It 's raining. Levi is half-soaked from his walk from the stables. There 's a light shining from the office, four rooms up and two along; a shadow at the window. It stares at him.

Levi readjusts his pack on his shoulder, feels his chest clench. There 's no mistaking the shape of the shadow - he would recognise it in his sleep, he 'd recognise it dead. He 's seen it imprinted against his eyelids every time he shuts them. Levi raises his hand in greeting, a welcome, foolishly informal, after all this time.

The shadow watches him. And then slowly, stiffly, as if using muscles it has not used in some time - it waves back.