Ulrik moved south because he had the freedom to do so, and he wondered if the sun was simply hiding on the other side of the world. He was not present when the gods disappeared. He did not know of their tragedy. Instead, he knew that the beautiful machine of mother nature was broken, fracture, injured. A critical component of her design was flawed, a circuit malfunctioned, and a battery gate left open. Without the light, surely everything would die, including himself, and while others could live or die without his pity, he did appreciate his own life enough to want to save it. At the very least, he wanted to do something about the broken machine, but in order to fix, one had to find and reproduce a problem.
A trail of trees that glowed like lamps guided his way, and it seemed like only those small patches held loss of snow and growth. Shame. He felt his stomach rumble.
The little child of a pup walked beside him as Ulrik was not in a hurry, but when the boy complained of aching paws by whimpering and shoving his mind, the black stallion reached down and collected the creature in his mouth, setting him then on his broad, muscular back. Though a man of science, devoutly so, he had been trained in the art of war, and the musculature from this training had not lessened, not with all the traveling he did so regularly.
The air was warmer here, and he could smell the salt of the ocean. Damn. Swimming in the dark was a moronic venture. One might never find shore and drown... body never found as you sank miles and miles into the great unknown of black depths. How long would he survive, he wondered? Would it be worth it? To see that alien world? Most likely not. What was an alien world to him? Alien, and not useful. He had his own goals, and unfortunately he could not change the world. He could, however, drill horns into everyone's skulls, and thus his dream blossomed from an evil chuckle to a full blown maniacal cackle, metaphorically, of course.
Cloven hooves reached something sloshy, and he moved forward without a cringe or moment of hesitation. Instead, Ulrik pressed onward until the grime reached the middle of his gaskin and grazed the fur that grew thickly between his forelegs. The stallion's height allowed him to evade being entirely covered in the grime, but his cloven hooves definitely stepped on a few bones and slightly more viscous flesh... which was interesting, to say the least. Bronze eyes watered lightly in reaction to the stench, and little Kirchoff was crying.
"Shut it, boy or your body may disappear into the muck too..." he grunted in his own mind to shut up the whimpering dog. Kirchoff did not understand the words, but he understood the implication and immediately kept his displeasure to himself.
A howl from the not-so distant distance caught his attention, and the muscular beast tilted his ears forward, able to hear a feminine voice tell the yowler to shut up. Apparently she was having difficulty with obnoxious behavior as well. Ulrik moved closer, curious that another creature was navigation the slime during such a dark hour, though he was more inclined to consider her another stupid mare. The world was abundantly full of that species, the flighty, bitchy, lying female.
Ulrik saw her when he neared and thanked the gods that she was a unicorn. The last thing he wanted to run into without his magic was an equine or pegasus. They would ruin everything. Just... everything. The lost opportunity to drill their skull with metal would be almost too much for him to bear, and he would certainly have to go on a murderous rampage for that. But fortunes fell upon him, and the stallion looked to the cat that currently tore flesh from bone. Ulrik moved around her to look at the dead creature, his nostrils coming into contact with rotting, putrid flesh. Poor bastard.
"You lost?" he asked, the tenor of his voice almost too deep, so deep it graveled and rattled against his massive ribcage and bellowed from his lungs like the scream of a whisper.
As far as female unicorns were concerned, she was bizarre looking, and that was intriguing. What made her purple? Was it something on the inside? Could he tear it out and find it? No, no, no... she was of his kind. Sacred, and he would not harm his own. The stripes were almost alluring; they reminded him of properly positioned wires, and Ulrik was grateful that he put his metal creation on standby in the Basin. It would have surely died here.
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