Bruised clouds throbbed beneath her. Rainbow Dash’s skin prickled in the electrifying air.
A lightning bolt tore the sky apart. She reeled. All she could see was lightning.
Yet she couldn’t see Lightning. Where was Lightning Dust? Where?
Breathless, afraid, she stared.
The dark storm raged beneath her—but there! There!
There she was. Every detail of her outline shone against the darkness, from the curve of her slack muzzle to the sweep of her limp, outstretched wings.
There she was. A turquoise arrow with a golden head, swallowed by the roiling storm. Lightning Dust.
Falling.
Dash dropped, muscles afire, plunging through buffeting winds. Pressure built around her leaden legs, her straining wings, her desperate heart. The atmosphere bent around her, piercing the storm’s heart, clouds sloughing off behind her.
Then a flash.
Colour, everywhere.
Within her embrace, Lightning Dust—cold, wet, still.
Murmuring.
“Rainbow Dash,” she said.
Alive.