It had been two days since the angel fell. The Bonesetter had splinted both its broken arm and wing, and bandaged its various cuts with all the skill he possessed, but the angel had fallen asleep, and hadn’t awoken until the second day, when my ginger cat, Andante, climbed onto the angel’s chest and fell asleep. The angel’s eyes fluttered opened, a startling green. Weren’t angels supposed to have blue eyes?
The angel murmured and clacked something to itself in its soft, precise language, and stroked the cat with its unbroken hand, smiling. Andante purred happily at the attention.
“Good morning,” I said, with not a little amount of awe. “How are you feeling?”
The angel cocked its head, and looked at me with a sad comprehension. It said something in its language that I could not understand.
“I don’t understand,” I said. The angel frowned. It murmured a few more things to itself, in various languages, and then chanced upon English.
“I am so sorry,” it said, and I saw tears in its green eyes.

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