The watcher returned to the city and again found himself across the street from Bruce’s apartment. Once he returned to a physical form, the pains returned, a reminder of the power of his enemies. The watcher had been careful to avoid churches as he came back; he could not be sure where more of the hounds might be, and as much as he hated the hounds, he had no desire to meet them on their turf and terms.
At least the killing was easy and fast in this place, thought the watcher to himself. Strange, how so often those who thought themselves strong and fearsome, were never ready to face something stronger and more fierce than themselves. The watcher prided himself, that at the least he knew his limitations and watched his course when in his enemies’ place of power. It some ways, it was his own fault, watching for pretty sights and hoping for the old blessing – the watcher knew well those days were long gone, as far lost as his old allotted place at the beginning.
The watcher sighed to himself wistfully, then shook off his despair. What’s done is done after all, he told himself, and anyway there’s work here to do. The watcher licked blood of his forepaws and focused on the apartment across the street, determined and calm.