The full moon, my namesake, shines like a ghost light over the city, casting her radiance over the treetops.
My quarry sits in one of those trees, unaware that I'm hovering silently just above him; he's intent on the hunt, while being hunted.
I notice the cold, but don't really feel it-it's been cold all week, but the hunt goes on, regardless. I chose this profession, and I love the fact that people can feel safer with us out here, even though the hours suck, sometimes. It seems like forever since I sat and watched a bad sci-fi flick on DVD at three am, like I used to, or sat on my deck in the dark, listening to Rundgren through my phones, sipping an ice-cold Old English.
Really, nothing stops me, but somehow, I'd rather be out here, looking for those in need.
Speaking of which, my prey seems to be in a spot of difficulty-time to act.
I drop down through the upper branches, grabbing the would-be predator before he can react, holding him at arm's length as we rise-he can't cut me, but Anna's been complainuing about being more careful of my costumes, 'cause she has to repair them; I suck with a needle and thread.
He squirms, and spits, to no avail....he's not getting away.
He calms down, as he sees the little girl on the sidewalk below, smiling up at us.
We settle to the pavement, and Lashonda reaches out for her kitty.
Third time this month Tiger has gotten out, and climbed this same tree, after birds, I guess; the thing is, he's not as good at getting down as getting up, so I check for him and 'Shonda while I'm on patrol. Besides, her mother bakes righteous chocolate chip cookies, and keeps lots of cold milk on hand-growing kids, y'know.
Who says being a Legion member has no perks?