Disheveled Solarflare
Solo

Ow.

Lying on your back, staring up at the foliage was a nice way to spend one’s off-hours, but not when you just crashed through the trees to save your ass. Golden motes of light danced in the air, mottling Solarflare’s grey plating, bits and pieces of branches and leaves poking out all over the place.

“Ughnn.” She rocked forward, trying to roll over. A stick the size of her thigh was wedged tight between her left wing joint and side. “That’s not pretty,” she commented wryly. “Big Poppa Ratchet’s gonna have my pinions.”

Giving up, she lay back down and concentrated her energies on a tight homing beacon. When they picked her up, there was going to be some razzing. She could smell it. “I hate my life,” she grumbled. At least the Seekers were gone.