Raven was waiting.
The burned out landscape was a miniscule portion of the vast pine forest; the near-cremains of the trees a welcome respite from the tyranny of green just a few hundred yards away.
Waiting for mice? Renewal? Raven was jaded enough to appreciate the benefits of a fire, unfortunate temporary loss of habitat aside. There were many denuded branches on which to alight once the flames had cooled, and views unhindered by needles, leaves or nests.
All within a few flaps of wings from the tree was visible. Raven was unmoved, a statuary unresponsive to the life emerging from the fire’s work as the afternoon wore on. There was only the waiting.