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Post by andre on Jul 19, 2006 12:36:46 GMT -5
 hadrian__( nomad) × ( bleeds for none) blood comes from no stone.
To put it lightly, Hadrian was not here for the ‘delicacies’ of the opposite sex that offered themselves up in order to find homes and mates. He was not interested in the – for lack of a better word – fruitful mares that gathered here like vultures and pounced on the first male that wandered through the cliffs.
His heart did not lay in ‘capturing another’s heart’ and ‘finding a soul mate for the rest of eternity’. As an Oasis song goes: ‘I can’t get a life if my heart’s not in it.’ His curiosity was not egged on by the female kind – at least not at this specific moment in time – and so it was without a care in the world that he made his way past most of the opposite gender that had grouped together in order to face the natural claiming processes of being initiated into a herd and such.
It would only happen if they were the lucky mare of the day, he mused, wandering onwards and up one of the many pathways to the top of the cliffs.
Every hair that made up his coat was the colour of washed out concrete; darker pigmentation splattering itself here and there. The darker patches were most noticeable when it rained and his coat was soaked — like it had rained for the past… well, he didn’t know how long. As the weather brightened, Hadrian’s mind noticed that many of the paths were just a bit muddy, and he made a note to himself to not slip on the grubby trail he was ascending.
Pale cerulean eyes glanced out from under a stone-like fringe and the horse snorted lightly as the rolling scent of sea salt and the ocean caught him when the wind appeared from nowhere. He glanced down to see how far he had gone; trying to ignore the reeling feeling that attacked his stomach as he observed the drop down to solid ground and safety. If there was one thing he would never admit, heights weren’t really one of his most favourite things in the world.
Slowly inhaling and exhaling at a pace that was reasonable and calm, Hadrian’s line of sight flickered forward and he studied the rocky track, his eyes roaming over every stray stone that he saw as he attempted to stop his mind from thinking about the drop. Kicking a loose pebble, Hadrian fell forward slightly, his body instinctively starting to burn as terror forced its way into his head and he realized he was going to fall.
… only he didn’t, and he regained his footing without falling over, which often happened. More regularly, however, he lost his footing and fell, but the horse supposed that this time had been a lucky one, and it was only by chance that he had caught himself before hitting the ground.
After what felt like too long, the precipice of the cliffs appeared and a low whinny of pleasure escaped Hadrian’s closed muzzle. He picked up his pace, glad to have escaped the precarious drop that had haunted him all the way from the ground to his final destination. Tossing his head to express his relief, he ambled forward, only to pause just before the edge of the plateau.
Using one word to sum up the expression on Hadrian’s face, it would be utter awe. He watched the waves slam against the rocks below; listened to the wind as it sung whilst dancing above the wild sea and revelled in the way that the ocean and the sky almost matched in colours. In doing this, he forgot about his surroundings, simply absorbed in the wonder that was ‘the deep’.
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