Wendy & Sasha & Open
"They're antlers," Wendy said, a little petulantly. Horns. Cows had horns. "It's my true form. And I sleep in the summer because that's the way it is. Wendigos are spirits of winter, not summer. This will be the first summer I will experience." Wendy was quite looking forward to it, though he would never ever admit it.
He shrugged. "I usually preyed on the loners, the weak, those that stray from the herd. Those who were not clever enough to evade me." In Wendy, that primal hunger used to be more about making the kill rather than targeting a victim. Wendigos thrived on fear, but it did not matter who was doing the fearing.
That answer was interesting to Wendy, however. His piercing blue eyes looked at Sasha. "Grossed out? Why? Are you slimy? Or dead?"