The fowler with his snare seeks to trap the ignorant walking, eyes covered, ears closed. They trust their betraying flesh. They listen to it rumble allowing it to rise. The fowler sets his trap eagerly awaiting his prey. The lame crawling on his knees waiting for his change. Too ashamed to look up and live, to stand underneath the stains of the tree. He passes out, his mind in agony. Loosed and set free, he feels his leg, the hollow now made whole.