Five years went by since the tragedy that befell the land of Roselake. The season that radiated warmth, optimism, and positive energy, in time, embodied to be temperate, snowy, and bejeweled with frost.
In times, the trees - the antler-shaped branches with mint-green leaves, bloomed to a paradise-green, and the branches like Neptune's fork, to a bonfire-reds and sunflame-gold and sprouted to have become bare of a leaf. Meaning old, deflowered leaves withered in the trees as years went by.
They got taller and stronger.
It was early in the morning, stretching to sunset where the sun was still bathing in color. As hours ticked one after the other, the day began for the merchants and traders to a beautiful Tuesday morning.
Conquered by the Empire of Devonshire, Roselake now becoming one of its subordinates, had left Heathmoor as a whole.
