Bumble Piewright had one pie tree and a dream too big for it. He wanted a whole grove, enough pies to fill every belly in Fern Gully. But his crooked straw hut already sagged under the pies he couldn't sell. The single tree gave more fruit than he could eat, yet it could never feed a hungry gully alone. To grow a grove, Bumble needed a second tree. To grow a second tree, he needed a seed. And he had none. He searched the ground beneath his tree on his knees. His huge fingers sifted the dirt for anything he could plant. He found beetles, pebbles, and one lost spoon. No seed. The fruit his tree dropped rotted into mush without ever holding a pit he could grow. "A grove from one tree," Bumble muttered. "You can't stack pies into a forest." Then he remembered the old squirrel in the pine. Aldernook Pinecrest lived high in a pine tree, tidy as a locked cupboard. Every creature in Fern Gully knew he hoarded pie tree seeds and traded them for almost nothing. Almost. Bumble had heard the price for years and dreaded it. The squirrel wanted one thing, and only one thing. Bumble baked all night. He picked the ripest fruit and worked the crust with hands too big for the task. By morning he carried a fresh apple pie up to the pine, still warm, cradled like a nervous egg. "Aldernook!" Bumble called. "I've come to trade!" The squirrel poked his head from a round door in the trunk. He wore a green robe and a necklace of acorns. His eyes went straight to the pie, then narrowed. "Trade," Aldernook said. He climbed down and circled the pie three times, sniffing. "Fresh. Apple. Warm." He tapped the crust with one claw. "An ogre who bakes. The world is full of surprises." "One pie for one seed," Bumble said. "That's the deal, yes?" Aldernook lifted a paw. "That was the deal. But I have only my last seed now. The wild pie trees don't drop them like they used to." He patted his tidy cache in the branches. "One seed left. And you want to plant a whole grove." Bumble's heart sank. One seed made one tree. Not a grove. "Take it anyway," Bumble said. He set the pie down gently. "One tree is more than one. I'll start with one." The squirrel considered. Then he took the pie, bit in, and closed his eyes. "Deal." He fetched a single brown seed and pressed it into Bumble's open palm. Bumble closed his fingers around it. He had his seed. But he also had the squirrel's words stuck in his ears. This was the last one. The wild trees weren't dropping seeds anymore. One seed would grow one tree. To feed all of Fern Gully, Bumble needed hundreds. And now he knew there were no more to trade for.

Bumble Piewright held the last seed in his palm and stared at it for hours. One seed. No more to trade for. He could not risk planting it wrong. So he asked the only creature who traded in seeds. The old squirrel in the pine told him a hard truth: pie seeds were stubborn. A raw seed rotted in the ground. This one needed roasting in dragon fire first, then soaking in living water. Get either step wrong, and the seed would die. So Bumble climbed to the mountain cave. Inside, a cold cauldron sat over dead coals. Beside it curled a tiny green dragon, no bigger than a cat, his wings folded tight. Ember Sweetscale did not lift his head. "You want fire," the dragon said. "Everyone wants fire." He rubbed his throat with one small claw. "It scorches me raw for days. I won't do it for nothing." Bumble knelt by the cauldron. "What would you take?" "Maple syrup elixir," Ember said. "It coats my throat. Then fire stops hurting." He nosed toward the cave mouth. "There's a maple down the slope. Get syrup. Then we talk." Bumble found the maple with a peg tapped into its trunk and a bucket hung beneath. A tree nymph stood before it, arms crossed, orange leaves bristling around her face. She stepped between Bumble and the bucket. "No," said Syla Maplebark. "You bring plain water, you get nothing. Plain water is dead. My tree tastes the difference." She tapped the trunk. "Bring moonwater. Living water. Then I fill your bucket." "Where do I find moonwater?" Bumble asked. She studied him a long moment. "A pool. Past the ridge, low in the rocks." She said no more. Bumble followed her words to a stone basin. Pale water glowed on its surface, soft as a low moon. He filled a bucket carefully and carried it back to the maple. Syla dipped one finger, tasted, and nodded once. She turned the peg. Golden syrup ran into the bucket. She handed it to Bumble without a word. Bumble hauled the syrup up to the cave. Ember drank the elixir, worked his throat, then grinned. "Better." He drew a breath and blew a thin jet of fire under the cauldron. Bumble dropped the seed in. It hissed, cracked, and split its brown shell clean. "Now the living water," Ember rasped. Bumble had saved the last of the moonwater. He poured it over the roasted seed. The seed drank it and swelled, its shell peeling back to show a pale green shoot. Bumble carried the sprouted seed home and pressed it into warm dirt beside his tree. It stood, a thread of green. He had done it. He had one more tree coming. But he understood the cost now. Every seed needed dragon fire and living moonwater. His own creek ran dry. To grow a grove, he would need moonwater by the barrel, and he had just used the last drop.