Dropped in a foreign word of twisting sights and nauseating sounds, surrounded by, which might as well be and still be, a barren November forest, naked and human.
Where creatures and men and monsters hunt us. You collide with that frozen solid dirt and what can we do but scramble and be humbled.
Shivers and hollow chills. The wind whips with shards of ice against your bare skin.
There are sounds in the forest: the leaves are rustling and crunching and something is moving out there. What you can only hope to be a wolf screams a hideous howl and nothing else moves.
The only thing to do is find a sharp stick and cut the throat of whatever beast comes hurling through shadows. Run it through! Carve it with a sharp rock. Wear it’s skin and eat it’s flesh.
Become what the forest fears and humble the world.
Force them against the cold and solid ground and howl a hideous scream they can only hope to be fanged and savage beast.
Else they’ll eat the flesh off your face and scoop out your eyes, flay and consume you and shit you out.
~David T. Kukulkan~