Baby, you can't trust me completely
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Collaborations were taken to swing the darkened pillars of the talic polychromasia brawny courser threw the mist that shrouded the realm like a vial of misery. Every fall of his ovate tips was complimented with the soft thuds that chimed like clock work as he weaved among the shroud that led most astray. But not he. Tympanums did not remain stuck to his scalp like most darks, they dared to be different. Slowly his Acoustics pivoted upon his block, straining to catch even the slightest tune that maybe carried his way, by fate or chance. But naught was heard in the vastness of his empty realm.

His renditions of hell continued on ward in stiff movements threw the calligtaphically scenery. Clouds that hung over head in the welkin faded out the lunar rays that were now peaking over the surrounding peaks, eliminating the mist that swirled around the hessain's shadowed extremities. The mist was almost like a creature of another solar system, slowly crawling up his muscled build like it needed his touch for survival. But all it did was leave a dewy trail, causing little diamond like figures to cling to the fibers that sprouted from his flesh on his helves. The sensation that the little droplets caused a reaction from the nerves under his flesh to twitch and that created a ripple of the droplets to plummet to the mother earth blow.

Navigations pressed on. His physique rose and fell with the land's formation as his shanks led him into the more secluded areas of his abode. Tabiries that gave of the pigmentation of a swarthy hue scanned over the topography of the land, taking in all that is known to him or finding something new about the land that belonged to him. Nothing has changed much in the terrain since he took the grand tour of the place upon his claiming of it. But there was something new. Impressions in the sod. And not his own. In a more quickened pace his gaze traced over every figure that resided in his realm, even if it was just a plant.

Before he knew it, his movements had halted and in his site lines was a xanthippe wandering, what seemed to be, aimlessly about his realm. Auricles stopped their own dance upon his plat to stand erect, awaiting any call that may be uttered from the vox of this lass that wandered so alone. Nothing reached his auditives after a several moment wait. Nothing.

With no sound protruding the deafening calm in the terra he allowed his thickly mugged chops to part to let slide his sly baritone vocalizations ring out into the atmos for the lady to hear, "and who might you be," hymns stated in a smug way, though his statement was in the form of a question, it was more or less a demand. With less and less patience he waited for a retort.