Field And Stream Wisps of acrid smoke shimmer inthe shy rays of the rising sun.Crows like motes in a bleary eyecircle, hypnotized by the smell of burntflesh and glint of twisted metal. A broad stream runs through the fieldand in its icy depths a slender figurestruggles, her rose-tinted gills flutteringweakly, born down as she is by theunforgiving weight of modern arms.   The Aggregate…