Buds of emerald peeped from the tips of twigs, once threadbare and worn from bearing heavy loads of snow. The blood of the trees was flowing again, bringing beautiful life to their branches, creating homes for the dewdrops to rest on. Wet and new, each leaf unfurled into a bright and sunny world. Free from snow, grasses awoke to a world that was so dazzling it made them dazzle as well. Thickets of brambles unveiled new sprigs of floral beauty to hide their angry thorns.

Spring was rising from the darkest time of winter.

Moss could hear the young rabbits peeping below the earth. He could see the nests from which young lives would be making their début as new generations in the sun. They would never be lean with hunger here. The brook would thaw and babble, telling any who would listen of the goings-on beneath its rolling surface. The water was too cold to be entered, and too cold to reflect the sky above.

Chirps and cries of songbirds filled what blue the forest's inhabitants could see. Their ears filled with the joyous noises, only for it to spill out of their mouths as they giggled and played, or flirted with one another beneath willowshade. Sometimes hormones did not remember seasons, and that winter did indeed come after autumn and not the other way around. This was mostly the case with the newly-adorned bucks and the does of similar season. All in all it was heartwarming to see these things among the new generation.

From his standpoint on the edge of their world, the stag couldn't help but smile to himself. His own hormones felt confused, as it was also his first spring as a deer, though he knew why that was. Moss's own mind was that of one seasoned well. White antlers moved through the air as he swiveled to peer toward a big tree, covered in mushrooms.

Indeed, none would go hungry.