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?"