this btw is a very grammatically confused piece...:S i dont know what went wrong and whats gone wrong but i feel as if ive lost my usual flow...hmmmm...:S

Darkness tonight was borne on strange wings: the clouds were laden, heavy and oblique, and though this night the wolves are to sing to the Mother Moon, tonight there is silence. The moon did not grace us, even though it was said to be the brightest of all nights. Instead it was a dull evening, swiftly darkening as the celestials lay hidden under those heavy wings.
I have seen, many an evening before twilight sets in, how the ravens and their breed seem to flee in a certain direction, opposite to which the mighty hunters (blind but mighty) take wing. With the approaching darkness, these heralds seem to dominate the sky. Where once a little thrush flew, where a little red breast with a puffed up little song winded in its little chest, perched momentarily: now the indomitable figures of the night ruled.

But as was said before, darkness tonight was borne on strange wings: the bats fled, all content to flee in one direction. but with every passing navigator of the night, as my eyes followed their journey, the degree of darkness seemed to deepen as if in their claws they carried, not their prey but the ashes of darkness which they scatter across the skies. They perch on the wind, and then dye the clouds to suit their needs; as if all the black faery dust from the illusive puppeteer above is given to the heralds of the dark to scatter! Aye, strange night indeed…a lonely night spent watching the dark spread, and even though in my heart I knew I couldn’t sing to my mother moon, I did have hope that the sky would clear. But the masters above seem to have another plan, and as it unfolds my eyes are closed by the gathering darkness and the moon’s lament dies in my throat…