Late autumn.
The green layer of coating covering the tall, uneven mountain ranges had withdrawn and was replaced by a dress of crimson. Rhode sauntered across the field of red maple leaves, his footsteps resounding in the cracking of the dried leaves. In a single glance, he was surrounded by complete redness. Even though the vast prairie that grew over the land was about to step down from the main stage, the scattered maple leaves were as though stage curtains stopping the perfect actors from exiting. The curtains waited quietly for the actors to return to the stage for another magnificent performance. This was the cycle of the world. From beginning to end, the rhythm never changed.
The aromatic scent of chestnut wafted in the air. Its fragrance left one salivating.
"Everything will eventually grow and mature, Your Majesty Rhode."
