To call it a wilderness or a jungle is to belittle it. There are megacities which aspire to the height and sprawl of Nege trees. Some confusing mess of plant and creature, the Nege sink their roots deep into the earth and raise their fronds thousands of feet into the air, limbs reaching out, interlocking, holding one another up. Centuries of bark and peat buildup settle onto the interwoven branches, forming layers upon layers of chambers, each contracting in slow respiration, sucking air through intricate network of tunnels (called whogs) which attach them to the outside world. Because of the natural asymmetry of the whogs' air distribution, and a wide variance in humidity among chambers, it's not rare for one chamber to have an entirely different weather system compared to another, nor is it uncommon for chambers to become almost entirely sealed off, closed systems which show evolutions in creatures completely unlike their cousins just on the other side of a few feet of interwoven wood; veritable genetic islands.
Entangled SpeciesAlthough the Nege trees are themselves a life form, they cannot exist independently. The word itself, Nege in Saza, is one that translates into a word which represents connectivity and interreliance, a thing which its inhabitants see as a microcosm of the universe as a whole.
The Nege excrete Slog, a viscous jelly bacteria with fast-acting enzymes that prove fatal to most bio matter. This digestive slime slowly filters down the tree, accruing more matter as it passes through the different chambers before finally sliding into a the sloggums, the methane-rich bogs which serve as the stomachs of the tree, and which are particularly potent.