Night Stalker ~ Nessie

It’s late afternoon. The sun dips in the sky. My folk. Batfolk like Owlfolk prefer being awake at night. We’re not nocturnal like the bats we’re inspired from, but seeing in the dark is a useful gift to go to waist. I live in a forest in dense dark green trees. With think low hanging clouds. A cloud forest. Tree houses connect from tree to tree with rope bridges. I fly deeper into the forest. We live near a dry tropical forest border. I know the land well enough to know that the farther you fly in the thicker, the air gets with mist. Turning to a rain forest. I fly around looking for my target. I’m a Royal Assassin, or Night Hunter. As sometimes referred to by Batfolk. Not everyone in my village were Batfolk of course. There was a small handful of Parrotfolk as well. She had always admired as a child of there bright colorful wings. The pride of any Parrotfolk. She loved her own wings though. They were useful. As silent and stealthy as she was. Black as the night sky. She wouldn’t be seen if she didn’t want to be with these wings. She wore black tights, and black shorts. A black dress, and black leather armor to cover my chest. My black hair was tied in long, low pig tails. I wore a black mask to cover the lower part of my face. I’d bend right in with the night. My target was ordered by the Queen herself. A man who was to be executed for being a murderer, and thief who escaped prison last night. I flew though the trees. I watch as the man meets with a few unsuspecting Bat and Parrotfolk camping in the dark. He asks to join their fire. They agree handing him a bowl of stew. I let an arrow fly. It misses hitting a tree. Range weapons are preferred amongst all Folk. He runs leaving the poor campers confused. I fly just a few feet behind. We fly nonstop until we come across a small village. Wood homes with thatched roofs. He runs right onto the dirt road. He grasps the shoulders of the nearest Folk, rambling on. I can practically smell is fear. He points in my direction. The Folk looks scared, and the Parrotfolk next to them looks bewildered. I don’t want to give my spot away to my target so I stay we’re I am. I wait for them to run again like a frightened rabbit. They do. Heading for the trees for cover on foot in their panic. A grounded bird is often a dead one. At least when they’re pursued by predator. And the Queen ordered him killed for his crimes. I never come back failed. I knock an arrow. I hear a sheik, I see them fall behind some brush. I don’t need to fly over to see I’ve hit my target. The prey is dead.