The Heartwood Slowly tears you apart

The man proceeded to motion towards where his camp lay, and when Kigipigak realized he meant the forest in the distance, the one he had been pointedly avoiding, it was as if all sound had terminated within the Heartwood. Everything stopped for that instant, except the pounding of his own pulse as it had just started to regulate itself—only now, it sped up again. Whatever hunger he felt was gone in that moment too, as his stomach dropped and twisted.

Women there can make pelts from this hide. My wife, in particular— Solharr had begun to say, and Kigipigak cut him off abruptly with his voice almost robotic: That forest is cursed. He was still staring off in to the distance, to where the band of trees darkened the horizon.

He turned his attention to Solharr fully now, frowning, and no longer interested in the buck as it's body cooled in the mud. You should find somewhere else to settle. Or in the very least, keep your wife away from—the lake. Images of Ariadne's body sunken and suspended, now flashed through his memory. The shape of the man beside her; the pain in his muscles now aligning with the memory of pulling them from the depths, to shore.

The wailing of Aiolos.

With a deep breath to center himself, Kigipigak appeared less and less friendly by the second. He was guarded now, filled with concern, and held no desire to tread closer to the Neverwinter now that he knew it was Solharr's claim. I will help you butcher the remains if you need it, as I said—but that will be all. I am sorry, but that place... It is not a place I ever wish to go again.