Len kept swerving. Shields were a safety net, a promise that it was okay to be weak. He didn’t need them. Len might not be the best fighter but oh, he could fly.
He swerved through the meteors, taking a path that couldn’t be copied. He used his light lance to make sharp turns, over and under and between. He flew…not quite like breathing. It was as natural, of course, but so much more beautiful.
He finally paused in the center of the falling meteors, the middle of a thick rain of destruction.