Amid the rolling hills to the south of the tribe, under a canopy of azure skies, Logan and Cobos, two towering figures of the wolf beastman lineage, ventured to explore the hillside now teeming with new growth. This landscape, a sprawling network of gentle slopes and rich earth, had transformed into a verdant tapestry of agricultural promise.
The wild grass that once towered over two meters high had been meticulously cleared, revealing a checkerboard of planting pits, each strategically spaced about four or five meters apart. Within these nurturing cradles of soft soil, young fruit tree seedlings thrust upward, their fledgling branches dancing lightly in the breeze.
The citrus scent of orange trees permeated the air, the green leaves vibrant against the backdrop of the earth.
"These saplings," Logan inquired, his voice resonant and curious as he surveyed the orderly rows, "have any succumbed to the change in environment?"
Around him, the tribe had invested in a myriad of fruit tree varieties, adding a thousand plants from the mystical system mall to their local flora, ensuring diversity in their cultivation.
"Indeed, this hill vein is an ideal cradle for our orchard," Logan mused aloud, his eyes reflecting the lush greenery.
Cobos, his companion, whose skills often lay hidden behind his unassuming demeanor, replied with a confident shake of his head. "No, Chief. Although the soil here challenges us, the depth and breadth of each pit have been tailored to guarantee the trees' survival. Initially, we irrigated these saplings bi-daily.
Now, with their roots firmly established, a more forgiving schedule of every three to five days suffices."
He paused, adding, "Furthermore, the germination rate of the seeds has exceeded 90%, a testament to the quality of our efforts and selections."
The conversation then took a turn towards another of their horticultural ventures. "Cobos, where have the grapevines been planted?" Logan inquired, his interest piqued as he envisioned rows of grape clusters destined for wine.
Cobos gestured towards the west, where the silhouette of diligent workers dotted the horizon. "Just there, not more than a couple of miles away."
As they approached, the scene unfolded. The grapevines, initially mere seedlings, now stretched several meters in length, their robust vines claiming the space generously allotted to them. Logan admired the foresight in spacing, crucial for their sprawling nature.
"Excellent," he praised, his voice imbued with satisfaction. "Much like the vines of sweet potatoes, these grapes will thrive, sprawling freely. It's vital they have room to grow, to reach their full potential without constraint."
This visionary project on the hills south of the tribe was not just an exercise in agriculture, but a deep, resonant testament to the werewolves' connection to their land and their forward-thinking stewardship.
"How about this," Logan suggested with a smile, "when the time comes, come to me and I'll give you a written guide on grape cultivation." His offer stemmed from the fact that he remembered the details of grape growing and shared them offhand while teaching Cobos to prune.
"Grapes grow swiftly," he continued, his gaze sweeping over the burgeoning trellises. "Within a month, these structures will likely be shrouded in vines. And given all the responsibilities I manage for the tribe, I might not retain every detail by then."
"Understood!" Cobos responded earnestly, well aware of the significance of the grapevines to the tribe's prospects. Such responsibilities were not taken lightly.
As they walked, Logan surveyed the expansive hills stretching toward a distant river. "This hill extends all the way to the river, doesn't it? It's a vast stretch, yet we aren't farming it."
"Yes, it's large, but unfortunately not suitable for farming," Cobos confirmed with a nod.
Logan frowned slightly, his thoughts racing ahead. "With such an expanse, the southern wasteland still isn't sufficient for you to develop?" His tone bore a hint of challenge, an edge that spurred Cobos's silent rebuttal, though he kept his thoughts unvoiced to avoid any contention.
"It's not a waste," Logan mused, shifting gears. "If we can't plow it, let's cover it with fruit trees. I envision turning these hills into a flourishing orchard for our tribe."
That idea sparked a vision of transforming the landscape into a vast, productive orchard, turning what was once underutilized land into a source of wealth with rows of fruit trees yielding abundant harvests.
"Come see me tomorrow," Logan instructed firmly. "I'll have a new batch of fruit tree seedlings ready. We'll plant them across these hills. We have the manpower; let's put it to good use."
"Yes, Chief!" Cobos replied, his curiosity piqued about the origins of these exotic-sounding seedlings and the secrets Logan seemed to hold.
As they walked, Logan remembered another matter. "Actually, I came looking for you because I have something else in mind." He produced a bag filled with various seeds. "These are flower seeds, more than a dozen varieties. Find a plot for them."
Flowers? Cobos wondered silently, baffled. "Why flowers?"
"These aren't just any flowers," Logan explained, a serious undertone in his voice. "They are as crucial as the grapevines. They're part of a broader strategy for the tribe's future."
Once again, the weight of the tribe's future seemed to hang in the balance with every new project Logan initiated. Cobos looked at him, a mix of admiration and bewilderment on his face. Every task Logan assigned bore significant importance, each as critical as the next in the eyes of their visionary chief.