As autumn crept through the forest, the sprite’s hair and skin drew into a golden shimmer. Excitedly, she marveled at the fiery highlights and new hues. Before long, even her slender wings had taken on a new palette of reds streaked with yellow-orange.

As October arrived, the sprite began weaving fungus into her trees.

Filaments tied to roots, soil gently enchanted, worms and other crawling bits so embedded, the forest would reclaim the leaf litter that had begun to fall. The months-long inhale of spring and summer had finally begun to exhale. The forest breathed a bit easier as the winds began to chill.

The sprite’s fingers drew glyphs into the bark, arranging patterns as easily as a pencil onto paper. In this way, she noted the tree’s health and left other notes for herself and any passing forest fey.

With a happy sigh, the sprite beat her gossamer wings and flew above the tree line. She watched ghosts draw into the forest, called by the season, called by the trees themselves. Spotting a group of old friends, she flew down to greet them.

As autumn matured, the sprite worked tirelessly to ensure the health and happiness of each tree, returning every few days to check up on them and make sure they were resting comfortably.

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