One of her first teenage jobs had been a weather wrangler, hauling in unruly weather and clouds so they could be better controlled. She’d almost quit when it became clearer and clearer that she’d have to tussle with particularly bad storms and she couldn’t handle the loss of control. (The foremare had been nice enough to give her tedious but low-risk jobs to ensure she still had some income.) It was part of the reason she didn’t love flying. If you screwed up while walking, you tripped, looked silly for a moment, got up, and kept walking. You risked death every single time you screwed up while flying, and storms gave you a lot of opportunities to screw up while flying.