Wind whipped past Wynn's face, stinging her cheeks red and rosy.

"Hold on tight, Wynnie!!!" Falkland voice chortled through the wind as they whisked through the sky on his rickety broom.

"Falk, slow down!" she screamed, her voice fading away behind her. Her annoyance at being called a nickname that reminded her of the noise a horse made dissapated as quickly as it came as she wrapped her arms around Falk's middle and buried her head into his back.

"You have to speak up when we're this high!" Falk shouted over his shoulder as he directed the broom around a particularly nasty black cloud. Wynn's heart leaped as she tried to clutch more of Falk's cloak in her hands to keep righted on the broom.

She never rode a broom. She never wanted to ride a broom. It was possible to ride a broom, and yet...

"It should be just around that bend," Falk pointed
through a series of roiling cloud banks. The broom swooshed a quick u-turn and Wynn felt herself sliding off the back.

"Falk!" Wynn screamed as his cloak slide through her hands.

"You've got to hold on, Wynnie," Falk replied, sounding quite like a broken phonograph.

"You've got to hold on, Wynnie,"

Wynn felt the wind whoosh past her entire body as she fell toward the earth, her stomach landing squarely in her throat.

"You've got to hold on, Wynnie,"

Through the forest she fell, the pine needles scratching every inch of exposed flesh on her body.

"You've got to hold on, Wynnie,"

With a thunk, Wynn landed on the floor of her cottage, abruptly waking from her deep, hot tub induced sleep......to the distinct smell of pine needles and Atomic Fireballs....