The forest wears its autumn coat. Reds and golds swirl down from every branch, rustling, rustling, rustling.
Rino pats the bare dirt where his chestnut pile used to be. Empty. Just a dusty circle. "Where are they?" he whispers.
A single red leaf drops — plop — right on his nose. Rino sneezes. The leaf tumbles off and lands on a twig.
Rino tugs Squirrel's tail. "You see my chestnuts?" Thup, thup, thup — acorns rain from her fur as she shakes her head.
Rino stomps to the stream and pokes the water. Frog blinks up from a lily pad. "No chestnuts here, little hedgehog."
Rino plops under the big oak, chin resting on his paws. Red, orange, gold leaves keep falling. Swish, swish, swish.
A gust tugs his quills flat against his back. Whooosh. Rino shuffles forward, whiskers standing straight like little antennas.
The wind howls. Every leaf spirals up in a whirling storm of red and gold. Underneath, brown and bumpy, five chestnuts pop up. Rino's eyes go round. "Oh!"
Rino cracks a chestnut against a rock. CRACK. Crumbs dust his nose. Squirrel plops down with a single acorn.
They munch side by side as the forest swishes red and gold. Rino tucks one chestnut back under a curled leaf. For next year, he thinks.
