Past the last streetlight, the road narrows and the trees close in. The cabins back here sit quiet — woodsmoke, pine needles, nobody in a hurry. The people who live in the Pines didn't come here to be found. Earn your way in slowly, and you'll find the warmest doors in town.
Who works here
Around here
The library
Darwin's shelves, the reading chairs by the window. The quietest room in God's Greek — and the one where the most gets said.
Seen around town
The monasteries over Pellegrin, hanging off the rock. Half the town swears the monks wave back.