For this
The pronghorn bounded in the Forest, holding his head up curiously. The leaves haven't fallen. "It's too late for all of this...", he said to himself and the surrounding trees.
Pent approached one of the older trees, tilting his head at it, "Why do you retain your leaves? Have you forgotten the seasons? The Autumn tradition is for the trees to give up their leaves. So why do you keep them?"
The tree spoke to him, and he tilted his head once more. "My silly friend, there is no shame in giving them away. It's their time to go. You should know that, of all the trees in the Forest, you should be well aware that you will have new leaves by the Spring."
Pent continued, "Don't forget the cycle, all of us must go through it. Birds, deer, trees, grass, fish, bugs...every one of us will find our resting time. But death is not the end, as the moment we die, a brand new soul is born. The same goes for your leaves. They have worked so very hard this year, but it is their time to die, and when they fall, new leaves will come."
The tree spoke once again. Pent gave a slight smile, "Am I worried about dying? Haven't you been listening to me? When I die, a new fawn will be born. Now doesn't that sound beautiful? Never be afraid of the things to come, my friend."
The pronghorn bowed and walked off, looking to the other trees. He would begin to explain it to each and every one of the trees who kept their leaves.
Never be afraid of the things to come...
