From the icy deep of the Arctic, he rises, roaming the land in search of berries, foraging for pondweed and leaves, always vigilant for the unwary passing soul, ripe for consumption…
An Old One? Perhaps a Deinzen of the Deep? Or simply the inconvenient result of mutations caused by leaking nuclear plants? A moose once bit my sister. Catch one, and let’s find out.
Black on Heather Military Green.