Close to the Thaeryx tribe’s village once stood a 3,000-year-old tree, held sacred by the Vhalandir. When its long life finally faded, the tribe mourned it as kin. From its last seeds, carefully gathered and blessed, they coaxed forth cheerful little Rootlings — each lovingly placed in a pot and tended with reverence.
 
Rootlings are not born in haste. They grow slowly, taking a decade or more before becoming young Saplings. In this fragile stage, the Vhalandir keep them content with sunshine, fresh soil enriched by the herds’ Fyr manure, and daily mists of morning dew. At dusk, the tribe gathers near, reading aloud and singing old songs; soft music drifts among the pots. The Rootlings never speak, but their leaves lift and curl gently, as though listening to every note.

It is said that each carries a fragment of the ancient tree’s spirit — a spark of its wisdom and memory — and that when a Rootling finally takes root in the wild, the forest itself leans closer, eager to welcome its child home.