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To stand inside of the Star Wood at night is to be embraced by an infinite universe. Along this former shoreline, the trees stretch skyward and grow taller than anywhere else. At night, they blossom and reveal millions of flowers winking in the moonlight like so many stars. It is a place for inspiration and thought. Many wolves discover their genius here, but many more become lost to the dangers hidden in its beauty.

Once a low island, Focal Point now threatens to tower over even the Crystalspine Mountains. The earth here longs to join the sky, pulling upwards in cascading towers of rock and crystal. The vast energies at play affect the outer lands and make the skies a dangerous litter of resources sent in to feed the Observatory. The true threats, however, to those living here are the strange, alien creatures riding the meteors that rain upon the land.

The arid, growing wastes that make up the majority of this land are broad and deadly, even for denizens hardened by biological adaptation. Few Death wolves make the trek from the thriving borderlands to the cauldron at the heart of the region, but those that do tell stories of travelers becoming lost for centuries, or even eternity.

It is said that the ring of this immense crater is both a welcome sight and bittersweet image of pilgrims who challenge themselves in the boneyard. As with the borderlands, life - if it can be called that - thrives here. The long-forgotten indigenous shrubs and trees now silhouette this sudden upturn of earth in their new forms: twisted, grotesque, and pulsing. Alien roots and branches converge in a writhing, pestilent garden that reaches and strains for its food source at the heart of the pit.

The mighty break in the womb-shaped mountain range surrounding the Pillar, named for its visual allusion to the birthing of a new-born pup. It is said that the gorge reaching westward towards the sea housed the first packs, and the intricate series of networked caverns that dot it support this claim. A storied realm for wolfkind, many of the old lairs here are known for their murals and cave-paintings telling of the ancient feats performed by the Elemental Gods in the shaping of the world.

Once an ancient burial ground, the Cairnestone Rest possesses the richest gem deposits in Wolfhome. Prospectors take care to avoid the imposing obelisks and standing stones, heeding well the warnings left for tomb robbers; however, in the digging of mines and expanding lairs, accidents can happen, and more than one pack has been driven from the area by skeletal wyrms. Creatures and wolves have been drawn to the battleground, calling for more to take arms either to defend their living and dead kin, or cull the intruders before too much harm is done.

From above, the Molten Scar appears as a fiery, violent wound gouged relentlessly into the landscape. It reaches eastward and is comprised of disjointed tectonic plates that crash thunderously into one another as they drift on the liquid rock. Rare metals are revealed in this back-and-forth exchange, and the open gaps are alive with wolves eager to plunder the veins before the next collision knocks the unclaimed ore into the melting pot below.

This obsidian coastline is blanketed in flowing lava and a scalding steam-mist at the water's edge. The land is fluid and soft: an open canvas - unmolded clay needing a crafter's hand. The Annex beckons to those packs eager to make a lasting impression on the landscape and thus to cement their places by Fikr's side. However, this builder's paradise is marred by inexplicable events and dreadful shapes moving deep in the pervasive mist.

The only pockets of what can pass for wildlife now huddle themselves into the brush of the tundra, which blankets the heart of the icefield. Dense evergreen forests skirt the mountain ridges, and many wolf packs huddle in wicker caves and huts nestled deep in the trees for the better part of each year.

This desolate string of mountains overlooks the frozen waste, and are among the tallest in the world. Even the hardiest of the ice wolves keep their packs safely below the harshness of the peaks, as those who have ventured upward never return.

On the edge of a crackling thunderstorm, this great canyon carves the region in two, providing a natural defense for the packs that live among the mesas to the east. This large divide is nearly devoid of life, with only the bones and corpses of creatures long dead to remind travelers that the cross is plenty dangerous.

An impressive array of rods and spires, thrust into the static-charged, super-heated air. Atop these flats, lightning strikes these coils thousands of times an hour, providing energy to machines unseen. Hundreds of cables drape from mesa to mesa, like a vibrant, deadly spiderweb of concentrated energy.

A massive, decorative expanse of ancient architecture, angled to perfectly line up with the rising and setting of the sun. Hundreds of crumbling pillars exist as totems to families and packs that call this platform home. Adolescent wolves practice fighting along its narrow walkways, and pups play in its many crevices and on its majestic stairwells.

A ruined, skeletal landscape of shattered structures, gripped by a shade that boggles even the Life pack's most studious archaeologists. In this broken city lay secrets that are too mysterious to unearth, and even the bravest wolves are given pause when approaching its haunted outskirts.

The Gladeveins contain a tiered structure of aqueducts and waterfalls running through fallen and hewn logs, a testament to the ingenuity of the woodland denizens. Water floods in controlled deluges, soaking the soil, washing clean the environment, and providing continual, refreshing sustenance for the tall timber forming the natural outer walls of the Viridian Labyrinth within.

The dense, jungle overgrowth of the Shrieking Wilds cloaks the land in darkness even during the day, creating a haven for the nocturnal beasts leaping between boughs and swinging from thick, ropy vines. Ancient mossy trees, wrapt and bent around twisting footpaths, forever quake with activity above, and the air is astir with the bellows of hidden creatures.

If any part of this darkened land can be called beautiful, it is the grove. All manner of giant glowing fungi dot the terrain, providing the only light that does not fight its way through the murk that hangs above. Among these mushrooms, trickster wolves chase firebugs and faeries, content to capture some for the eerie lanterns that illuminate their hovels and caves.

The gnarled, twisting shapes of the Foxfire Bramble are sinister against the moonlight, and provide excellent defense to the packs that have painstakingly dug themselves dens within. Beneath the crushing, thorny knots are some of the darkest places in the realm, and it is nearly impossible for even nocturnal creatures to see more than a few feet in front of them.

The coral here roots deep into the dried marrow of gargantuan bones left behind from an ancient battle in a forgotten era. Whether these remains are of monstrous fish, wolves of yore, or something completely other, the Fishspine is crowded by a lost history, sunken artifacts, and drowned spirits.

The deepest part of the world. The sea beneath the sea is a treacherous and savage place possessing of an unforgiving undertow and precious little light. Many wonders are said to exist here - more relics of prehistory - shrouded, even from Gizoe's gaze, by a silty, unbroken twilight occupied by alien fish, and far worse. It is in the safety of the cliff faces that the packs dig their homes, and into the unknown that their bravest dare dive.

The bridging test of wind wolf's aptitude towards adulthood is the Ascent, a series of reed-covered cliffs through which the strongest of the region's air currents pass. Each pillar is higher than the one before it, creating the illusion of a fractured slope. These stairs are separated by open air, and rushing rapids can be seen far, far below.

The final trial of Alamy's children is a powerful vortex on the western shore. This great storm has raged for thousands of years, and is said to be the residual effect of an ancient time in which the gods of air and ice quarreled. Torrents of angry air pull clouds in an aggressive spiral, and even the most adept wind wolves avoid the eye, a place from which many rarely return.

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