The colony of bats spread as dark infectious mirth, multiplying beneath a grey camouflaged nigh-skin. Scaly shadows they were, fangs bared to the coldness. Bite. Bite. Bite. As their sound pinged all around for any and every twitch, it was a foul night to be abroad without even the scantest of shelter.
As living shadows the bats swooped, cooly bathed within guardian rock. They chirped and played, wings stretched wide, these masters of the night. Their family, thousands strong, heeded twilight’s call. As armour-less knights, the cold currents they rode as eagles of the night.
Between still land and still sky came the ballet of the bats, the aeronauts of twilight.
The bats in their rocky home rested until starlight called them into flight.
Bats spread their wings of finest silk to adorn the twilight sky.
Bats glided in moonlight streams as if the night sky were the most fabulous of fairground rides.
In flamboyant silhouette the bats adorned the grey-purple night.