The Whispergrass Ridges

In the Whispergrass Ridges, the wind runs through the blades like a lullaby. Peace settles over you like a heady mist, slowing your breath and softening your thoughts. There is an old tale that the recently lost can speak here, not in full voices, but in fragments carried on the air: a name, a warning, a last tenderness. Nothing is ever perfectly clear, yet it lands exactly where it should. Walk alone near dusk, they say, and the wind may answer back.