A gaunt wendigo creature with a deer skull for a head, glowing blue eyes, and antlers, standing in a dark, snowy forest.

The wendigo is a towering abomination, easily surpassing eight feet in height, yet disturbingly thin—its entire body appears stretched, as if flesh and bone were pulled too far and barely held together. Its skin is a sickly, corpse-gray, torn and split in places where the bones press too hard from within. Frost clings to its limbs, especially around the joints, where the cold has blackened and cracked the flesh like weathered stone. Its ribcage protrudes sharply, almost bursting through the skin, each breath it takes rattling like dry leaves in the wind. Its head is that of a decayed stag skull, far too large for its frame, with long, narrow jaws filled with dagger-like teeth—some broken, others unnaturally long. From the skull’s crown twist a pair of massive, blackened antlers, splintered and branching like lightning—caked with dried blood and bits of fur from past prey. Deep in its eye sockets glimmer two faint, ghostly pinpricks of cold, unfeeling light—blue-white and flickering like dying embers. There is no humanity in them—only hunger. Its arms are grotesquely elongated, hanging almost to its knees, ending in clawed hands with fingers like bone scythes—sharp, yellowed, and constantly twitching. Its legs are bent and jointed wrong, like a predator built to stalk and leap rather than walk. Each step it takes creaks, as if its limbs are under strain from holding together a body that should have died long ago. The air around it feels colder, heavy with the stink of rot and See more