You reach to pluck up the beet. It snags on a loose pocket thread.
You set it gently at the feet of the merciful guardian and await the beast's judgement of your sublime gift. "This is the best beet I've ever seen. You may go on. Beware, small one. There are other guardians in these woods. My fell countenance is the friendliest you'll find here."
The beast beckons toward a clearing up ahead, your eyes following the motion to the distant gap in the trees. You turn back to say goodbye to the dude with the good juice, but find that you're alone.
You move on.