A dense forest in the western reaches, known for its strange acoustics—sounds carry unpredictably, echoing from directions that make no sense. Some blame the trees; others whisper about fae influence or old magic sunk into the soil.
The rebels use Troyt Loofos for ambushes. Loyalist patrols enter and don't come out, or come out raving about voices in the trees. Military commanders have learned to go around rather than through. The forest has become a no-man's-land, belonging to neither side and dangerous to both.