Prologue

Tyrus opens shyly his eyes. The sun was high rise and the light that immediately shines into his eye sockets was, to him, frighteningly unbearable. He turns his head to the right then to the left: there was only sand in sight; a giant desert that stretched to all four corners of the horizon. The surroundings were terrifyingly hot and seemed to slightly vibrate the air. Though it could have been him seeing illusions.

As if he has slept for a very long time, his body aches and his head feels light like he has woken up from a heavy hangover. To make matters worse, an eerie feeling reigns over his mind, something is terribly wrong, and as if fate finally decides to answer to his question, he sees, in his narrow field of vision, two horns protruding out from the back of his head. He reaches his hands up to feel the horns. However, it is not hands that he sees but hooves, giant ones too. He opens his eyes widely, aghast and terrified. While still in a sitting position, a sudden wave of fear pushes him to move back while pushing his feet back, out of reflex, against the sand. He sees that his feet too, were replaced by hooves. His muscular legs, covered in thick brown hair, kicked the earth and rose a wind of dust up from the ground. The thin dusty air ruins momentarily his vision and Tyrus tries desperately to get it off his eyes. Having hooves as hands did not help so he shakes his head to rid of the sand. Feeling nothing but confusion from the moment he woke up, he tempts to calm down and think reasonably. Out of habit, he speaks out his thoughts but all he hears, coming from his bull mug, were anguishing lowing, cries of a furious beast. His own voice frightened him and he unconsciously covers his mouth with his hooves. An angry growl comes from his stomach, he feels hungry. Albeit the hunger, ever since he has awoken, an unbearable thirst was stinging his tongue. He sticks out his tongue to see what it looks like. Is this tongue really his? This monstrous thing that was sticking out of his mouth, his monstrous mouth? What about this body that isn’t his? He looks to his chest area and sees strong muscles covering every area of this body that wasn’t his. The muscles are powerful and it feels incredible like he could run a thousand miles and he wouldn’t lose even a drop of sweat. Yet in this exhilarating weather, his furs are a real nuisance because not only it was burning his body, it was also drying his mouth and the thirst is still there.

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Tyrus stands up on both feet. He feels tall but walking is another matter, because as soon as he takes a step forward, he falls miserably onto the ground. It hurts and the ground sinks under him. His body is too heavy. Unless he wants to drown in the sand, he needs to be careful. So unlike any normal human being and because he wasn’t anymore, he starts to walks on four. It proves to be very useful because the sand didn’t sink under him and it feels more natural walking like this.

The sun is blasting heat onto his head. He feels heavy unlike before when he felt so confident of his physique. The body gradually loses the mind as he walks. He persists; his eyes glimmering with hope. Time passes and hope seems to escape from his grasp. He sees the same mountains of sands every time he looks around. He could be walking in circles and he probably doesn’t even know it. Hope is the last fountain that is drying out of its water. He looks to the far horizon; nothing but sand. The horizon is running away from him. The further it is, the lesser he feels his muscles giving up on him. He tumbles and falls. He doesn’t even know it. He feels the sand pricking his eyes but he doesn’t understand why. He tries to get it off but to no avail. Why dying here? Why put a bull in the middle of the desert? It doesn’t make any sense. Does it needs to make sense anymore? Nothing can be thought reasonably in this situation and no matter how hard he tries, he is still confused. Waking up as a bull in a desert, only to die as a bull in a desert.

Suddenly, he hears an unfamiliar voice in his head. It is a man’s. He screams out for help but only sounds of mooing come out of his mug. The voice keeps ringing monotonously as if announcing something of great importance. Then, as quickly as it came, it dissipates into the air. Tyrus howls like a dying animal – which he is – one last time before he closes his eyes and loses consciousness to the impending darkness.