On SABRE, her hair whipping from the speed of their descent, now a dive, soon to be a glide. She’s moved to one of the POSTS, wrapping her hands around it.
She is trying not to be gleeful. Relief doesn’t cover it.
1. SABRE: Mister Coffey, wait ’til you feel the bite…
New angle, COFFEY has joined her at the second POST, and now both of them are heaving back, trying to pull Pegasus out of her dive.
2. SABRE: …and pull—
WEST reaching in behind COFFEY and SABRE respectively, one hand on each POST, pulling with them.
ALL of them are exerting themselves. There’s a lot of ship, and a lot more gravity to fight.
3. SABRE: —pull, PULL you magnificent wench—
4. SABRE: —my featherwood beauty, yield you glory—