Mr Crook's twisted figure contorted against the brown bricked wall, a zig-zagging shape of a strange figure, bent back. His protruding nose stuck out like a hawks, lit up by the closest lamplight, and his hawk eyes and sharpened thin eyebrows fell back, hunters in the shadows.  His arm reached down holding onto his stick, his breath gasping as it did so. He was weak, twisted. Anger feeding a criminal mindset. His stern gaze retreated towards the vanishing moon. He, merely a rotting crow, never dared meet the sun's glare though it,  

thirsted. 

It looked to bathe any object below it in it's glow, to light up the shadows behind the alleyways, to pull the cloak from the surface. Mr Crook, a hidden enemy, a once friend, embodied both that which was hatred and that which was the opposite of that. Mr Crook remained the sun's number one goal, and yet was firmly acquainted by its enemies lightning strike.  
 
The moon.
The brother of the sun, icey, frosty, light-footed. It dances in the night sky, shimming as glowing light shot down from it's arms into the night. It captured Mr Crook and those of the nocturnal creatures, captivated them with a swoop from the feet. They were it's shadowy hunters, roaming across the earth.
It's nightmare knights. It's poisoned potion.

The planets tug of war evoked  for years, continuous in it's patterning, shaking the planets life, yin and yang, for Mr Crook. His jagged component of a body roams corners, always still  looking, checking, looking. Mr Crook, the charger of the sun, the moon, the fight. Mr Crook,  the fuel of life.