As the sun rose from its sleep, it woke the leaves which flew about the Autumn morning. The rain overnight had caused the grass and trees to be lightly sprinkled in dew drops like a child's tears from the past. The warmth from the sun had now overcome the cold nights air. In front of his eyes, the mist swirled curling its fingers around the trees trunks.

In the distance, the sun shone against the chateaus' turrets. Its beautiful colours brightened as the day began. The sky was a pale white colour, like milk. Looking at the blinding brightness overhead, the sun rose from behind the snowy mountains.

As the sun rose, an old, exhausted man strolled along the rivers and trees. Upon his head was a hat that was being held together by bits of braches and dirt and was a rusty colour. Looking miserable, his face was looking down to his torn, shabby blue jacket. Leaning down from the weight of his backpack , which was slung over his shoulder because its straps were torn and cut from the nettles and bushes from early on. It was filled with his treasures - his only belongings. As the breeze blew, upon his scared chest, was a shrivelled, un-kept jacket that was thin and short of thread to hold it together.