The story I'm about to tell is one of pain and turmoil; A story that has been passed on from campfire to campfire. It starts off on a cold rainy day, deep in the heart of the forest. There is a man standing in the middle of the forest, a gun in one hand and a head in the other. “I am legend” he says “hear me roar”. He drops the head, screaming towards what looks like nothing but trees, but as he's closing in on the “tree” we see that what he is charging is not a tree but a person within the tree. The person emerges, wearing bark for clothes and leaves for hair; he stands, as if he doesn't see the “legend” coming straight at him. Then, when it seemed that him and the “legend” where close enough to kiss, he reaches up and withdraws a sword from the knapsack on his back. With movements too fast for the human eye to see, he plunges the sword into the throat of the “legend” killing him instantly. The man, who emerged from the tree, with bark for clothes and leaves for hair, stands over his enemy the “legend” “A legend is in the eyes of the beholder” he says “your reality is my illusion”. Then he disappears back into the tree.