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It was green.

He knelt down to study the stalk, rubbing it between his fingers.

Everyone knew that proper grass was red. A blazing crimson stretching to the horizon.

But things were different out here. Different suns, different light spectrums. Different chemical compositions to the soil.

He raised the stalk to his nose, then reared back at the sharp green smell. He preferred the soft cinnamon smell of the grass back home.

He dropped the stalk and stood up. He breathed in a deep lungful of the fresh air. Ah! But he had to admit, this planet smelled amazing after a rain shower.


He turned to find his granddaughter poking her head out of the TARDIS doors.

“Is it safe?” she asked.

He smiled and held out his arm to her.

“Yes, my child. Come and see.”

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