-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.3 Nov 2003

Late at night when the Kindly Folk Of The Towne are fast asleep. That is your time. Your quiet time. Skulking through the shadows in a black cape, you forage for night-chives in the park. But what's that bleating? It is your bleating. You have unearthed a fresh harvest of berries beneath a shrub. Tonight will be a night for feasting; you shan't need to feed again for several days.

* * *

Morning beckons, and the Towne is no place for a breedling. Cradling your prize in wicker hands, you must return to the roost. The sky reddens and Kindly Folk begin to stir. But they don't ask questions. There is little trace of your activities: a few berry stains lining the gutter; and the pavings have been littered with fresh dung from the night before.