Prologue

The Wendigo was gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled tautly over its bones. With its bones pushing out against its skin, its complexion the ash gray of death, and its eyes pushed back deep into their sockets, the Wendigo looked like a gaunt skeleton recently disinterred from the grave. What lips it had were tattered and bloody [....] unclean and suffering from suppurations of the flesh, the Wendigo gave off a strange and eerie odor, of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption.