He can smell
his prey
long be
fore he will get
close e
nough to see
it. He can
feel the
tug of the
moon on
he
artstrings, the
calling of what h
is,
the essence of h
is
v
ery existance. It
forever ca
lls him, woos
him, heals
him. This is
his time,
the time of
darkness, the t
ime of sil-
en
ce... the time of
death.
This is t
he night, and h
e will
embrace it, as
he does every t
ime his lady
calls him. He w
ill find in it
pleasure that n
o mortal could ev
er dream. He will
love it deeper
than any mortal
could ever feel.
And it will lo
ve him, and ai
dhim in his h
unt.
The intimate bon
d between him, the
night, and his
prey is unbreakable
except in death. H
e is the hunter.
He is the ni
ght. He is The W
erewolf.