Dawn had risen, but it was covered by the clouds and mist. Markov Lorickson narrowed his eyes as the plane approached Paradise at a dangerously low altitude. The encroaching storm had made the flight in risky, though the pilot had insisted the appropriate term was ‘suicidal’. It was divine intervention alone that was allowing them to avoid being plowed into the sea, wind shears and ferocious gales guided away by the six wings of the archangel before them. The pilot was more than a little bit tense, but with God as his co-pilot, Lorickson was not going to let him bitch and moan.
hellskitchensink 