There are places in the Faewilde where even the bravest wanderers tread lightly. The thickets grow so dense that branches knit together above, weaving a canopy that swallows the sun. Here, emerald moss clings to stone and root, shadows pool like water, and the air is thick with secrets.
Deepthicket was strung from that hush—the green of ancient leaves, the black of midnight soil, the faintest glimmer of ruby where unseen creatures stir. It isn’t a place of malice, but of mystery: where the forest keeps its own counsel, and those who enter must rely on instinct and trust.
To wear Deepthicket is to carry the weight of a hidden path, one that leads further than most dare to go.
