In the country the darkness of night is friendly and familiar, but in a city, with its blaze of lights, it is unnatural, hostile and menacing. It is like a monstrous vulture that hovers, biding its time.
Just you wait till I’m a vampire! I’m not going to be sitting on the sidelines next time.
The owl flies, in the moonlight, over a field where the wounded cry out. Like the owl, I fly in the night over my own misfortune.
Suspicion is an owl that flies when the light is bad and catches only vermin for food.
The owl, that bird of onomatopoetic name, is a repetitious question wrapped in feathery insulation especially for Winter delivery.
Vampire? Such a provocative word, wrapped in too many clichés and girly novels.
And as an ev'ning dragon came, Assailant on the perched roosts And nests in order rang'd Of tame villatic fowl.
Twinkle, twinkle little bat How I wonder what you're at! Up above the world you fly, Like a tea-tray in the sky.
The quoll is like the Australian version of the honey badger. It's a little mongrel that gets around and is pretty fierce and will take on a few things. You don't want to get that in your campsite.
A vampire victim. I'd never seen a lone kill. They were like potato chips; once a vamp tasted them, he couldn't stop at just one.
Like a domestic cat, purring on the sofa by day, but by night, a strutting queen, a natural killer, disdainful of her other life.
