Primus Forte
(And his human, Zeff Forte)
The winds were strong enough that Primus had to hit the groud.
Now the real fun began.
The sky was tinged an otherworldly green, as if a portal were opening to an alternate dimension nearby. The Paragon's back and legs were laden with blipping, whirring technology; the human wedged into the tiny slice between his neck and wings hunkered beneath his raincoat. The rain battered at the machinery, but the machines were safely encased in waterproof material.
The human slid from the Paragon's back as he knelt to the ground. The storm tore at the edges of his coat. There was a village nearby; all the lights were off as the people inside moved into the safety of their basements. A small, winding, grassy trail lead to a deep ditch, where the two hoped to conduct their study.
"Now," the man said. "With our luck, Primus, the people of this village will be completely safe as the storm moves in entirely the wrong direction. What's the Feather Weather sayin', pal?"
"Wind's pickin' up," Primus said. "But aside from the obvious! Those clouds just keep pilin' it on. Hope it's warm enough! Tempurature..." Primus rattled it off in Farenheiht, Celsius, and even Kelvin. "Don't got anything yet. But let's get out of the open!"
"To the ditch!" Zeff commanded. The two researchers made for the crevasse, ready to take up their positions.
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