Project 3: Whisperroot Kin

They don’t rush. They never shout. The Gentlekin move like time does when you’re resting — soft, slow, sacred. Carved of bark and bound in moss, their laughter sounds like old wood creaking in peace.

Every root they touch remembers.
Every glade they enter quiets.
They carry no weapons — only stories stitched in vine.

In the Whisperroot, they gather, trade dreams, and remind the forest of its oldest name.