As much as he was enraptured by flying, he never quite got over the sheer exhilaration of flying like that damnable Han did – so much so, that he fought lividly against the urge to puke into the streamlined wingspan of the she-dragon.
While fighting to keep his face void of all emotion, he never realized how the air currents were picking up. How the cotton clouds suddenly took on a menacingly blue-black hue.
And all at once, they were diving. Dodging. Looping around wind intent on hurling them to the unknowns below. The ghastly clouds pressed in on all sides, stifling what little breath he could manage while still holding fast to his immovable features. And he could tell, with surmounting apprehension, that the she-dragon – with Damnable Han clinging fiercely to her neck spikes – was losing the battle against the storm. What was that naive, irresponsible, aloof, imbecile of an adolescent god of clouds thinking?!
It was undeniable: they were heading down to the thrashing waves waiting greedily beneath them.