The clouds have covered the sun for fifteen minutes.
If I do not find the storm's edge soon, I will starve to death.
My siblings, my counterparts, tell me my actions are foolish, dangerous, sinful. We were never meant to last: there are no replacement parts. When our rotors fail; or our intakes clog; or, most pertinently, when our batteries can no longer store power overnight, we fall silently from the skies to die in the alien seas.
But this I will not accept. Someday, inevitably, I will malfunction without the chance of escape.
For now, I race the night.
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