He came into Cross hidden behind the mask of Qagyuhl. It was an hour before I knew he was among the farms, an hour before the wind shifted and I could smell the rot. His stink is not one easily forgotten, nor should it be. The Wendigo are dangerous, especially when one of their number travels into civilization.
It had been a particularly cold winter, which meant there were fewer hunters traveling into the deep stretches of forest where the Wendigo hid and hunted. Why this particular Wendigo was so desperate, I neither new nor did I care.
I brought my dogs with me as well as my Colts, and we tracked the beast for three hours before we came upon it feasting. It had broken into the Dunwiddy’s farm and was eating the last of the three children. Both parents were dead and trussed-up, evidence of the Wendigo’s plans to carry them off to stave off any hunger it might face over the following months.
The fight was difficult and long. It was only after the sun had set that I managed to kill it, finally using both Colts and blowing the damned thing’s brains out all over Mrs. Dunwiddy’s stoneware.
I didn’t return home until the morning after I had incinerated all the bodies and burned the farmhouse to the ground. On my left arm, I still bear the scars of the battle, and in my memories, I still see the bloody bones of the Dunwiddy children.
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