Lonewind Flats

East of the Lushland Corridor, where the land flattens and stretches into shimmering oblivion, lie the Lonewind Flats. Wide and open to the sun’s cruel gaze, this is a land of long shadows, shallow ridges, and forgotten bones. It is said that even the wind grows tired here, and that nothing travels faster than heat across stone.   Few dare to name this place home. The Dune Prowler Fox, lean and cunning, pads silently across the loose soil, its coat nearly indistinguishable from the sand. High above, the Lonewind Buzzard circles slow and wide, a solitary figure etched against a pale sky.   Tales persist of wanderers led astray by false horizons, of skeletal remains found sitting upright beneath the open sky. The ground here is neither forgiving nor cruel—only indifferent.   It is a place where sound travels far, and where being heard may be more dangerous than being lost.