I lied =] less than a week!

This chapter is basically just setting up for the real fun adventures which shall begin next chapter! Please excuse any dullness =]

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Weaver remembered running, flailing in the dark, through the trees, to Starling's skimmer. It hadn't snowed but the clouds were low, thick, bruised. She wouldn't see the snow fall.

Starling had torn through the branches to her skimmer, but she was remarkably gentle as she lifted Gyro onto the ride. Weaver had watched numbly, but her body ached. The skimmer roared. Starling had hauled her up, behind Gyro. Her breath lurched in time with the skimmer as it whipped through the trees. Flashes of deep green. Then the dark had opened up. The wide, cleared stretch of land in front was a black silhouette against the softly glowing sky that reared up from the edge of the terra. Then they were off the edge. Gravity relinquished its hold with a jerk.

They had flown, in the night, to a tiny wayside terra. The kind of place where they weren't even spared a half glance. Starling was deft with a bandage, Weaver noted. Gyro was sleeping. She was testing the sore spots on her arms, her back, her ribs. Wondered how colourful the bruises would be. Would there be anybody she could show them off to? Where were they going?

Flying was cold and bright. Sunlight pooled in the wide spaces between the silky clouds above and the darker, broiling clouds that screened the wastelands. The skimmer was slow but the air was calm as they hopped between terras. Once, Weaver saw the glinting bulk of an airship, cruising steadily through the clouds. Finally they reached a green place, with paved streets and white houses. Starling offered laughing words and smiles. Gyro was fussed over, lifted gently into a crisp room. Weaver found stumbling words of goodbye.

* * * * * * * * * *

Training started hard and got harder.

She grew to know sweat and ache and tiredness. They ingrained themselves into her life. Starling rose with the sun and worked until she collapsed, usually in a chair, into a deep unconsciousness. The Sky Knight slept with a frown on her face, a twinge at the corner of her mouth.

Weaver rose to the clanging of a hand on a metal bucket, until she developed an instinctive ability to wake a few seconds before the clanging. She heard the footsteps by the door and jerked into consciousness. Her days followed a worn routine; scoff bacon, learn sky fu. Scoff some sandwich-like concoction, run, and run, and run. Scoff dinner. It was the best meal. It had variety. Duel Starling. She had won, the first time. Walked with a swagger, thought she was ready.

Hah.

Starling had never let her leave the hard packed dirt area that served as a training arena without pressing a foot lightly onto her neck since. Sometimes locals watched. Usually they laughed, shook her hand.

Then, she fell into oblivion on her bed. It was a nice bed. That made getting out of it in the morning even crueller.

Sometimes, she asked herself why.

It seemed like a hard question. But it wasn't, really.

What else was there?

Gyro was on the clean, green terra. She presumed he was living there, somehow. And she was here, in this tiny house on Terra Atmosia. Where else was she going to go? What else could she achieve? It wasn't a matter of wanting anything. At least this way, she was gaining something. She was training under a Sky Knight- so that she could use that training against Cyclonians. Simple, actually. They'd smashed up her tavern. She could at least repay the favour.

But all the head slaps in the world couldn't break her of two habits that irritated Starling: her grin, and her instantaneous reaction in any awkward situation- she winked. The Sky Knight hated that.

"Mannerisms get you noticed. The Cyclonian you winked at in a battle might recognise you if you ever try to infiltrate a Talon camp. It will get you thrown into prison. Or killed." But the words, for all their wisdom, had no effect. She could not- would not- cease. She had picked them up from the reg'lars who used to frequent her tavern. They were her link.

Starling thought of Weaver as the basic wingman. She was no fool, and she was good. Both were truths. But she was not a leader. She performed best when there was someone there, who she trusted, who saw the big picture, directing her. That was what she was suited to.

The first thing Weaver begged for was a uniform.

It was granted, on the basis that it was a sensible request.

Then she asked when they'd start her real training.

Starling was running a finger down a chart on the wall. She'd been to see the Sky Council; they weren't pleased to learn about Weaver. Starling was their informant; if she was demobilized, that flow of information stopped. Weaver had tensed as Starling breezed through the door. Something was about to change. She could practically feel the Sky Knight crackling with new energy, new purpose.

"Ah...Starling?" She'd clambered out of the chair, reluctantly.

"Hmmmm...?" Starling's brow had contracted with focus. Her finger hovered over a portion of the chart that Weaver hadn't studied.

"I was wondering...when do we start on my actual training? The stuff you said you'd teach me, so I could be like a real Interceptor," Weaver bit her lip. The Sky Knight's old squadron was dangerous territory. "You know, disguise, stealth, resisting torture...err, making stuff up..."

She'd expected a head slap, at least. Possibly some kind of blasting about why she wasn't ready for anything like that, or why the training she was doing now was quite adequate, thank-you-very-much!

Starling turned to her. Her olive eyes were blazing. She was practically vibrating with energy. Weaver stumbled back, broke the eye connection.

"Well, now, if you'd like."

* * * * * * * * * *

That was around three years ago. Starling had trained her. Had even bought Weaver a skimmer- the girl loved that skimmer more than life. An Air Skimmer III. No squadron crest. That had cut a little.

Then Starling had left.

A mission. She'd refused to tell Weaver what it was. But the stubborn streak that had preserved the grin and the wink had stirred. Starling had reasoned, then acted superior. Told Weaver it was none of her damn business, and Starling hadn't trained her to be such an ignorant idiot. Wouldn't she rather not know, in case she was caught and interrogated?

Weaver didn't quite like that logic. She'd rather be interrogated about something she did know, so that she had something to refuse to tell them. It made it more bearable, she felt.

Finally- she was going undercover, in Cyclonia.

She told Weaver, in no uncertain way, that she was TO DO NOTHING until Starling got back. Which was why now, three years later, Weaver found herself crouching in the shade of a craggy rock on Terra Saharr, watching a Cyclonian mining camp through binoculars...

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I do apologize for the sheer awfulness of that chapter. But I promise, honest, that next chapter will actually be an exciting escapade involving Weaver and the Cyclonians. :3