Nestled within the swollen, labyrinthine hollows of the trunk's mid-section lies the true center of the station's chaos. The Gnarled Burls are home to the mustelids and raskets—creatures equal parts fox and ferret—who view the Great Tree not as a mythic transit hub, but as a colossal, multi-level playground. They carry themselves with an air of absolute, unearned smugness that threatens to collapse the station’s delicate administrative peace at any given moment.
If you have lost a shiny personal artifact, an essential portal ticket, or your absolute sanity, it has almost certainly been dragged down into these narrow wood-tunnels. The raskets have developed deeply held grudges against the station's Echo-Weavers, mostly because the sung announcements keep interrupting their mid-day naps. They are masters of petty sabotage, frequently rerouting the blue-green light lines just to watch confused diplomats miss their leaf-barges.
Travelers are warned to guard their pockets and their snacks closely while navigating these paths. There is no official law enforcement in the burls; the raskets outnumber the guards, outsmart the paperwork, and are entirely immune to diplomatic immunity.