[a fancy stationery envelope addressed to Wolfwood makes its appearance, and inside is fancy stationery letterhead with writing in fancy ink script:]
The Wolfwood is known to its neighbors in some ways, but not all. It's not known for verdant canopies or welcoming birdsong, and more often than not it appears a threatening color on the landscape: Blotted black ink on a canvas of green and gold. Its trees are tall and stark, seemingly brittle and sharp just from appearance, let alone touch. Dense thorn thickets thwart all but the most stalwart of travelers, and even then, passage is tricky, for there are few landmarks to guide one's way within, and the seemingly right path can easily yield disastrous results. If it was named for wolves, then it must have been very long ago indeed, for rarely is there ever the sound of a hunter's call. Perhaps some trick of the wind conveys a lonely cry to curious ears, but it's been a long time since there's been tell of a hunt within. It's not something to utterly dismiss, of course, as all deep places can hide many dangers. There is often the smell of smoke that drifts from the forest, but whose origins are unseen to the naked eye save for the faint speckles of ash and cinder when the wind blows just right. It's no inviting campfire scent, either, but something more akin to tar and rot; it must be a very hardy beast indeed who lives and thrives amid such stench. Despite the sinister atmosphere it can exude, there is a strange sense of security that comes from those trees and thorns: They are tall and tangled together quite tightly, so no storms or blustering winds have yet to uproot even the smallest of shoots. It seems quite determined to be where it is, and even flames seem to hardly change the quality of it on the whole, as the trunks of the trees are blackened to begin with. Folk who live nearby are not keen to wander too close, yet all the same, they find some semblance reassurance in keeping the wood to their backs; it would take something mighty and truly awful to pass through those trees and bring harm, and so in a way, those dark trees serve a kind of protection to the gentler lands it dwells nearby simply by being there. So long as one does not draw too near as to be raked by thorns and splinters, at least.
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timeasmymeasure
12/30
Date: 2019-12-31 06:45 pm (UTC)The Wolfwood is known to its neighbors in some ways, but not all. It's not known for verdant canopies or welcoming birdsong, and more often than not it appears a threatening color on the landscape: Blotted black ink on a canvas of green and gold.
Its trees are tall and stark, seemingly brittle and sharp just from appearance, let alone touch. Dense thorn thickets thwart all but the most stalwart of travelers, and even then, passage is tricky, for there are few landmarks to guide one's way within, and the seemingly right path can easily yield disastrous results.
If it was named for wolves, then it must have been very long ago indeed, for rarely is there ever the sound of a hunter's call. Perhaps some trick of the wind conveys a lonely cry to curious ears, but it's been a long time since there's been tell of a hunt within. It's not something to utterly dismiss, of course, as all deep places can hide many dangers.
There is often the smell of smoke that drifts from the forest, but whose origins are unseen to the naked eye save for the faint speckles of ash and cinder when the wind blows just right. It's no inviting campfire scent, either, but something more akin to tar and rot; it must be a very hardy beast indeed who lives and thrives amid such stench.
Despite the sinister atmosphere it can exude, there is a strange sense of security that comes from those trees and thorns: They are tall and tangled together quite tightly, so no storms or blustering winds have yet to uproot even the smallest of shoots. It seems quite determined to be where it is, and even flames seem to hardly change the quality of it on the whole, as the trunks of the trees are blackened to begin with.
Folk who live nearby are not keen to wander too close, yet all the same, they find some semblance reassurance in keeping the wood to their backs; it would take something mighty and truly awful to pass through those trees and bring harm, and so in a way, those dark trees serve a kind of protection to the gentler lands it dwells nearby simply by being there. So long as one does not draw too near as to be raked by thorns and splinters, at least.