In a world washed in white, he’d never blend in. The sun cast his shadow over every mountain and every valley, but night would come.
His old ally always came, always watched out for him, protected him. With the darkness he vanished. With the darkness he was less than a shadow. With the darkness he was a ghost surviving the desolate landscape.
All he need do is wait.
Perched high, he made not a move. His feathers fluffed against the icy chill. His yellow eyes hung wide to watch the world. His talons clutched the branch for balance. And he waited.
Inspired by artist Jean-Claude’s ‘Holy Night‘ from Deviantart.