Silence. Not a single bird chirped, not a single leave rustled, there was nothing. Time may very well have been frozen had it not been for the light breeze rippling gently through Flames' fur, softly blowing his dark clothing tightly against his body.
With his eyes closed, he stood atop the roof of his home, a dark aura seeming to pierce the sky...but that was naught but imagination. Drop: the sound of a tear, a representation of life, fell to the ground below. Black: color of death, a sign of mourning, stood out against his fiery fur.
The wind suddenly picked up and Flames' eyes snapped open. With a swift movement born from routine, he leapt down from the roof, landing lightly on the ground before his small, humble home. His crimson eyes darted to and fro, taking in the sights of his neighbours and passers-by. Few were suprised, they had become used to the Anthro's odd habbits and routines. Those blazing orbs of his flashed and with a purposeful stride, Flames departed, his mind focused entirely on his goal.