[This prompt struck me with an idea for an tale, so I "wove words" to start it. —RS]

I did not miss when the monster twitched in my hammock. I had my knife instantly in hand.

The last thing I'd expected to find in that days-old battlefield had been someone alive. A pall of smoke veiled the land. Cities had burned as war mania spread, consuming reason and millions of lives. Living isolated most of the year in the Cliftown mountains had saved me, but I was a professional scavenger. I'd had to fly to investigate when I'd seen explosions light the night sky days ago. Certain pyrotechnics required embedded miracles. Dead people didn't need their devices, meaning I could take them, study them; I did.

She moved a hoof, though her new leg was more of a puma's rear leg with the claws grown-together, thick and bulky.

Trees had lain bowled over, meadows burnt, road top heaved into rubble as I'd flown over it. Despite scarves, the stench and smoke turned my stomach. My scavenged wonder projected a quarter gravity arc ahead of me, sufficient to ward projectiles. I'd found it despite being a night angel because... well, that's a long story. Suffice it I sensed military treasures all around like embers in the night. It was a nearby blaze that drew my gaze.

Her.

In a battlefield.

Had the silent and broken-apart thousands died trying to kill the daemon? Or trying to protect her? A blue glow radiated from her crumpled body, protecting her. Dogs rushed away as I swooped down; crows raised a chorus of complaints as their dark cloud rose skyward.

It took a single relic to create my shield. Within her I sensed hundreds, like the thunderous buzz of a hive of bees. Gravity-armor of darkened bones snaked over her spine, over her shoulders, her head, and elsewhere. That wonder was the least of what I sensed. Her body hid a reliquary, its wonders having taken over after the life had been struck from her.

It rebuilt her. Probably.

A piece from this person. A piece from that person...

That a wonder could perform miracles intelligently was astounding and unheard of. That undoubtedly explained why I'd brought her to my hammock, stretched high in a tree growing from the valley wall. The opportunity to study it was too seductive. I expected the mechanisms to wind down like all clockworks did.

Human scavengers might arrive soon, too.

A folded silver-blue wing jerked open.

Her newly acquired twitchy day angel wings lacked flight feathers. I assumed her head determined who she was; the rest served as parts. Raven tresses framed her pale face. Much had been burnt off in the cataclysm. Down had begun growing. Her skin had pigment—beige-white, like aged bone—and was covered by fine black hairs.

I'd given her water. Reflex aided her to the extent it cost me a dozen refilled canteens—and turned me into an invalid's nurse as she fouled herself.

I persisted to learn how she could exist, why she was made. I wasn't able to feed her unless she woke, so I expected my wait wouldn't be long, one way or another.

The swelling and bruising incrementally subsided. Cuts healed and disappeared, leaving no scars. Her face, with me cleaning away blood and scabs, went from gaunt to pretty. Her expression relaxed into a kind faint smile. She had white daemon horns centered on her forehead; smooth, they would have circled her head like a two finger-width wreath. The left had been struck off by a blow. A thorn of a horn had regrown thus far.

Despite her being part daemon, day angel, and horseman, the chimera looked human. I judged her half my age, short of 25. So young to be wearing that priceless armor that stubbornly clung to her skin! How could she be a warrior general? How could she possess the wonders her body unconsciously wielded?

Her lips turned rosy. I began to hope I'd not have to end the monster's life with my knife. In actuality, I'd been too stupid and too curious to end her when she was vulnerable.

Cooling breezes rustled the leaves. Dappled light moved. Maybe it was enough to see my shadow where I perched beside her.

An arm shot out. She caught my wrist.

I tottered on my perch, snapping open my wings, flapping for balance. Her strength steadied me, causing the hammock to sway.

Crystal blue eyes caught mine, electrifying me. Her irises pulsed. She blinked as she struggled to focus on me.

I heard, "Who?"

Breathy. Like the wind. Pleasant, like a lover's voice.

Caught surprised, I wondered if she meant my name, then thought, of course she did. My name got caught on the tip of my tongue—

She clarified. "Who? Who am I?"

[She's Rainy Days. Always wanted to write an amnesiac romance. Author retains copyright(c)2023 by R.S.]

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