Stone Circle a robin said: the spring will never come,

Unlike his pale sister, Merrit's eyes had opened. They'd opened the morning before. But it would have been a surprise if anyone knew that. Nearly the moment they had parted, he'd squeezed them shut, overwhelmed by this change and the sensory overload. No, he could tell quite fine, thanks very much, through feeling and taste to need anything else. The darkness was good, it was fine. He'd been there this long already, surely he could stay there for forever.

Except that his newfound eyes didn't seem to want to cooperate in staying closed when flying things thudded square against his face.

With a rapid flutter, he blinked and scooted away, gripped more by the fear of his eyes being open than he really was about whatever had thwack'd him. As much as he squeezed his eyes shut against the light and tried to keep them closed, they kept opening anyway - and even worse, keeping them open was almost easier than keeping them closed.

Upset peeled through him, and Merrit swung his head around to scour for whoever had caused this. Which didn't take him long. He knew that whine, and now, had a form to couple it with. A smear of brown, smudged against the dark. With a pitched and throaty whine, he pushed his paws toward the blur with a clumsy thrust, not really aiming for anywhere in particular, and with no darker intent than bumping her with a shove, a motion a kin to what was that for?