The Tales Say
The Wendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation
Its desiccated skin pulled tautly over its bones
Its complexion the ash grey of death
And its eyes pushed deep back into their sockets
The Wendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave
What lips it had were tattered and bloody
Its body was unclean and suffering from superations of the flesh giving off a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition.
Of death…
And corruption
. . . . . .
Creatures of the tales and myths and legends. Look unto the stories and what you may find may be staring you back yet somehow be able to be unseen all the same. We have written them upon walls. We have etched them into stone. We have burned and tattooed them on to flesh. We have recorded them upon all manner of preserving tools and instruments. But we are still never prepared to believe or disbelieve in them whatever we may say.
There are those who may have died at the hands of myth and legend. There are those who have met said beings. There are those who have fought them. And also…those who have survived them.
Angels and demons wage war over us. What else walks in mankind's midst yet is still unseen?