01-14-2018, 10:30 PM
He hears the mockingbird first. Its patent cry ripping through the trees to settle angrily in his ears. The stallion shakes his mighty head, groaning into the grass he was laid upon. His tail flicked lazily at his hocks as he rolled into a more comfortable position, not quite allowing the world to wake him just yet.
That damn bird was persistent though.
He glances around, noting the few that dotted the field, many (if not all) were still asleep in the dotting hours of the morning.
Quietly he shifts to allow his limbs room to unfurl. He is blissfully inclined to see what that bird may be so damn excited about. Brilliantly colored hues trail across the meadow, the emerald haze reflecting off of his murky depths. He rises with a grace unpossessed by many, a glorious twist of milky locks dropping from his back before curling above splattered white shoulders. It was no lie that Vitalo was a beautiful being. He moved as though he were floating, a phantom of a thousand existences.
He walked for quite some time into the surrounding woods before he spotted the nuisance. It was small as mockingbirds tend to be, but it was alone. A strange occurrence.
It stopped its croak momentarily to stare at him. The bird flapped its tiny wings and hopped excitedly upon its branch before swooping towards him. He grumbled in response to the creatures rapid movements about his head. Quickly it flew north, away from him , and in an act of curious fascination, the stallion followed along. He (unlike anyone else) had nothing better to do than follow such a curious creature.
Any other would have noticed the absence of sound, the fading smell of the flowers giving way to the thick scent of chemical enhancement. He was just so mesmerized with that damn bird. The brush and foliage soon gave way to a pale landscape, one dotted with age and ink splatters.
It was then when the world changed that he heard it. A faint scratching noise arose, startling the piebald stag out of his head.
'V i t a l o'
The words appeared beside him in a rolling black script.
He nearly fainted.
"Oh dearest me.... oh my that's...why thats me?"
He whispered this to himself as a question. Perhaps he had eaten something bad. No... Not hat was not it. This was real. A glance around the landscape allowed him the knowledge that he was alone with this writing. The bird (that damn bird) had gone. Leaving him utterly alone.
"Oh d- Oh, oh I don't know where I am,"
He turned in a frantic circle, horrified to find that the scroll stayed loyally on the left side of him no matter the direction fo his movements. It shimmered and drifted as though a wind was sifting through the land, Vitalo felt nothing.
"Oh help me!"
He shouted (to who he knew not). His echo attacked him, pouring into his ears so loudly that he crumbled to the smoothe earth in almost fear.
"Oh help me..."
All the while the name still lingered, just slightly above his grullo form. A shimmering black phantom whispering all the while.
' V i t a l o '