Drabble: Storm Winds

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I had been in Pittsburgh, as the humans say, for a coon’s age, when I first saw her. We elves say “nae hae” but what we’re both saying is “we’re too shit lazy to figure it out.” I think it was a month before everything went to hell and back, so it means that she would have been seventeen.

I had been to the hoverbike races before, had seen her race before, and even knew her name—how couldn’t I as the crowd chanted it when she won? But usually she was just a roar of engine, a blur of motion, and a small figure muscling a flying piece of steel through impossible maneuvers.

This time I was down by the pits. I was debating on moving. This close and the bikes flashed by in a heartbeat, and vanished around the bend. And yet, part of my talent was whispering to me, “stay here, stay here, this is important.” So I lingered, wondering what could possibly be important in this loud, pulsing celebration of human recklessness?

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