Though he left The Valley of his birth, he wears his people's name at his hips. Like a bird among the trees he watches; a Mohawk with Eagle Vision.
Ra-ton-haké:ton, the Redcoats are doomed.
His moral compass guides him through the snow like a wolf's nose guides him to blood. The Templar's fingerprints are on this war, and he will freerun them down for our freedoms.
Ra-ton-haké:ton, the Redcoats are doomed.
The Founding Fathers know they're outnumbered; he is their ally in the shadows. A new nation's fate lies in the balance, and he fights to tip the scales.
Ra-ton-haké:ton, the Redcoats are doomed.
Stealthy as a whisper he moves, with his tomahawk in hand. He'll scratch out your life if you try to take our rights.