Without Fear of Wind or Vertigo

by publiq

Wind, Spitfire's End

Two days before the full moon, the party was in Spitfire’s honor. Everypony slept hard that night in their yurts, cabins, and other assorted domiciles. At dawn, Spitfire quickly packed her saddlebags with the practiced efficiency of a military mare, then trotted out to examine the runway while saying her goodbyes.

After giving her hosts a show by taking off from the ground at a full gallop before a dramatic leap, Spitfire was most glad to fly high, as the flight suit she wore quickly became stiflingly warm on the ground. Soon, the village disappeared into a dot in the back of her wraparound vision, and she was every bit as free as the non-sentient birds and the mares who lived in the forest.

Her course would take her over the ocean, the one non-racing challenge for a Wonderbolt. Oceanic flight was for the long-winged slow pegasi—ones like Rainbow Dash’s friend. However, the shortcut cut the trip from five days with a stop in the kirin village and lots of trotting around to a maximum of three days of pure air.

As the land receded and her eyes saw only a deceptively still blue beneath her, the upper-level winds whisked her quickly toward home while sharply reminding her why she donned the stuffy suit that morning.

At long last, she saw the wall of clouds out of her right eye. Twenty-five minutes later, she stood atop the fragile cirrus to rest after a six-hour flight. As she rested, she examined the supplies in her saddlebags: namely, food. Dense energy bars and enough hay to push it through to where the nutrients get absorbed. Beneath her hooves and continuing as far as her right eye cared to see lay vast reserves of drinking water and pillows.

Spitfire paused before pulling out a gift from the Kzarina Prime Minister of the kiang. Some magical rectangle with attached ear plugs.

She removed the neutral plugs she had been using to attenuate the rushing winds and replaced them with the gift buds. The rectangle commanded the earbuds to sing themselves to life with Hi-NRG Italo Disco.

How could the Kzarina Prime Minister have known those were my favorite tunes? She thought. Did Luna clue them in?

Snack and stretch over, she packed her supplies and took off once again toward the afternoon sun, the wall of clouds to her right providing a comforting navigation aid.

---

Problems began as the sun made its preparations for descent below the horizon. She kept having flashes in the periphery of her right eye. Were they real or merely imagination?

Clouds now seemed to form their wall ahead of her. Even when she adjusted so that those were to her right, there was still a gathering wall of cloud in front.

The big warning she had gotten into trouble was the sudden lack of updrafts.

CRACK

The first bolt of lightning indicated the storm was now in session. Spitfire flapped and flapped to get ahead of the lashing rain, possibly hail. All Katherine’s hard work became undone as the precipitation punched holes in her feathers’ alignment coverage. Still, much like ground ponies fleeing a brush fire, the safest place to be is ahead. Jump or, in this case, fly through the thin, deadly danger, then enjoy relative safety where the potential energy has already been burnt. The tops of these clouds offered no protection, as unpredictable downdrafts could flush her into the downing depths below or smash her against an island.

1,000 gold shoes = 750 feet

Spitfire panted heavily as she broke through the eye wall into the central calm. A lone cloud floated a thousand gold shoes ahead of her, taunting her with respite from the buffeting winds. As she flapped toward it in the calm center, her wings began to ache.

They protested all the more as she pushed and pushed to raise the cloud to match the upper structures of the surrounding storm.

Finally, she landed on her sky island.

The clear sky above revealed the storm had blown her off course. Out of the convergence zone, but perhaps only a day and a half from Equestria’s shores.

Next, she checked her supplies. The magic rectangle continued to command her earbuds to sing. She turned down the volume, then paused the music. Her saddlebags were soaked, the food inside no longer good.

Spitfire imagined a rescue ship, then chuckled at the absurdity of the thought. No pony would suspect she was missing yet, let alone think to look in the eye of a popup hurricane. She would have to attempt the flight home with sore wings and an empty stomach once the storm dissipated.

As she peeled off the remains of her torn latex high altitude flight suit, some minor bruises on her flanks confirmed that she was hit with hail. The tattered plastic rags now her blanket, exhaustion put a sudden end to ruminating thoughts about what were to happen if the cloud on which she was marooned dissolved or if she lost energy before reaching shore.

Comments

[TCC56]

All Katherine’s hard work became undone as the precipitation punched holes in her feathers’ alignment coverage.

...Who the heck is Katherine?