They stand calm and stoic in a way that unnerves the hunter. There is an edge to this pair that live in The Edge. There must have been something of importance that got interrupted by his cry. He can only guess this by the annoyance on the appaloosa, and the unwelcoming gaze of the roan. Neither of them are cruel in any fashion, but there is a coldness to them. Rain can be as cold as snow, sometimes more.

His eyes grow hooded with caution.

A smile breaks the steely facade of the pale one. He speaks with a softer tongue now, his words soothing even, as though caressing the undeveloped mind of a child. Coris cannot help but feel more at ease. In many ways he is a distraught colt. Instantly he is warmed by the FrostHeart.

"I've never known any to swim so far out," Coris murmurs by way of explanation, and perhaps apology. Abashed he drops his head, ears tilting back nervously and a forehoof scuffing the ground in poorly concealed embarrassment. "Where I'm from, we have no sea. Though some rivers are nearly as deadly." Coris' features are grave and serious, though his gaze remains anywhere but on the stern pair, too ashamed still to meet their eyes, whatever they might hold.

He is about to mumble some take of leave. After all he still has business to attend to and assuredly, so do they. Yet the silver girl speaks finally, holding him. Though her tone is not hard, there is something hiding beneath the face value of the words that makes him wonder.

He lifts his head to bring amber eyes on level with her startling blue pair. They remind him of the sea; beautiful, dangerous. His courage does not wane, not when it is the topic of his heritage, of his existence. He smiles thinly - it is arrogant almost, certainly prideful at least, before it splits to let him speak.

"I am a leather worker. She is my next project." He tilts his head in a curious manner. He sees the way her eyes trace his body - it's not the muscles she's noting, not his hue she admires. There is wonder in her expression over his attire. The equipment is so customary to him sometimes it's easy to forget its worn, much less alien to some. It's not the first time he's met someone ignorant to the ways of his birth herd.

"There is so much that can be done with a well skinned doe." His voice has grown quiet again. This time however it is with appreciation and devotion rather than discomfort. "I take it you've none such crafter in these lands?" He is genuinely curious now. He supposed it would be good to learn about the land he'd sentenced himself to living within.