The Wilderness is not a place. It is a hunger. And a hungry god does not want your prayers. It wants your choice .

We never found an attic. Not in the cabin. Not in ourselves. But we found the pit that night. A shallow grave of frozen leaves and broken antlers. And inside…

[Sound effect: Wind howling across a frozen lake. A distant, rhythmic THWACK of an axe on wood.]

Or someone’s feeding him.

The accusation hung in the air like smoke. That night, Lottie gathered us in the main room. She poured the last of the whiskey—not to drink, but to draw a circle on the floorboards.