Autumn comes. Maru sits among the leaves, pale green and gold. Each leaf is a tiny death, beautiful and terrifying. Hana ignores their agony as she frolics below. Youth has that luxury, he thinks.
Soon the leaves will fall to the ground, and someone will rake them. Perhaps they will be put into a box. Perhaps he will crawl into this box. This would be good. But perhaps the box will be too full of leaves, and there will not be room for him. The concern weighs upon his mind. Or possibly that is a leaf. This too concerns him.
This is, like, deep and stuff, Dana D. and Andrew Y.