wendigo.
“Speaking of it calls it forth,’ she murmured in reply, not particularly enjoying where the conversation was headed. Too many questions meant too much time lingering, and lingering was what got them killed. Just ask the deer; instead of migrating, it had remained in the frozen Meadow. Something had gotten it. Wendigo didn’t want it to get her, too. Even with the offering of the deer, frozen though it may be, it was always starving.
A shiver crawled up her spine, making her skin twitch along her shoulders.
“Cold,’ she answered. Winter is not surprised that summer could not understand; how could the heat of the life-giving sun understand the frigid nothingness of vacant space?
An ear flicked to the tree line that kept grabbing Firestorm’s attention.
“If you do not feel it, perhaps you are already dead.” There was nothing in the tone of her voice, no refuge to be found, no offer of hope or moment to rejoice. It just was. The idea that Wendigo was conversing with ghosts wouldn’t shock her; her mind had made up more than one phantom in its loneliness and desperation.
mare | akhal teke x marwari | grey on black tobiano | 1o | 16.3hh | siat-s