One of the éoles reared on its back wheel at their approach, spreading its ungraceful wings and spinning its propeller: a dominant male, getting their scent. The flock stopped grazing for a second, and the low hum of their engines quickened as they readied for the signal to take off.
Jael remembered years of famine, of drought, of blight. Once she had sent a plague. It had hurt, watching the inexorable processes of disease and death sweep over her people. She had not asked reasons for that.