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Summary
The people who traded up in the north had a word for this, one Thomas had learned when he and Edward first settled here, a permanent fixture amongst the strange needled forests of the north. Wihtikow, they called it, sharp consonants that slipped off the tip of the tongue and carried with them a world of scorn and fear. It was a monstrous creature: gaunt to the point of emaciation, skin pulled tight over bones too fragile to bear the weight of such a terrible thing—a creature too dangerous to let live, yet all the more dangerous when they still wore human faces, allowing them to spread their corruption amongst the communities unless they were swiftly removed.
Extreme hunger, cold, and isolation—that’s what it takes, some say, to make a creature such as this. Thomas Jopson and Edward Little, now operating a semi-legal trading post in the deep woods of Rupert’s Land, know that better than most.