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Throbb knew the danger of storms. They were common, in the jungle, if warmer—but still devastatingly powerful and fierce with lightning. Strong enough winds could dash a bat against a tree and kill him, or even tear his wings from his body. Heavy rains could pull him down to the earth and drown him in the mud. And lightning…
There was a storm building now, had been since they'd woken from their drugged sleep. Even in the sunlight (strange, wrong, Goth was mad to fly in daylight) Throbb could feel thunderclouds pressing down on them, the pressure in the air changing as the winds picked up. He could feel the oppressive danger in the sky.
Suddenly Goth braked sharply and circled. "They went in there!" He pointed with his snout.
Throbb stared.
A thunderhead towered above them, dark and violent and boiling. Wind tugged insistently at Throbb's body, trying to pull him closer. He shivered from both cold and horror.
"You aren't going to follow them in there, are you?" he said, astonished.
Goth, his temper shortened even more than usual by the little bats' escape, surged up close and bit his ear. Throbb cried out and flinched back, losing a few inches of height as bright pain shot through his head. The bite was deep and had torn his ear further. He'd lose his ear for certain now, his poor, blistered ear already half off from frostbite.
"Do you think I'm content to give up and freeze?" Goth hissed. "Of course I'll follow them! I've said a thousand times, we need that cave of theirs. I'll get it from them, and then I'll tear that runt limb from limb!"
"The storm—we'll die," Throbb whispered.
"Do you not hear me?" Goth bellowed. "We will die without that map!"
"No!" Throbb cried. "I'll fly south alone!" Shade had shown them the star long ago; Throbb still didn't understand why Goth had kept on after him instead of just following it south as fast as possible. "I'll have a better chance than flying in that!"
Goth snorted. "You're a coward."
He could feel the storm trying to drag him in, crackling over his wings and roaring in his ears. It wanted him, he knew it wanted him. Goth might fight a storm—he was a lunatic—but Throbb didn't have the power or the arrogance for it. He wanted to go home. “The wind will tear us to bits!”
"Do you think I won't?" Goth snapped, abruptly pulling closer.
Throbb faltered, shuddering violently. "But—"
"I'll kill you here and now if you don't obey me!" Goth snarled, teeth bared in his face. "The wind only might!"
Throbb dithered for only a few heartbeats, then nodded meekly. He knew Goth wasn't bluffing. "All right, I'll do it," he whimpered. Goth glowered darkly at him, watching to make sure Throbb did follow him into the storm.
Throbb obeyed, shivering as he flew, every part of him trembling and aching. He hated this. If he dared, he'd hate Goth. But if he died that day, he didn’t want it to be in Goth’s teeth.