The sun peaks over the horizon, casting a mountain’s shadow across the pines. The wind rolls. It rattles the branches, and needles fall from their perch and plummet to the forest floor. A woman weeps in the distance… for here lurk the wicked. The sinners. The dirty thieves.

Barbarians, the lot of them. They make their beds in a land of prosperity. The landscape here is rugged and spoiled in stones, green plumage piques along the surface of rock. Grass covers the earth, a comforting touch against well-worn paws. Life is in abundance. Squirrels and pretty birds scramble amongst the branches and gather their nests in hollowed trunks.

Freshwater creeks and mountain rivers make the pine forest a popular attraction for wolf and prey-animal alike should they find the passageway leading into the forest. The forest sprawls for a distance, many a stranger occasionally wandering into Cyrileth along its twisted paths.

The Red Wood is currently a graveyard of sorts. The forest is in the process of regrowing, but other than small sprouts, it is desolate. Here rest the ashen remains of a once mighty forest.

Here the Eldritch Tree grows. Her trunk is thick like oak and her leaves drenched in scarlet, as though adorned with the finest rubies. Here the mother seeks wisdom, the bear sheathes his blades. The fool sleeps among her branches, whittling the time away.

Some say that the father himself protects the lonely travelers who wander through the grove.

These trees lie at the base of a mountain range. The lands are flat but begin to slope upwards as the grass underpaw turns to stone. A soothing breeze tickles the canopy; sunlight spears against the crimson pine, igniting a fire in the trees. Red, as far as the eye can see. Not even the winter winds can diminish the beauty found among the red wood.

The maiden finds no solace here; she weeps, while the ocean bellows and groans. The tide pushes and pulls, crashing against the stone and filling the air with salt. This is no place to share secrets, for the slightest of sounds echoes off these walls.

Come, come come, call the twins, mischief in their gaze, Come see what’s inside

The labyrinth awaits. Pitch black greets the lonely soul who has wandered to the coast. The air is cool, comforting; providing refuge from the sun. Occasionally light spears through the bedrock overhead, building a path.

It would be unwise to brave such a maze in the dead of night, unless the full moon shines in all its glory. Some of the native folk may tell tales of old pirates lurking in these caves.

click. click. click. Nails tip-tap against ancient stone, paw pads wearing away at a passage worn smooth. Legend tells of a thief that had once walked these passageways. The caves were the veins carrying the lifeblood of his life: crime. A treacherous king, a scandalous pirate. He would plunder and pillage before... disappearing.

And where would they go?

Few have had the grit to venture into the caves long enough to find this beautiful vista. The stones grow wet underfoot from the ocean spray and the air grows salty when the outlook is close. Soft grass kisses the paws of weary travelers and a sea breeze whispers hello. Loud are the crash of the waves, vibrant is the sensation of freedom.

The pirate king has disappeared now and so the vista is all but forgotten...

Some say it lurks, waiting for a new king.