Out among the timber, aren't we. Watch the witches run naked through the woods, cooking babies and loving on each other like all women do. Tongues sliding on pale skin, smearing blood and the firelight casts strange shadows all around, making everyone taller and like they are walking on stilts that bend and move unnaturally.
The woods are quiet, I go here when things are bad. Nothing harms me, the witches, warlocks, wolves and the wendigo. I see them, I see their dead eyes. I like to write here. The alpha wolf the bravest among them, he always makes a circle in the leafy dirt before he leaves, night approaches, the rest look at me with their lost and stolen eyes and their faces all turn away.