Blow Me Down
The planet's a little breezy, you might say, if you were a crazy person like John Sheppard and couldn't tell the difference between a breeze and a gale force wind. It's the harchanyn, the locals tell them, the mischievous wind, and it swirls around them unpredictably, teases Sheppard's hair this way and that, sets the edges of his clothes fluttering. It's not so gentle with Rodney-gusts up behind him again and again like it's giving him a good hard shove. "Okay," Rodney mutters, "okay, okay, all right, already," and when the wind pushes him toward John, he goes; he goes, and then it's calm, then it's so still, and the only thing moving in the whole world is John's breath puffing over his lips.