Ricciardo. It was, in many ways, a name as foreign as the sand-colored stallion who bore it. He'd never heard a name of quite those qualities. Ulrik's name was rough and hard, and Mauja doubted even Lotus could whisper it softly. His own name was treacherously deceiving, sounding like the blanket of newly fallen snow - soft, hiding the sharp crust beneath. Ricciardo was an elegant name, yet it was hard to force strength into it when pronouncing it. Ulrik gave his verdict, a slightly feral grin gracing Mauja's face in response. The engineer was right about that; fire seemed to burn aplenty and fiercely in the sandman, but only control would harden the flames into steel. Fire, however, was a great start. It meant that something was there, and quiet approval glittered along the rims of his blue eyes. He would have to tread carefully, so as to not upset this Ricciardo, but keep him eager to prove himself and his steel. They were already on the right path, as he growled about adaptability. The King nodded thoughtfully where he stood, flicking an ear as Ulrik stretched. On the whole, it was mildly disconcerting to watch him pull himself up like that, his already large frame seeming even larger, and the noise accompanying the motion was, to his ears, unhealthy.

"Yet some claim that we are the same," he snorted out, his disdain for those who thoughts so obvious. He blamed it all on Ulrik's presence - it'd been so long, too long, since his tongue had moved so freely and his mind had so lovingly, wholeheartedly, caressed the ideals upon which his life was founded. "Clearly, they have no eyes to see with." You just had to look at a unicorn to see that it was different - it had no wings, and a horn. The day when he'd seen an equine with a horn hadn't yet come, and probably never will. He did know of a few shameful wing-and-horn combinations running rampant, but he blamed their parents more than the foals themselves. Still, it made his heart shrivel up inside to see them. Mauja's head tilted to the side, gaze boring into the red stallion. "Are you simply comfortable with your own kind, brother, or uncomfortable with them?" The question was murmured, but not be ignored - his eyes spoke that he would have an answer, that silence would not be accepted.

To him, the question posed were not simply two sides of the same coin, but two different coins entirely. Some, he knew, simply preferred socializing with their own species without actively disliking the others. Some, like himself and Ulrik and the majority of the Edge, were outright uncomfortable around the others (or well, ought to be; Mauja was busy gallivanting around with them until the day of the unicorn's rise would come). Still, being comfortable with your own kind and seeking their company rather than the company of a mixed herd was a good start. Few unicorns could spend a longer amount of time around Ulrik without getting racist themselves, and that was just the way Mauja liked it.

He hoped that Ricciardo would not be a disappointment.