The night came softly — a cool breath after the warmth of day. Verdalis swayed beneath the moonlight, her young leaves whispering in colors unseen by mortal eyes. Each shimmer was a note in the silent music of life, pulsing gold, green, and silver through the air.
The farm slept.
Roland's slow, even breathing reached her through the soil. His presence was warm and steady — the heartbeat of the land itself. Verdalis, feeling the deep hum of his magic through the ground, reached out with a tender curiosity.
He dreams, she realized.
Closing her inner sight, Verdalis sent a thread of light through the soil — a gentle pulse of divine sap, winding like a root through the earth, slipping beneath his home, and curling softly around his resting spirit.
The dream she entered was warm. Golden.
Roland stood in a vast field that stretched forever, filled with crops that shimmered like jewels — corn gleaming gold, wheat silver-tipped, fruits glowing softly like lanterns. Sol ran joyfully through the fields, tail a streak of sunlight. The air was full of laughter.
And there, at the heart of it all, she appeared.
A young tree, her trunk slender but radiant with divine color — emerald leaves tipped in violet, gold, and azure. Her bark pulsed faintly like living crystal, and light flowed through her veins like starlit sap.
"Farmer," Verdalis said, her voice like rain through sunlight — soft, musical, alive. "You dream beautifully."
Roland turned, blinking in wonder. "Verdalis…?"
She smiled, her branches trembling with excitement. "You can hear me! Oh — this is marvelous! I wasn't sure mortals could link through the dreamroots yet, but your magic feels so kind, so open." Her leaves shivered with laughter. "You're like sunshine with hands."
Roland chuckled quietly, unsure how to respond. "I suppose that's one way to say it."
Verdalis leaned forward slightly — not in body, but in presence, her colors deepening with emotion. "I can feel your care in the soil. Every seed you plant hums with joy. You remind me of Mother Frindle."
"Frindle… the one who sent you?"
The sapling's glow softened. "Yes. She was… vast. Her roots touched worlds, her breath made rivers bloom. But she grew tired — the world she lived in was dying. Before she slept, she gave me her memories, her inheritance."
Her voice became quiet, reverent. "I remember the cycles of growth and decay. How to listen to the soil's hunger. How to hum life into a seed so it awakens strong. How to speak to rain, to invite it kindly instead of demanding it."
As she spoke, her words painted visions around them — fields healing under moonlight, flowers blooming in cracked deserts, rivers widening to kiss thirsty roots. Each image glowed with divine tenderness.
"I'll share these things with you," she said earnestly, "if you'll teach me what it means to grow with love. Frindle was strong, but she never had someone like you. She gave life to worlds, but she never knew what it meant to feed one heart at a time."
Roland smiled softly. "That's… kind of you. I'm no god, Verdalis. Just a farmer."
"Exactly," she said, brightening. "You see what gods sometimes forget."
The dream wind stirred, carrying the scent of soil after rain. Roland crouched near her roots, placing a hand against her glowing trunk. "I want to help people," he said quietly. "To make food that fills more than just stomachs. I want no one to go hungry again — not the children, not the beasts, not the lost. If this farm can do that… then that's enough."
Verdalis was still for a moment. Then her leaves began to glow in a symphony of color — emerald and amber, amethyst and gold — swirling like aurora through the night sky.
"What a beautiful dream," she whispered. "Then let's make it real, together."
The dream trembled with gentle warmth — his hope, her roots, their bond deepening beneath the quiet gaze of the moon.
Roland watched as the young divine tree's light grew brighter, her laughter soft and full of life. She chatted endlessly about soil texture, moisture balance, the hum of worms, and how "plants like when you hum near them." He didn't interrupt — just listened, smiling faintly, his heart swelling with quiet pride.
When he finally woke, dawn was painting the sky in gold. Outside his window, Verdalis' leaves shimmered with dew — each drop catching the morning light like stars.
And though the world was silent, he swore he could still hear her voice in his mind, gentle and bright:
"Let's feed the world, Farmer. One root at a time."