Here's how I decided to start off that story.
That one beam. There was always that one little beam of sunlight. It blazed like an arrow swiftly and accurately to strike its target. Kretchet stretched his wings. The dawn was beginning to filter through the canopy, and like every morning, there was a shaft of light aimed directly at his retina. “I’m up, I’m up,” the gyrfalcon grumbled, and took to his wings. Kretchet landed on an adjacent lower branch. He hiked a leg over his wing and yawned as he scratched his head. He could hear the rest of Cressleigh waking to the sunlight as well. The songbirds were stretching their voices, the partridges were beginning to shuffle about in the leaf litter, and down by the stream he could hear the kingfishers splashing into the brisk waters. With another stretch and a brisk shake of his wings, he
then i stopped mid-sentence because i was stuck and went to write other parts of the story that i actually had ideas for