You squint against the sun as it glints off the frost shimmering on the grass.
Your sleeves are damp from brushing through tangled branches, and each step crunches over a carpet of fallen leaves.
A chill breeze whispers through the forest, making you shiver. The air is thick with the earthy scent of damp moss and decay—a quiet sign that winter is near.
Soon, only the conifers will keep their green.
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