They drop out of the sky like bombs and weave between the high stalks, pollen falling around them like bright summer snow.  Ryold shrugs his lance higher.  His hummingbird’s wings churn the air into blur.

They fall into formation for the approach.  Briawn, his second, shouts at him through a leaf-cone.  “What’s the twenty on Gold Squadron?” she bellows.

“They should be coming in a few seconds before us.  Eyes open.”

There is a calm, the canopy of flowers beautiful in the sun.

Then the fray, into the clearing, and the air thickens with buzzing.  Above, the Hive looms.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: