Petra Stormborn's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

The infant lay in a woven basket at the base of what remained of Petra's old form. She hovered above it, wings beating fast enough to hum, small enough to rest on the baby's thumb. The child would die by morning without milk, without warmth. Petra had stood as stone for a thousand years, never bending, never learning what it meant to need. Now she was fragile as glass and this tiny human needed her. She landed on the basket's rim and gripped the woven straw with both hands. Her old body sat in two halves behind her, cracked down the middle, moss growing in the seams. People still left offerings there sometimes, expecting a guardian who no longer existed. Tonight someone had left this child instead. Petra flew to the scattered stones near her broken form and began dragging moss toward a clear space. Each clump was heavy as a pillow in her small hands. She worked until her wings ached, building a circle of stones and packing it thick with soft green moss and dried leaves. A bed small enough for an infant, sheltered by the very rocks that had once been her chest. The baby's cry grew weaker as she worked. Petra lifted the child from the basket, cradling the warm weight against her tiny body. She settled the infant into the cradle of stone and moss, then pressed herself against the baby's cheek. Her wings spread wide, catching what little warmth the night air held. By morning she would need milk, but for now she could offer this: the patience of stone and the fierce determination of something that had learned, too late, how to bend.