Some things grow in the dark. Mamakin they call her. Though no one living knows her real name. She was old when the forest was young. She is older than the hills. Beneath rotting treeroots, in fetid pools, between the living and the dead, there is a lonely place where others dwell.
Very much the sister piece to my last grimey little creation. We all love a dark forest and the things within. I dreamt up both these at the same time and wrote the descriptions before I drew or modeled anything.