Deep in the woods, the howl of the wolves, off in the seas, our brothers play. Up in the skies, our sisters fly, their eyes in the cities is my way. -- Fighting Fit
Children of the night, what interesting music they make. Sing, my family of shadows. Sing the song of the moon and stars. Even when you can't see them. I sing to street lamps, cars, trucks and trains. The moon will hear me nonetheless.
It is a forest of made of false stone and true noise, but there is still food to hunt. There are still places to roost and raise our young.
Sharp ears made for finding prey in the underbrush are no good against the roar of the skin-apes' metal beasts. Sharp eyes are just as good. Light or dark, I find plenty to feed myself, my mate, and my nestlings.
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