Harvest

The October wind blows your skin as cold and arid as the distant, bare sky, showering you with feather-light leaves in amber and crimson. Parvati carefully plucks each one off your skin as they land, rearranging them in artful lines across your wool-clad body. Her fingertips feel cool and very smooth when they position a five-pointed oak leaf, resting it like a dagger across your neck.