Prism Harrier

For nine days Saint Michael's robe had been missing a patch of blue. The parishioners blamed the glazier. At sunset the color left the window and took a swallow across the nave without breaking any glass.

We set mirrors along the rood screen. The Harrier appeared in pieces: amber beak, green wing, talons bent through violet. We followed the bright pieces. It struck from the dull red behind us, casting seven shadows.

Elian threw soot across the floor. With no clean hue left to hide in, it became a lean, featherless body covered in crystal quills. It fled through the rose window. The saints stayed colorless until morning.

It learns which hues an observer ignores. Those hold parts of its body while a brighter decoy takes the eye. The pieces approach from separate angles and meet at impact. Flat gray cloth forces them together. Mud and soot work too, as can fog.

It fiercely defends stained glass. A rotating prism can lure it. Breaking a mirror does not drive it off: regular reflections give it more hiding places. Randomly moving colors are safer than a balanced pattern.