It is a kindness that they take his dog's antics so lightly. Too often are nerves unsettled and teeth bared at small, harmless offenses such as those. Too many withers seemed not made of bone, but bowed necks that festered with humility, slights and insecurities. The lines on faces are usually taut with a grim shadow than a wrinkle of laughter and forgiveness.

Ricochet smiled with relief.

The mare's nervousness improves with their banter and inwardly Ricochet appraises this growth. He begins to see once more the brave soul powering through the icy sea and he wills to maintain that courage and strength. He is drawn to all equines and will gladly protect any of them that would have it, but he could only make use of those able enough to protect themselves and stand beside him, rather than beneath him.

She surprises him, and the other stallion it would seem, with her confession of pain tolerance. Teal eyes widen on a scarred face as Ricochet nearly leans forward in his attempt to inspect and understand her further. His maw is slightly slack jaw in awe and his heart quivers with a new hunger for her. She is no silly filly after all.

"Will is mighty, but it is too easily broken with temptation, or so I have noticed." Ricochet murmured, tail hairs swaying over his hocks in thought on the matter. "It is an impressive thing to find one so solid," he smiled as he praised her, though it was a crooked thing. The left half of his face was a ruin of burn marks and battle scars. It pained to move with either happiness or spite, so he chose to save the energy and the agony for the latter, when his teeth needed showing in lieu of his ears falling.

It reminded him of the strength of his will. Perhaps he did not have the capabilities to ignore pain as easily as she, but he did not stray from his resolve, even in the face of dragon flame washing his eyes and stealing his breath. He would conquer all opposition and arise victorious, consequences be damned.

The topic shifted to the palomino as he gave truth to his wandering hooves. Ricochet glanced intently at the stud, though his features gave away nothing of his thoughts but genuine intrigue. "And if you should know and respect the lead?" the Incendiary lets the query hang in the air, charged with subtle fascination and promise. If you had a purpose, what could you accomplish? The brute certainly had the build of a warrior and the calm attitude of one that could be well trained and skilled. Yet if the force could not be reckoned with by way of command, then it was nothing more than squandered potential.

An outcast was a waste of a horse in Ricochet's opinion, too lost to their own devices and unable to cause a shift in any tide, they would merely dissolve to dust when the died, giving no meaning to the shit or the semen they spilled on the earth they walked across. Could Ricochet seize that loss and make it worth something? He hoped so.

Rowan's next choice of words had Ricochet's head turning back to her, features muddled with slight confusion and once again, interest. Whatever her birth place must have been, he was sure it was something fantastic. "Were there no stallions in your home land?" That she should live to such an age with little to no interaction with stallions truly puzzled the dunskin that had always been among both genders in equal part. She never knew her father then, he assumed. Did she even have a father, he wondered with childish mystery...