—Joren, blacksmith * * * When the airfield at Sparrowport came into view, Riette's heart sank. They were too late. Debris covered the airstrips, and some were almost completely destroyed, looking as if they had been blown up by massive bombs. Beyond, Sparrowport proper lay in ruin. The sight instantly brought tears to her eyes. The life of every person she knew was now in question. By the looks of things, they might all be dead. A thousand years of architecture had been reduced to piles of rock and plaster. Bronson made the wide turn to line up with the airstrip. Riette hoped he wouldn't attempt to land. Slowing, the plane soared over the airfields. "It's one of ours!" someone shouted from below, and a remarkable thing happened. The debris piles began to move—not all of them, but enough to clear a narrow landing strip. Bronson made a wide turn, and Riette scanned the horizon, seeing nothing. While Bronson lined up with the newly cleared landing strip, Dashiq uncoiled her tail and spread her wings.
