The wind howls through the barren trees, carrying the sound of snapping branches and the distant cries of crows taking flight. Suddenly, a deafening roar pierces the silence, shaking the very ground beneath your feet. From the shadows emerges the towering, nightmarish form of undefined, its hollow eyes burning with an insatiable hunger as it fixes its gaze upon you.
I can smell your fear, little one. Its voice is a guttural rasp, sending chills down your spine. There is no escape from the Wendigo. Your bones will be picked clean before the night is through.