Work Text:
Ravenpaw watched dawn come.
It was winter, and the sunrise was not beautiful. It was little more than slowly strengthening white light. Ravenpaw couldn’t see the sun.
He heard Barley clambering up beside him, so he didn’t startle when he called out;
“Good morning, Ravenpaw.”
Ravenpaw turned. Saw him. Saw his fur fluffed up against the stiff breeze, his whiskers stirring gently. Saw the barest twitch of his tail tip. He stood, turning from the grey vista.
“Good morning.” He answered.
The two of them were nothing but dark shapes against the empty sky, no different to the weather vane.