A Plague of Wolves & Ravens Across the wastes of Hyperborea a lone figure emerges. Swathed in robes no one can say if this be a man or a woman. The figure appears in the distance and a blackness seems to hover near them; and the ravens come. But then the earth seems to move like a wave around this silent pilgrim and the wolves lope by. Hundreds of them. They are a killing, scavenging plague that sweeps across the land. All creatures flee before it. Entire villages are decimated by it with scant few survivors who hid in attic or cellar, barricaded against this unstoppable menace. They are an army and they are winning their war against mankind. They think as an army thinks. They run when a power greater than theirs opposes them. They attack when their opponents are weak. They conquer, but leave only well picked and gnawed bones behind them.