Not that it mattered that much. They both liked to go hiking during the Cold times. Especially after all the leaves fell. There was something special about that. Wet leaves. Brown, and orange, and yellow and green again. It made for the perfect hike through the woods. All those Trees, Dead... Naked has they could be, But you keep on walking on that damp trail, And you walk by that damp naked house, Maybe two hundred years old? Maybe one hundred years old? Maybe fifty years old? It does not matter. You see it. The Home itself has fallen into Fall. Rotting slowly into Winter. Nobody has lived there... Beams are rotten. Windows lacking. And if you slept there just for a moment. You would die of cold. Or maybe a Witch. But you would certainly be alone.