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Rarely did the engineer venture beyond the borders of the World's Edge, but when he did, the soulless machinated wolf followed with whirring steps in his wake. Darkness loomed over the herd now, but he still felt obligated to pick up the blessed along the entrance to Helovia, intent on corrupting their minds with the truth. Glorious truth. The horns upon their brows were a natural crown of royalty, the cloven hooves a feature to reign in hell. Perfection in a single form.
Genius plagued the stallion's head and bordered along madness; in his mind, a constant puzzle of machines and parts. Blueprints for fantastical creations roamed around, and now, he had Coris to help make them even more perfect - if the jumpy soul would ever get around to kissing the Moon God's ass. He hated the gods. He loathed how three, muddy blooded creatures could lord over him so, but he would fake a smile and ass kiss when he needed to. Now? He had no reason to demean himself before their oh so royal hooves.
The forest, green once more with the promise of frost hanging on the air, loomed overhead, towering. Light filtered through the leaves in a pattern of chaos, and Ulrik saw the order, reveled in its mathematical perfection. Until he saw a figure on the ground that interrupted this long and arduous equation. At first, he was angry that she did so, but the light dotted her tanned hide, and his eyes took to calculating the curves of her body rather that the simplicity of chaos.
Was she alive? Ulrik stepped around her, his cloven hooves barely brushing blonde hair, and his bronze eyes watched her with veiled interest. Curious. She awoke with the start, and he did not stir. Bronze hooves remained on the ground where he stood, and not even the breeze interrupted the hair hanging from his crest and leonine tail. Don't hurt me? he repeated her words as a question in his head. Why would he do that? She was not some mutation of their glorious kind. He had no interest in harming his own species.
"You're safe," he said simply, voice deep, guttural and gruff. The accent on his words was harsh, consonants sharpened like the Germans. Would she grow a spine and stand of her own free will? Or would she continue to lie there helpless until he made an effort to pull her to her feet forcefully?
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