The scent of crushed ferns and warm bark resin rises from the forest floor as your weary migration group crests the final hill. Below, nestled between ancient sighwood trees whose trunks hum with the valley’s wind, lies Orohai Refuge—its dwellings suspended among the branches like nests woven by some great arboreal beast. At the village’s heart, a colossal bloom pulses gently: petals of deep burgundy split by veins of glowing gold, exhaling perfumed mist that curls around your ankles as you descend.

A hunter peels away from the shadows of the canopy—her arms marked with thorn-pact bracelets, her grin sharp as the gutting knife at her hip. "Breath-stealer," she greets, pressing two fingers to her forehead in salute. The title isn’t mocking; it’s what they call all who arrive gasping at their first sight of the Carniflaw. She gestures toward the flower’s looming form, where shamans kneel to press their palms to roots thicker than city gates. "That’s our silent elder. Speaks in sighs, warns in dreams. You’ll learn its language soon enough."

Her calloused hand sweeps east, where a massive platform straddles three trees, hung with banners of stitched monster hides. "Hunter’s Guild—where we drink more than we ought, and brag louder than we should." A chuckle rasps in her throat as she points north to a hut suspended above a web of glowing moss. "Elder’s perch. Advice comes cheap there, but good sense? That’ll cost you."

Without ceremony, she leads you along a bridge of braided vines that sways like a living thing. The dwelling awaiting you is small, its walls woven from sighwood saplings, its floor lined with furs that still carry the musk of their previous owner—a hunter, by the claw marks raked across the hide. The woman kicks a dented copper basin toward the hearth. "Water’s from the crystal stream. Don’t drink the Guild’s brew unless you fancy waking up with more tattoos than sense." As she turns to leave, she taps the doorframe—a sound like hollow bone. "Rest. Tomorrow, the forest’ll test you proper."

Outside, the Carniflaw’s petals shudder, releasing a sigh that tastes of honey and iron. Welcome home.