It had been silent outside for so long that when she heard birdsong again she nearly locked herself back in the shelter. She crept to the window, peering through the wooden planks and cracked glass to see a single starling strangely perched on a pile of debris that certainly hadn't been there yesterday.
With well-practiced movements she slipped up the stairs, along the hallway, up the ropes and into the attic to get a better vantage point over the still-singing curiosity. There hadn't been birds since the beginning of it all, when the world was made to fall silent and the all the lands flooded.
And now, fifteen years of noiseless existence, not a single non-threatening lifeform to be found for miles around until today. Before she began adjusting her rifle scope, she prayed that this was a sign that things were turning for the better, that the world was somehow healing.
As her eyes refocused on the bird, she noticed, with great disappointment, that the debris was breathing and the bird was rotting. Holding back a sigh, she retreated to the far side of the attic to wait for the creature to grow bored and seek easier prey elsewhere.
The world was silent again by sundown.
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