"How many years?"
Lyle's hand trembled and he nearly knocked over his bowl. "Then doesn't that mean during the cold season..."
She nodded. "Exactly. If we can plant on a large scale, the tribe will never have to worry about running out of food during the cold season again."
The Priest's beard quivered in excitement. "Plant it, we must plant it—the harvest is much more reliable than hunting."
During the cold season, hunting yields little; there's almost nothing to find, and with the extreme cold, every year who knows how many elders, young ones, and females starve or freeze to death.
Even beastmen die in large numbers.
If the rice can truly be stored that long, then food will never be a problem again.
"But we don't have time to plant now."
