I swear it was the Wendigo that drove me to the axe, but I confess that no hand further made me chop and cut and hack. Deep inside my curdled mind a murky abyss yawned, and at my feet in endless sleep my family waited for the dawn. Children, mothers, beasts of burden, not one life was spared. Gazing on the piles and pyres, I rended clothes and tore my hair. Deep inside my troubled mind, that gaping hole was filled with blood and moans and fingerbones of all my party I had killed. On ground and clothes and hard-packed snow, just how much blood I cannot tell. What Neptune's oceans could not cleanse did grease my footing down to Hell.
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