Several days later, Ira and Dounia sprinted across the tarmac towards their plane, the lights of the airfield glaring and bright, obscuring the night beyond their reach. Other aviators were also running to their planes, dashing amongst the ground crew, hard at work getting them ready to fly.
Ira had taken time earlier to come by and put all the necessary spells on their little kukuruznik, repairing the shrapnel damage from their last run as best she could. Sometimes, she thought that magic was all that kept the hardy planes together.
Dounia climbed the wing and vaulted into the front cockpit. Without a word, she strapped herself in and pulled her goggles over her eyes. She hadn’t been talking to anyone lately. She had been avoiding Ira and Meow, answering their queries in a monosyllabic
