The blue deer stretched himself, marks of gold dancing over his sapphire pelt.
His ears fanned out to the sides, listening.

It was quiet.

Not silent...

but too quiet.

His head craned on his slender neck, he could not hear the chirping of the birds, the frogs were loud though.

The deer called, a loud rumble through the forest.

But something was so wrong.

Nervously he paced, lean legs carrying him easily to the stream's side, and he lowered his head to drink.

But he was jerky and nervous, the smallest time without sound making his head raise as he looked around, and after mere moments he returned to the comforting cradle of the forest.

What was wrong...

The sun was bright, frogs loud enough, deer loud, the birds were quiet but not silent.

He lay down, only to rear again with a soft snort as water soaked his pelt.

The air was damp

the ground was damp

"The air reeks of fog" he breathed, shifting to a more sun-lit patch where the grass was dryer.

Chopin did not like the fog.

In his eyes it was a terrible monster, consuming any sound within it.

But a beautiful monster all the same, flowing, curling in small wisps, like fine music.

It was both a sound consuming monstrosity.
And sound in a visible form.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Heard we might have fog soon -shrug- inspired me.
title reads, simply, 'fog'

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