Romance is in the air...this is probably the most beautiful and scenic place in Blossom Forest. For the athletic and determined to come with their mates, for time away from pups. Only adults may come here; some of the ledges are too far apart for teens or pups to cross and some too high to scale.
Calculation. Precision. Perfection. Everything, everything had to be explained, had to make sense, had to fit with the world in which he was damned. Left, right, up, down, one side then the other, cracks in the rocks, leaves on the trees, dust, earth, pollen, scrub oak, vines. Deep mango receptors danced around in their ebon sockets, twitching from one place to another as his vision graced every detail of the surroundings, brain working furiously to compute all the information it was receiving. Not that it wasn’t used to this sort of abuse; the creature which it controlled was always this way, needing to understand everything about everything, trying to ponder twenty things at once while in a struggle for the very life he was choosing to live. Receptors fired rapidly in the pink super computer, memorizing a rock formation down to every crack, every spot of lichen on its jagged surface, then quickly storing it away. There were too many things to do, too many. Scents to be processed, sounds categorized, foot falls calculated, breaths drawn in and slowly pushed out, as if he were trying to make room for other things to flow in instead of stupid oxygen. Sadly, life had always been this way for the brute, living on overdrive. Each of his systems was always on high alert. Gray streaked pistons wandered along a path that had been worn into the forest floor by many paws and hooves before. It was a well-trodden game trail, its musk heavily laced with that of elk and deer, moose and muskrat. And of course, the heady aroma of those superior beings; hunters. Bear and lynx, coyote and wolf. Each scent similar yet distinctly unique, like different fruit blooming off of the same primitive tree. The hessian tracked the path of each scent with a fine tuned radar, keeping a mental note of at least five scents at once. It was a game for him, to see how much he could do. How much he could accomplish. And of course, how much sense he could make of it. That was the ultimate goal, was it not? To understand the forests in which one roams, the rivers from which one laps with fervent boredom or burning need? Twin charcoal sentries twisted and patrolled atop their position on his crown, catching the scurrying of a squirrel here, the call of a crow there, the whoosh of its rainbow wings through the pine needles, the rustle of a grouse as she shifted upon her nest. Nothing evaded the brujo. Every so often he would check the trajectory of the sun to keep a track on the time, analyze the light and the shadow upon the loam beneath his pads and the way it related with that giant star. It was after one such check of time that Ghor happened upon a break in the trees and a cliff rising high, high above their pointed tops. Interesting. His mind instantly went to work, finding the edges of each rock face, the vegetation that could be found up the entire boulder. He calculated the angle that the first cliff connected with the ground, the slope at which the entire rock was tilted slightly to one side. All of this was accomplished within a few strides of his lean bodice, a skeleton built for speed and stealth. His midnight banner drifted along behind his frame, hanging comfortably. It was possibly the only part of the male that wasn’t always twitching or moving, and in a way it anchored him like nothing else could. The steady weight of its vertebra where it connected to his haunches, its gentle sway and bounce, the soft caress of the wind as it washed through its naturally combed hairs. Oddly, it was one thing he never overthought. Before he knew it the cliff was upon him, looming and hovering in the crystal sky like some giant being. Its teeth were bared at his ebony form, daring him to turn back and forget he had even happened upon this mentally stimulating paradise. But the he-beast pushed on, step never faltering upon the maze of pebbles and imperfections that were determined to trip him. Talons clicked on the hard surface, announcing his presence to any who cared enough to listen. To his own listeners the sound was incredibly loud, filling his head with a high pitched whine. Still, he felt an almost physical pull from this mini mountain, as if every little anomaly were calling for him to solve them and expose their truth to the world. Without a pause he climbed the plateau, taking in everything along the way. If he ever returned here, graced it with his presence, then he would thoroughly remember each and every blade of grass that struggled to grow on this rocky hell. And of course things would change, so he would commit those things to memory as well and overwrite the old data he had once stored away. That was his life. Ghor could sense the top before he actually got there. Not only were there no more echoes resounding from the rocks above, but the atmosphere held more of a moist scent, as if it were raining without the actual drops of water. With a slight weariness in his limbs he mounted the giant rock, finally breaking over the edge and getting his first glance of the beauty that lay below. The shadow of a smile adorned his lips, softened his orange orbs if only in the slightest. A glorious rainbow curved around the edge of the cliff, spawning from a massive waterfall that fell all the way to the bottom and disappeared into the sea of green. Purple, distant mountains stood in the distance, their edges blurred with fog. Still, the brute would only allow his attention to stray for the shortest of seconds before he was back to computing and analyzing, figuring everything out. It never got old, making everything perfectly clear in his mind. But then something entered his world that wasn’t perfect, didn’t make sense, and it began to itch. A fae sat at the edge, framed in sunlight as her tassel curled delicately around her frame. To most wolves she would actually be quite stunning; the hessian had never really paid much attention to such trivial things such as pelt color or muscle mass. But still, that female was corrupting his little bubble of knowledge and he didn’t much appreciate it. In reality it was he who was causing his own problems, not she, but still the brute turned stony cold and stood square to the stranger, plume going rigid. From his skull he directed a myriad of nightmare-ish thoughts at the maiden, hoping she would get the message and leave. His mind was working, wondering how much force it would take to knock her over the edge, what injuries it would cause, the color her fur would turn when she hit the water or rocks below. They were naughty, evil thoughts, those of one who had gladly killed in his life. Not only was Ghor a psychopath, he had also worked for the longest time as a hired murderer, a bounty hunter, sought out for his specialized stalking skills and precise execution. Now he let a rare growl escape from his chest, lips curling up into that wrinkled expression that every lupe knew. Ready to drive this fae away, Ghor stood firmly on the loose rocks, charcoal bodice accented by the occasional streak of silver that often appeared in the sunlight. [OOC: O-kaaaay... weird post, I’m really sorry... >___>] Demon | Adult | Loveless| Packless M i m i |