Once again finding himself at the entrance of Arrowhead park, Jacque was perched much like a gargoyle atop one of the pillars which held the sign in place. The wendigo's eyes darted about wildly as he attempted to find a target to suit his tastes. He knew full well that teenagers within his preferred age bracket tended to sneak here at night, be it to get away from their parents, score or share drugs and alcohol or to engage in some raunchy late night debauchery. Their reasons for being here meant nothing to Jacque of course, all that mattered to him was the flesh on their bones and their ability to play games. Ears rotating every so often to pick up any sounds coming from the park, Jacque shrank into the shadows as he awaited the approach of his next victim. As he waited, Jacque suddenly remembered a piece from one of his favorite poems, "Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing...your robes are green and purple...there’s a crest upon your head...your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead...." he sang lowly in a lilting voice.