Removing the mask he wears in the daylight, he drops it carelessly to the ground,... moving like shadowplay through the dimly lit fog, he returns to the solitude of darkness,... a few scattered and tattered feathers, fallen from night-black wings litter the bricks,... the sword, left as a marker of this moment, still gleams even in the dark,... cocooned within his wings, he sits,...and waits,...and sleep settles over him,...like a soft mist,...for now.
