WildWyrd Wood 123

Welcome, Wanderer

WildWyrd Wood is a place out of time — where each breeze carries a whisper of story, and each shadow might hide a friend. Here, the trees are alive with memory, and the soil dreams deeply and peacefully.

If you have wandered here by accident, you are not alone.
Most arrivals in WildWyrd Wood are accidental.
Even the locals, when asked how they first came, tend to scratch their heads and mutter something about a wrong turn near a right tree, or a dream that spilled over into waking life and forgot to clean up after itself.

WildWyrd Wood is not so much a place as a persuasion. A stubborn knot in the fabric of what’s real, where the threads of story, time, and weather insist on tangling together. Maps don’t work here. Compasses spin like they’ve had one too many nettle ales. And logic is treated politely, then ignored.

There are glades that sing, trees that argue, mushrooms that hold grudges, and rivers that have been known to flow in reverse when nobody’s looking (especially on Thursdays). There's a council made entirely of owls and moths, and a bartering system based on favours, feathers, and extremely rare types of silence.

If that sounds absurd, it’s only because you’ve spent too long in the other world, where everything has to make sense before it can be believed. Here, the reverse is often true.