Author's Note: This prompt was suggested by CrimsonChaos.


W is for Warning


Working the land had given Dusty a unique view of the sky. Like most vehicles who worked in agriculture, he had learned to pay attention to the angle of the leaves and the color of the soils. He could feel the changes of sunrays hitting his wings as the season turned and could hear wind shift long before the air started to swirl around him.

It was a skill grown out of experience and instinct, and it was knowledge that had saved his life many, many times in the past. So even though the weather report let Dusty know that he had enough time to get all of his work done this morning, he couldn't help but see the reds, pinks, and oranges stretching across the sky as anything but a harbinger of danger.

Given coming weather patterns there would be no pesticide or fertilizer application, but there would be seed to lay down if Dusty could find scout a safe line to lay it. Still, his instincts screamed that the window of safe, low level flight was narrow and closing.

"Red sky in morning, a sailors warning." Dusty muttered to the sky as he pointed his nose towards the end of the runway. The sooner he got the days work completed, the sooner his tires would get back on the ground, and sooner he could safely get hold up in his hanger…and Dusty really wanted to be in his hanger when Mother Nature sent the storm.