



I should have died a virgin. Like Joan of Arc. Be true, be strong. Sing on the funeral pyre. Did you know she sang as she burned?
A man tears from stags belly, out onto the soiled snow. An antlered Will Graham – The Wildigo, naked and slick in a visceral sheen. The stag that birthed him, gone. The Wildigo lies alone, eyes closed, unmoving. Then his mouth snaps open to draw a huge gasping breath.