Sun Mote Copse breakfast, lunch and dinner's for beginners

When Cinder mentioned the leaves, Bat's gaze naturally drifted upward. They were still mostly green, attached to the boughs that shook ever so slightly in a cool breeze. But there were rashes of color: gold here, blood red over there. And the ones that sifted around their feet were brown and dried, clearly dead. Bat stirred a paw in the layer of detritus, weighing her newfound friend's question.

"I don't think I like the cold much," she said, "or the way it gets dark so much earlier. I liked the summertime." Her lips pressed together as a flood of memories threatened to crash over her head. She beat them back, locked them in a cabinet in some shadowy corner of her mind, and let out a low breath. "But the leaves are pretty. Do you think they all change color and fall off? Like," she wondered, scanning the treetops again, "will the trees be nekkid?"