rning, and the leaves are spread all over the earth, everything dull and lifeless. Seven months of winter, is that too large a guess? Seven months of cold, lifeless barrenness? What if there is nothing beautiful in this oncoming death of winter. Seven months of it. Barren. Empty. Lifeless. There is no one around to lighten it, no village to celebrate with, no family to cheer. Just us, three of us alone in the vastness of the empty forest, and we know each other too well to cheer. There is only emptiness, and footsteps in the leaves."