The first early morning rays of light split the crisp winter air, as the sun peaked the furthest summit. Slowly, the beams spread through the trees, lighting on the tiny ice crystals, frozen in their reaches overnight, and all was still. Then, quietly, the first life woke. Somewhere, lost in the trees, a being stirred, stretched the cold and sleep out of its limbs, and let cry a tiny call, so faint, one could miss it at any moment but now. A call heard across the wood, Then, again, all was still, as if nothing had ever happened. Then, the forest was alive, birds flew from their roosts and took to the sky, the scrabbling of claws was heard as a squirrel made its way down a slippery tree. Wings were stretched, and fur warmed.