Sequoia Coast A land of barbarians

@Caiaphas

In the cold, bleak north there had been whispers of monsters beneath the earth that swallowed the souls of all who died in vain. The wolves of The Dread North, those that had banded together, often told of these monsters in frightened and awestruck voices. They all feared death more than anything, because to die was to be consumed by monsters. Only the strongest souls could escape them and ascend to another place; all lives were lived in vain, after all.

The strand that Cthulhu padded along was frigid. A bitter autumn wind had dug its claws into the Wilds and with an unrelenting hold struck terror into the hearts of the creatures who lived there. The coywolf could feel it, too, and despaired to herself in barely audible murmurs about monsters and death. She hunched her shoulders up, creating a visible hump in her back, and moved slowly as if trying to avoid detection, even though she stuck out like a bright sore thumb against the darker sand. Her murmurs intensified when thoughts of monsters returned and she remembered that the bitter winter that would come was produced by those monsters.

She found that thinking about these things upset her, even though they were fitting thoughts for the environment she was in. Cold grey waves slammed the pebbly shore and dark clouds loomed ominously overhead. Everywhere Cthulhu looked, the world was drab and grey. Drab and grey, just like the Dread North. Just like the land of monsters.