But she did not go. She sat quite alone, watching what was an extraordinary spectacle. For, soon, other planes came, from where she did not know, but they attacked the first ones. The sun came up over the fields of ripening wheat. And in the clear summery air, the planes wheeled and darted and spat at each other.
“I’d like to see one of them up close,” she said aloud. And at that moment, as though in answer, one of them pointed suddenly downward. Wheeling and twisting as though it were wounded, it fell head down in a field which Little Pig had ploughed only yesterday for soybeans. And in an instant, the sky was empty again, and there was only this wounded thing on the ground and herself.