and pushing children out of her gut. Needless to say, Ulrik's concept of bearing children from the female perspective is vastly off. She asked a question, and he answered, jerking his head to the shackled pegasus who was standing nearby, tethered.

"I brought her; for... eh... you know?" he said, trying to keep the Plague secret. Bronze eyes danced around from side to side, seeing if there were any listeners. "She is the Dragon's Throat eh... oracle, diviner... you know, of those who speaks with the gods."

Then, Ulrik saw Mauja approach and he quickly stiffened his stance, not wanting to appear an unkempt outcast who had fallen from grace. The bronze and charcoal stallion was glad that his pale leader had returned; something about women in a position of power made his hackles bristle. Both of his ears tilted forward curiously when Mauja moved closer into his personal space until he realized that his leader was attempting a normal greeting. Ulrik returned the nudge awkwardly, a charcoal ear shifting to the side. "Too long indeed; I am glad you have returned." The words were not meant as a slight to Psyche, but the implication rested there between the lines.

"Oh, you know her name?" he asked, furrowed his brows and turning to his blue prisoner. She had fought, but his stature and abilities had won out; she had not stood much of a chance. In fact, the mare was a fool to have fought so long; she practically injured herself. Why would no one come willingly?

Then, he stared out at caves in the distance, gaze narrowing as his mind began to wrap around blue prints and ideas, designs and creations. The rest of the cage was already made by rock. All the entrance would need was a gate and some sort of mechanism to make it open. A machine. Simple. And then, he could drop off the blue prisoner and go about his merry way.

"Have you ever thought of putting a gate on one of those cave entrances to make a prison?" he asked, gaze dancing between the eyes of Psyche and Mauja curiously.