It didn't hurt. It stung. Sharp and painful, less like a sting and more like a stab with something terribly sharp, terribly thin.

Flapping her great wings hard, Rachel tries to adjust for the bent tail feathers. But so much of flying depends on every single feather she has. <Something hit me!>

Another high-pitched buzz and three more pass in front of them. One tiny glowing light narrowly misses Rachel's wing. Another narrowly misses Jo's nose.