Wind was cold as usual, rare was it that warmth blew through dense mountain range. Ancient pine trees reached for the sky, though none would pierce rain laden clouds. Stars could be seen in empty patches of sky as if dozens of silver arrows were shot into the heavens and never fallen. Trampled leaves of autumn colors blew down from the mountains while the clouds began to cry, only increasing the multitude of small ponds amongst the pine bases. Roots ran deep and far, earthen floor almost bare entirely of foliage of any sort, save few lichens and light shrubs bearing small, red fruits. There was no moon, much to the distressed howls from the rock mountainside. The time was nearing when it would emerge from pale recluse of starlit void.