Twilight was fast apporaching, the last rays of light showing a myraid of colour which illuminated the mountains. An aged gnarled tree stood basking the rays of the dying sun. Its withered branches crept out from the tree itself, casting eerie shadows over the ground, seemingly tryying to pull itself away from where it was. The sky kept darkening, the sun vanishing, and eventually the tree reflected the colour of the sky, a dark black. The sun had done its job for that day, and would return only after the moon had graciously given up its place.