The giant orange root would feed the village for a week. The hunters had outdone their previous efforts by finding the hundred pounder. It sat in the town square, awaiting butchery and eventual cooking. A wall of muddy orange, with small rooty tendrils on its sides, and the stump of a tree at the wide end.
Merely digging it up required herculean effort. Transporting it whole as well. And now it rests here, on trestles, waiting to be washed, buried, cooked, and eaten.
Already a crew was at work preparing a fire pit to slow roast the majority of it.
The succulent tip was already gone, so the hunters likely took their due when they lifted it clear of the ground.