Literature
Wendigo
Wendigo
The most frightening thing about the cave is the air.
It has a flatness and a lifelessness to it, in its own cold manner that makes the already pressing silence unbearable.
Its stifling, in a wide open sort of a way, with its swollen rock and bone cocoons tightly knit together. One could almost imagine an infinity stuffed into the caverns, a stark imitation of the curling steel sky; ebony unrepenting.
Yet sometimes the ersatz night is lit with stars.
Some caverns are filled and frosted with phosphorescent light, dreamed up by creatures who have never seen the sun. In pools of ink, candy floss fish waft their way along, looking fa
