Inevitably they draw closer together until they're more or less on the same heading. Only a few feet remain between light and dark wings, both pushing hard for speed. Raguel is just a little less strict with the sharp, shallow turns that send him weaving between obstacles until he feels the tips of some of the smaller shrubs brushing his arms. He frowns and redoubles his efforts until he can't feel them anymore, but whether his turns are sharper or he's just tuned out the sensation, he couldn't say. The mountains rush closer, the lights of a small town are visible far to the right, the ground is coarser and strewn with boulders, and without changing speed Raguel yells to Crowley "Up!" and arrows toward the sky.