Roy ventured beyond the last rows of blueberry groves. The cultivated lands gave way to mossy flats, punctuated by strange bulges in the earth. The air smelled of damp stone and sweet decay.

That’s when he found it.

A Motherroot—a massive, turnip-like root half-exposed from the soil. Its pale surface was streaked with lines that almost resembled... a face. The eyes closed. The mouth gently parted, as though whispering secrets.

Roy felt a strange stupor wash over him. His limbs grew heavy. His thoughts slowed.

He sat down—and fell asleep.

---

In his dream, a woman stood before him. Her hair was made of moss and curling vines. Her eyes were as deep and dark as loam.

"You see," she said softly, "they never go to seed. To propagate them, you must..."

And the dream continued.

---

Roy awoke feeling well-rested, the memory of the Motherroot Lady’s words vivid in his mind.

“They said it couldn’t be done,” he chuckled, remembering the doubters back home. “Fools.”

He turned to leave—but a sharp squeak froze him mid-step.

"Don’t forget my seeds," a voice whispered in his mind.

He spun around just as a pod on the Motherroot split open, releasing a cascade of glossy black seeds. Roy gathered them all carefully.

He now had the means to grow, not just Broot, but a new and rare root vegetable that, if the Motherroot’s size was any indication, could grow to mammoth proportions.

But he wasn’t done yet.

His pack still held most of his provisions. He would bring back not just seeds, but more food for his people.

---

Hours later, he stood at the edge of a great purple lake. The water shimmered like molten amethyst beneath the afternoon sun.

"Honk."

Roy blinked.

A magenta water bird glided across the surface—sleek, metallic-feathered, with a broad, spoon-like bill. It swam gracefully toward him, unafraid.

Roy had never seen a bird outside of children’s picture books. He knelt and offered a broot biscuit, hoping to tempt the creature closer.

The pink bird inched forward, curious.

Suddenly, the lake rippled violently. A giant salamander lunged upward, jaws wide enough to swallow the bird—and maybe Roy too.

The bird squawked and darted toward the shore.

Without thinking, Roy grabbed the rosy duck and sprinted as the salamander crashed after them, its massive limbs churning mud and water into a thunderous spray.

"Run first. Question later," Roy muttered under his breath.

And so he ran—into the unknown, the bird clutched to his chest.