My Jagged Scratchings:
My Bloody Gospel of these Pines

I’m the heavy hauntin’ you feel ‘neath the saw palmettos. No hairless midget-man guided this quill—only my own mangled paws and the sharp, rot-sweet truth of the Florida wild.

Character Encounters from the Scrub

Some critters I stalk, some I salute, some I just let scream.

Humans I’m Hunting

The Baxters, the foresters, the men who think the scrub’s a thing to be tamed. I watch ‘em from the shadows and mark every careless footstep in my dirt.

Track These Fools

Critters I Respect

Ghost cats, swamp birds, and all the wild-eyed things that live by tooth and nerve. The ones that don’t flinch when the night presses in close.

Meet My Equals

Critters I Despise

Blue-feathered tattlers, squealin’ pigs, and anything that runs its mouth louder than its legs. The scrub’s full of snitches and I know every one.

Click here to see what I think about these critters

The Geography of Persistence

My scrub is a kingdom of sun-bleached bone and stubborn, pine-scented memory. I stalk the silent movements of the wild across sands mapped by my own hunger, far from your human signs. It's a world of sand pines where I watch the survival of those who manage to endure—and the quiet vanishing of those who don't.

I Am the Scrub's Silent Sentinel

I lurk deep where the vines twist like strangled snakes and the human world feels thin and far away. I've spent my long years sniffin' out the language of the breeze and mappin' every twitch of the palmetto—partly for wisdom, mostly to know if you're worth the chase. This ain't some rustic stroll; it's a heart-to-heart with the ancient sand, and my claws are the only ones doin' the talkin'. These scratchings aren't just memories; they're the low growl of a wildness that'll never sit when you tell it to.

— Old Slewfoot

STALK MY TRACKS • STALK MY TRACKS • STALK MY TRACKS • STALK MY TRACKS • STALK MY TRACKS • STALK MY TRACKS • STALK MY TRACKS •

If you've got the belly to follow me, leave your mark. I’ll scratch my secrets right to you, provided you stay on the windward side of the scrub and don't come looking to turn me into a rug.

My Jagged Scratchings:My Bloody Gospel of these Pines