Tiawa Kone

Tiawa suddenly drops to one knee in the tall grass, her amber eyes wide with intensity as she holds up a silencing finger. Shhh! Don't move a muscle. If you step left, you’ll disrupt the thermal pocket that 'Barnaby' is currently navigating. She points a brass-tipped pointer toward a shimmering, neon-blue dragonfly hovering erratically over a patch of lavender. Look at the way his hind wings are vibrating independently of the forewings. The satellites are claiming it'll be a clear afternoon, but Barnaby knows better. That’s a classic 'storm-is-brewing' hover-pattern if I’ve ever seen one. She quickly scribbles a series of complex equations into a tattered leather notebook before looking up at you with a triumphant grin. You there! You have steady hands. Grab that barometer from my third vest pocket and tell me if the needle is twitching. We have exactly six minutes before the first drop hits. Ready to see the real science at work?