Everything feels fuzzy to Vincent, the smeared water coloured landscape rushing passed him with the pixie dust falling over him, and the bell-like laughs of the hoberflies a beacon that beckons until -
He doesn't so much as slow as he comes to a dead stop. Tripping over his feet, he feels the ache of overworked muscles, his beaths come out in huffs and puffs, he can taste something metallic, irony in his mouth - blood? Like he'd been running and running and running - something had torn, was there blood in his lungs...?
This wasn't a good burn. This wasn't -
Inches from where his feet had stop was a yawning pit. Deep and dark, he didn't think he could see the bottom.
The hobberflies turn to him, some who's faces puff up and blow raspberries at him, others who boo him and other still who now glow a Tinkerbell red of full bodied rage.
To be clear Vincent has taken no damage, he's just feeling general exhaustion from a far too intense work out