After The Storm:The Hangman lead

Mr.Raccoon: “The winged one. He does not always have wings. He can make them come and go. Like his hair. It can be long or short. When he does have wings, they are not feathery. They are leathery.”

“I am not sure how well I can describe his looks. His hair is dark. And does not grow on his face. In size he is close to you, fast one. Only with more muscle. And a bit older I believe.”

“The first time I recall seeing him was a few years ago. He would come here at night, to be alone. To learn to fly, where there is room. He was not very good at first, but he got better. Having seen him train, I recognized him when he came without his wings. But I believe he lives farther away, for he does not come often. Except during the summer, when the days are warmer. In those days he would often be on the lawns, with other people. Teaching them how to fight. He has not come for a while now. Except the night when many other people came too. Then he was here. Hunting. He hunts his own kind.”

“Normally I go about my own business at night. Only adults around and I prefer to stay away from them. But all the unusual activity awakened my curiosity that night. Lots of people, hunting in packs. Then I saw the winged one, and he seemed to be on the hunt too. So I followed him. Until he found the large man. Large one thought that he was the hunter, but he was the prey. He did not see the winged one. Hovering over him. Observing him. Then the winged one did his thing with his hair. It grew. Looped around his wrists so he could apply his arm strength. Turned into a weapon. The hair coiled around the large man’s neck, and then the winged one pulled him off the ground. The man was too heavy for his neck to support his weight. It broke. Winged one seemed unhappy that the large man died so fast. He hung the other man from a tree, like a trophy. He was carrying another rope for it. He wouldn’t leave his hair behind. Then he waited until the other hunters arrived, signaled them and flew away.”