A black silhouette stood out amongst the shrouding fog: his sinewy physique a stark contrast even amid the veiling haze. He stood statuesque, gazing out mutely across the vast, sapphire reaches of the boisterous ocean many feet below him. Long, saffron tendrils of dehydrated grass swayed in the breeze at his feet, lightly caressing his thick legs. The sea of tendrils were stiff and dry, the chlorophyl that once stained their contours vibrant emerald sucked dry from their stalks by the relentless heat of the sweltering sun. Luckily, in these early hours of the day, the wrath induced by the God of the Sun was not as overt upon the world.

It was early in the morning. The sun had not yet fully risen in the sky, its igneous light painting a thin golden line along the horizon and setting the lower portion of the sky ablaze with an array of vibrant colors. Miniscule points of light remained in the darker divisions of the sky and the moon was concealed by a horde of thick, gray clouds. Ambrose glanced out stoically across the restless tides, deep in thought. Puffs of smoke curled from his nostrils ceremoniously when he breathed.

The dark stallion's achromatic encolure rippled like a peaceful wave as the wind tugged lightly upon it, sending the course piluses airborne. It was an ironic rivalry - the countenance of what appeared to be a majestic stallion overlooking the tides and what the eye could not see: that being the dark impulses and desires that lingered within his sinister heart. Below him the ocean thrashed angrily, crashing violently into the rocky cliff side and roaring in its timeless voice. He arced his thick nape, glancing down at the surging waters many feet below - a sheer drop to the ocean. A single careless misstep, and one would surely plummet to their death.

The thought lingered within his skull, bounced around and soon enough some dark impulse coerced a muscle within his foreleg to tighten and flex, causing it to ascend off the ground. Impetuously, he lowered his broad hoof just over the projecting ridge of land, the posterior of the hoof wall just barely making contact with the ledge. Weight continued to transfer forward and without much resistance the earth began to crumble beneath it, knocking him off balance. His massive figure lurched forward as gravity compelled him to succumb to her whims, but he would not allow it. Although death was so prevalent in his life, somehow he still feared it.

Some primal animal instinct forced him to preserve his mortality and the literal aliveness that dwelt within him despite that, just possibly he was truly dead inside - at least according to the proverbial standards of morality, which he had long ago abandoned. He found himself perplexed by this. He had taken countless lives throughout his time on this earth, and yet hadn't the strength to withdraw his own. Perhaps he regarded it as a weakness; a flaw of his. But then again, is there any creature that exists in this world who doesn't fear the phenomena of death?

Suddenly, the soft thud of hooves against crisp grass came into earshot and one of Ambrose's lobed ears shot backwards in response, annoyed that another roamed so near. He then stepped away from the ledge, an unpleasant expression wrought upon his rugged features, and pivoted on his aft leg, neck curved to the left as he looked toward the enveloping haze. He snorted whilist silvern eyes searched for a figure in the mist. "Who's there." His deep, masculine voice rumbled in his chest, the fog slightly amplifying his vocalism. His leonine tail swatted the air behind his obsidian physique as he awaited the stranger to reveal themselves.