The vile Wendigo of North America are said to be the vestiges of humans who turned to cannibalism. For their spite of humanity, they were outcast not just by their fellow man, but by life and the Earth herself. In truth, the Earth bears no spite towards any of its children. The Wendigo strain stems from a less caring mistress, the particulars of its genesis now lost to millennia. But before modern man was man, there was hunger - and in that red place within us the curse incubates, transmitting silently through generations. The early Native Americans tried at first to succour those who had transformed, rehabilitate them, but they came to realise that once turned, these once-men could only be destroyed. Rage heightens their hunger; the hunger never abates. It is a cycle that makes the Wendigo's unnaturally long life one of feast, famine and fury. More sickness than species, the Wendigo have endured, solitary, in the last wildernesses. Their accursed metabolism is a torture: however much they consume, they can never be sated. As the craving for flesh grows, so does their desperation, driving them further out of their habitual hunting grounds in search of prey.