And the Winner Is. . .

Pacian!

Congratulations!

Here's what we had to start:

The glint in his gray eyes as he seated himself opposite her told her that Rhy was well aware why she hadn't chosen the sofa, but she ignored him and amused herself by watching the parade of early-morning travelers.

Their flight was five minutes late, and Rhy was already restless when the loudspeaker called their flight number. He got to his feet and took her arm, and suddenly gave her a whimsical smile.

"Those are some spikes you're wearing," he commented. "You come up to my chin...almost."
"They're also dangerous weapons," she said, her mouth curving.

And the thrilling conclusion:

At that moment the klaxon began to sound.

"Scramble! Scramble!" the chief air marshal screamed, leaning out of
the
stark spire of the control tower. Behind him, in the red-bathed
twilight
sky, the approaching air-jellyfish could already be seen, electric
barbs
poised and ready to attack. Ponderous civilian airliners veered away
from
them all too slowly.

The fighter pilots raced to get airborne before they reached their
prey.

As Rhy swung his leg over into the cockpit of his triplane, his short
wife
straightened the tall death-spikes on her helmet and climbed into the
cannon
mounted beneath the aircraft's hull. Rhy paused for a moment, twirling
his
moustache. "Good luck!" he shouted.

"You too!" his wife returned.

When he was out of view she unbuttoned her flight jacket and checked
that
the stolen plans were securely fastened into her belt. Rhy thought she
was
his loyal wife, but if he only knew that her true loyalties lay with
the
air-jellyfish and their gibbering octopus god…

******************************************************************************

Pacian, if you'll email the 'chick a snail mail address, your wonderful prize package will be on it's way to you.

Have a great Monday, y'all!