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In a sunlit cove, upon the bones of ancient sentinels, stands the Hunter
Stalking his prey, waiting for the moment to strike
He walks in shadows, lurks in the night, the dark is his ally
None hear him save those he wishes, none see him save those he targets, none live save those he misses
And the Hunter, never misses
Always with an arrow ready does he stand
Always with a steady arm does he pull
Always with a keen eye does he aim
Always do his foes fall
The swamp is his domain, the trees are his castle, the shadows are his battlements
Creatures of the morass, alligators, snakes, lizards and spiders
These are his friends, his allies, his army
They stand at his command, attack on his orders, kill at his whim
Who knows his name? None, for no one enters the swamp and lives
Who knows what he really is, what he really stands for? Who knows, of the Hunter?
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