I stood silent, deep in the shadows.
Old Marvan had taught me how to track quarries.
"Softly", he used to say, "Go as softly as a feather skimming over the ground.
Call on the shadows, and they would stretch out to you.
The last thing your quarry should feel is your dusty breath on its back.
Then, do what you do best.
" Old Marvan had taught me well.
Tonight, I had been tracking her for a long time.
She was a little creature who scurried on nervously, clutching at a bundle of rags and wrapping her blanket around herself.
As if it would shield her from the rain-spattered dark.
As if it would shield her from me.
Sometimes I long for the day.
When I would just sit by, a lost soul in rags, and look at the human herd, so content in their drudgery of a mortal existence.
Fools.
What would they really know of the sweet, squishing sound of death under the crescent moon? It was time.
She had reached the end of the road, a small cul-de-sac with an overflowing dustbin.
She stood for a moment, as if not knowing which way to go.
Then, she looked back, exactly where I was.
But that was a moment ago.
More than enough time for me to shift on the ledge above her.
I could feel my eyes turn red.
Slowly, I bared my fangs to the night.
And jumped.
I was fast.
She was faster.
The blanket was lost on a crimson blur.
As I hurtled down on the little figure, I could see it transform.
The back straightened.
She gained height.
In one swift motion, she put down her bundle of rags, whirled around, and jumped at me.
Her hair, dark as a raven's wing, flew around a bloodless face now contorted with hideous intent.
She screamed as her hands reached up, yellow talons quivering in the anticipation of a kill.
They clutched at empty air.
I had already stalled, twisted, and as I went past her, the blade of the black moon found its way into her heart.
As I landed, she fell beside me, a quivering mass of slowly melting flesh.
I waited till her trace vanished, and picked up my dagger.
The bundle of rags gave a small whimper.
The baby needed to be returned to her mother.
For this night, at least, she was safe.
All around me, the wind was shifting.
The moon sliced its way into the clouds.
From the far side of the city, a hollow keen rent the air, and broke in a thousand pieces against the brick walls.
I could feel her companions coming.
The game would be played once again.
Old Marvan had taught me how to track quarries.
"Softly", he used to say, "Go as softly as a feather skimming over the ground.
Call on the shadows, and they would stretch out to you.
The last thing your quarry should feel is your dusty breath on its back.
Then, do what you do best.
" Old Marvan had taught me well.
Tonight, I had been tracking her for a long time.
She was a little creature who scurried on nervously, clutching at a bundle of rags and wrapping her blanket around herself.
As if it would shield her from the rain-spattered dark.
As if it would shield her from me.
Sometimes I long for the day.
When I would just sit by, a lost soul in rags, and look at the human herd, so content in their drudgery of a mortal existence.
Fools.
What would they really know of the sweet, squishing sound of death under the crescent moon? It was time.
She had reached the end of the road, a small cul-de-sac with an overflowing dustbin.
She stood for a moment, as if not knowing which way to go.
Then, she looked back, exactly where I was.
But that was a moment ago.
More than enough time for me to shift on the ledge above her.
I could feel my eyes turn red.
Slowly, I bared my fangs to the night.
And jumped.
I was fast.
She was faster.
The blanket was lost on a crimson blur.
As I hurtled down on the little figure, I could see it transform.
The back straightened.
She gained height.
In one swift motion, she put down her bundle of rags, whirled around, and jumped at me.
Her hair, dark as a raven's wing, flew around a bloodless face now contorted with hideous intent.
She screamed as her hands reached up, yellow talons quivering in the anticipation of a kill.
They clutched at empty air.
I had already stalled, twisted, and as I went past her, the blade of the black moon found its way into her heart.
As I landed, she fell beside me, a quivering mass of slowly melting flesh.
I waited till her trace vanished, and picked up my dagger.
The bundle of rags gave a small whimper.
The baby needed to be returned to her mother.
For this night, at least, she was safe.
All around me, the wind was shifting.
The moon sliced its way into the clouds.
From the far side of the city, a hollow keen rent the air, and broke in a thousand pieces against the brick walls.
I could feel her companions coming.
The game would be played once again.
Source...