Dagny Spear-of-Huginn Eriksen

Something smacked against the window I was sleeping against. It sounded huge, made a crack like it meant to break clean through the space-plastic they use in airplanes these days. But, it didn't. It was snowing like absolute hell. Hailing, even. And at this altitude, the hail was still the size of a fist.

It absolutely pummeled the plane as it bored its way through the night-storm, rocketing over the sleeping country below. The States. Of course, it had been on the news. There was enough wrong with the United States that made the rest of the world turn and look, and often laugh. I'll be honest. Even I laughed at it while abroad. Never was much of a patriot when it came to mundane borders. But, like the idiot cousin was still a member of the family, the U.S. was still 'home'.

I jerked my head sideways, giving my neck a rough crack that made the person next to me jump in their seat. A small man with thin-framed glasses reading the Wall-Street journal. His suit looked expensive. So did the watch on his wrist.

Pathetic. I hated him on sight. I bet he was the kind of man that thought he was powerful because of the digits in his bank account.

Looking out the window, I could see breaks in the clouds. It was snowing at this altitude, but down below it was probably only coming down as rain. St. Claire was just as affected by the strange winter as the rest of the planet, I was betting. Not a lot of snow. More rain. Mud.

Rain, I remembered. It rained like hell the day I left.

( What the hell happened to you? )