It wasn't until the two friends crossed the river that they truly knew they'd entered unknown territory.
"Arrow, I just realized: I've never been on this side of the river!" Paint exclaimed with delight as they continued walking. "Even the other side I've only been up to that one time I tagged along with you and your dad when you were fishing. Didn't have the heart to drag you two any further out since I hadn't even been invited. Well, that era's gone now!"
"I've never been any further than that, either," Arrowhead disclosed, "even though I've been up to it a few times. I guess we are pretty set in our ways."
"Now that is why I take the onerous task upon my frail self to keep you by my side, little boy!" Paint ribbed. "Not enough natural drive for exploration! Ah, don't feel bad; I've rather enjoyed the process of building my trusty sidekick into a strong, courageous maverick."
"We're only a hundred meters or so in..."
Their journey continued without spectacle for a mile or two until they came to a sudden and rather steep hill. It wasn't a cliff, nor would it even be especially hard to scale on their way back, but it afforded them a spectacular view. From the top of it, miles of rolling waves of colorful trees and rock formations showed themselves. It was all very inviting, and so Paint and Arrowhead walked, hopped, and dropped as necessary to reach the bottom and be surrounded by it all. They weren't far enough from home for the foliage to be of unfamiliar varieties, but they'd scarcely seen so much of it presented so well. Paint found herself a little proud of her botanical heritage.
"Paint, I've never seen..." Arrowhead, normally more articulate, trailed off in wonder.
"I know!" she chimed in. "We plants certainly have our moments."
As the incline plateaued out completely, they noticed a creek snaking around the tree-speckled meadow. Having had nothing to drink in hours, they gleefully sipped from it. Paint realized she was too hot in the now-bleaching sun, so she let herself tumble headfirst into the water and become drenched entirely. As toads are well-suited to such things, Arrowhead joined her. It was a surprisingly agreeable sensation to sit on top of rocks while mostly submerged in cold water - especially with one's best friend.
"Thanks for letting me coerce you into coming along," Paint said, genuinely happy to have her best friend along for something like this.
"Hey, I never protested! I said I had nothing to do, which I didn't, so here we are!"
"Good! Looks like my bad influences have taken root in your head already! The transformation's well underway: Arrowhead the Toad is learning to live!"
He tittered at that, but if this was what being Paint was like on a good day, he wouldn't have minded more.
"Arrow, we should t..." Something was happening. "Do you... hear something?"
He did. It wasn't too far off, either, and it was definitively approaching. "Yeah."
She wasn't sure whether to be scared by the noise of something coming, but she had a sense they'd want to be ready for it either way. Instinctively, she rose from the water, wiping away a few rocks that had clung to her fur and naked skin, and Arrowhead did likewise. In something between wonder and a sinister trance, they slowly, methodically approached the sound, inviting its carrier up to them.
"Hey, Paint, what do you think that is?"
"I'm not sure. It could b- AAAAGH!"
Panic flooded them: it was a robot about twice their height. Its right arm housed a gun that looked to exactly fit the bullet shell they'd found the previous day. It was Eggman's, and it wanted them.
"ARROW, L-LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" she shouted. She grabbed his hand to skedaddle but noticed some resistance. Did he not want to live? Was her best friend okay with being blasted apart by a being they should have considered themselves lucky to find a piece of, which should've been warning enough?
"WE HAVE TO GO! THAT THING'S GONNA... uh..." Her yell dulled. He wasn't moving, and the understanding came to her, too: it wasn't about to shoot them.
"What's it doing...?" she muttered. The robot slowed as it met them before coming to a halt entirely, a comfortable few feet of personal space away.
"It looks curious," he mused. The robot didn't seem to want to hurt them. Its mind was active; that much was certain by the cameras visibly rotating and refocusing inside its two eyes, as well as its shifting, panning, inquisitive head. But its plans for them appeared to stop at "analyze" - or even "befriend". Its armed arm was down and wasn't heating up for firing, nor was the robot about to set any nets or other traps on them.
"What do you want, robot?" Paint asked, still timid and in defense.
It squealed and whirred.