"Other dungeons before me?" Reed stated confused and surprised. "Am I not the first avatar of this dungeon core?"
The Dryad ignored his question. She inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring.
"You smell delicious," she purred. "Like cold fire. And you..."
She looked past Reed, locking her black eyes on Grika.
"You smell like lightning. Crunchy. Spicy."
Grika made a small, growling sound and raised her wrench. "Stop smelling me, salad-lady!"
"State your business," Reed commanded, his voice hardening. "Why have you breached the seal?"
"The Mother sent me," the Dryad curtsied, a mockery of polite society. "She demands... tribute. The soil is dry. The roots are thirsty. We require fertilizer."
Reed narrowed his eyes. "Fertilizer?"
"Yes," the Dryad smiled wider. "Nitrogen. Phosphorus. Calcium. The usual."
Reed considered this. He had a literal ton of waste from the Orc latrines and the kitchen compost. If the plant-lady just wanted manure, he could arrange a trade deal.
