There he rode

Cycling over the interstate with a definite purpose, Janvier lifter his flaming hand.
The left palm and digits sparked and danced with the blue flame of peace.
The colorless color of dark before light.

He looked down at the myriad cars sailing beneath him in their predestined routes, guided by so much concrete and yellow paint. He pedaled with only half an effort. No one was going that fast. And he was more interested in studying them as a whole as opposed to scrutinizing every vehicle.

The blue flame stayed strong and icy, like a frosted wave.