The appaloosa seems thoughtful after taking in the lack of experience with the sea. Were Coris a more attentive stallion, he would have noticed and wondered at such attention in the spotted stud. There is certainly a grave sense of intelligence to the FrostHeart, to the Rain girl as well, though her's is far less ominous. She is childish in a way still, her eyes perhaps too clear, too open. The gaze of the frozen heart heart however, speaks volumes yet tells nothing. To put in terms Coris better understand, Mauja is a knife and Huyana merely a basin; he takes what he learns and uses it while she only collects.

Yet such things Coris does not truly comprehend. He is absently watching the silver mare, wondering if it is disgust that feeds her curiosity of his doe - if so he intends to squash it beneath his toe. He is sensitive to his work and has had enough grimaces and snarls aimed at him to fill a life time, he doesn't need one now.

She is silent however, and he can't read the expression she wears very well. Perhaps for the better, Mauja interjects.

"Elect, blessed?" Coris murmurs these words with a tinge of heat and incredulity. The name of the Moon God is spoken and he cannot help but clench his teeth. He still is unsure of her, but he certainly didn't expect she'd bless a herd with a crafter. Such work takes a lifetime to learn and accomplish! One does not simply wake up knowing an art, one must be born with it. Such blasphemy in his ears spirals down to the face of Coris, turning it grim and sour, as if he's just eaten foul and rotted grass. He's certainly chewing on something distasteful, though it mind fodder instead.

Coris has enough mind at least to hold the tongue that wiggles like a wounded snake in his mouth. He assumes casting their god into a poor light will earn him little favor with a stallion that seems in a word, dangerous. Still, Coris grunts, shifting his weight with unease. "I know of what you speak," he grumbles, his mood ruined. Normally he'd be kicking up his heels with joy at finding a place that not only knows of crafters, but seems to respect them to a degree and has some, especially a machine maker! How incredible to find one so rare so far out here - yet it is is all dampened by the bloody Moon God traipsing on his homeland's right, and what's worse, granting them a fragile glazier? It's enough to make him spit and fart.

"He is what we call a maker." Coris starts, his voice gruff and much older than it should be. "We have few in my homeland, but the ones we have are revered and respected above all else, even the metal makers." He pauses her, eyes drifting towards Mauja, holding him firm and gauging him as he talks. "There is hierarchy among crafters. Metal smiths rank highest, and among them it varies depending on their metal - the top are those that can work all ores. My own kind is lower, and glass," his voice is thick with rancor, "sits on the bottom. We are ranked by the worth of our craft and the strength of it. Glass is pretty and it can cut, but it is fragile and it is not-withstanding." Perhaps it is different here, and idea which only riles him further. How little the world knows of his kind, yet how often they beg for their skills. He hates it.

"But back to your, engineer, he stands above all crafters - any maker does. This is because they don't just create and work the craft, they breathe a sort of life into it, they can get it to cooperate with other crafts all on their own. My herd exists as it does with all of the crafting families working together, but it takes many of our hooves what only a set of his can do." With machines Coris guesses that electricity is used, but he doesn't understand the full depths of it all. The Makers in his herd did not often talk freely of their abilities, perhaps fearing that for others to understand would enable them to do similar.

"Me and mine, we work leather. Perhaps not as strong as metal or stone crafters, but stronger than your own flesh and lighter than their work. Flexible too, so it does not restrict." Pride has leeched into his talk once more. Being on the lower end of the scale of crafters, you had to learn how to talk your ability up a bit. Everyone was always disappointed that he didn't work metal - stone was only good for the land really, but metal could do much, especially the good metals that were light, but strong. Still, none could compare to the mobility of his armor. His did not chaf and his did not boil in the sun - what did the metal workers need to line their armor with so that it was comfortable to wear? Why, leather of course. Coris grins. "The weather does not bother mine as much either, especially not heat compared to the metals, but water seems to do us all in eventually." Coris glances at his own sopping breast guard. He'd have to treat that with fatty oil or risk it cracking and warping.

"What we make though, is versatile. You see myself, partially adorned with some armory equipment to add protection and structure, but also ropes and bags for my catches. Leather can bind segments and connect them, it can pad the hard and the uncomfortable and it can bear a great weight without breaking. Only ask and I can make it." Head high Coris finished his bout, tail snaking between his legs with apprehension of Mauja's reaction.