Locals tell two stories that mingle into one: the first, an old superstition that deep, bitter winters can twist desperation into a spirit that preys on warmth and the hearth, called the Wendigo in old northland tongues; the second, older and bloodier, that men who gorge on the hearts of their kin lose themselves to antlered hunger. Some traditions say salt and iron will repel the creature, others that bread blessed with hearth-ash keeps a home safe for a night. Marta keeps a small bone charm over her door and a jar of salt in the pantry — measures that many now take on faith rather than fact. The truth, as most wise folk say, is likely uglier and colder than the tales: hunger reveals monsters already inside men.