don't let the turkeys get you down

Wendigo was mad. He'd had his heart set on a big turkey dinner down in the Nook and the bastards had ruined his plan by roosting in a tree out of reach. So naturally he was going to burn it down. The tree, not the Nook, although if it got out of hand he was of the opinion that, like company, the more the merrier with fire.

The flaming stick clamped between his teeth lit up the dark mountainside like a beacon as he marched southward. It was dusk and the chill of night was quickly settling over the land, but Wendigo felt none of it. He was on a mission and the heat of the fire on his face was all the fuel he needed to keep moving. Those birds were as good as his.