Fog

Pippin stands with eyes affixed on a point in the far distance. Fog overshadows the horizon like a veil. The anthro is unsure if it is an ominous loom, or the safe cloaking of a blanket. Perhaps both. There is no escape from the haze. Only acceptance. Does it make for a better life, quiet and calm? Or does it blind and cut off? Answers are not apparent, and perhaps never will be. A chirping sounds, though it is dampened and sounds a world away. Not the chirping of a bird, Pippin thinks. More... Mechanical. Intentional. They are unsure if it is comforting to hear something in the world of stifling mist- feelings come slow and felt sluggish. Though, they cannot recall if it has ever been any different. Water droplets appear on the anthro's fur, exposed in the apparent loneliness of the cliff and the fog. Clothes are a chore. They turn their beak to the sky, and water slips off the slick surface and into the fur of their face. It's a cold sensation, and makes them feel. What feeling, they are unsure of. But it is there. They stare at the sky swirling slowly above their head, and wonder if the water is a gently pattering rain, or condensation from the mist air encircling them. Their eyes return to affix on the unseen point in the distance. Nothing is there, yet there is something. Perhaps it exists only in the eyes of those who stare hard enough to see.