So, you may not know this, but Dyssia really likes puzzles.

(Okay, you probably realized, but still.)

But it. It has to be the right [i]kind[/i] of puzzle, if that makes sense? She's been presented with puzzles before--by some servitor or tutor or other who she's ashamed she doesn't remember the name of--where the goal of the puzzle was to figure out, from first principles, the [i]rules[/i] of the puzzle by trial and error. Is this the solution? No. Well, how about this? Okay, yes, that works, and what does that mean the rule of the puzzle is? Shall we do another puzzle so you can solidify your grasp of the rules of the puzzle? 

And it's fun, for, you know, about as long as it takes for multiple mechanics to enter the puzzle. That's the point when, whoops, sorry, all the lessons you learned about the previous puzzle mechanics no longer apply, and you're back to square one of staring blankly at a puzzle while questioning what you're doing with your life, and plugging in random solutions in the hopes that somehow it'll yield paydirt, and then having to go back and remember what the solution was so you can figure out what the new rules are, and--

Give her a puzzle where the rules are known, and explained. Give her the tools for success. And [i]then[/i] you're free to add more mechanics, more complexity. Show her how they interact with the first. Drip-feed new mechanics in until the puzzle is a mess of thirty different interacting sets of rules, infinitely but--and this is the important part--[i]understandably[/i] complex.

Dyssia's in heaven. She understands this game, knows how to play it, and all she has to do is keep track of a thousand different pieces all moving at the same time, while also keeping track of her own umbilical, those of her partners, and the way that her movements will whiplash the cords and cables to and fro, sending herself and others careening like pinballs in a blender.

The plover's been modified, can you tell? Some considerate servitor has emptied it out, hollowed out space, made cubbies and nests to fit an additional twenty feet of tail. It feels cozy, almost? Like being wrapped in a full-body hug, caressing and embracing from all directions. Insulation and padding both, turning the screech of howling metal and screeching engine to purrs.

Ember soars ahead of her--above her?--elegant and graceful, while Dyssia guards the cables, one long, soaring, whiplike, one stout, restrained, protected. It's a dance where one partner must mind and counter the consequences of five seconds into the future.

And Dyssia is ready--[i]ready![/i]--when the time comes for the reversal. For when the swarm, seeing the pattern, turns to strike, and she is not where they seek. When the time comes to surge ahead, spinning around each other's cables like a whip, like a trebuchet, to bowl into the center of the swarm, and--

[Finish with Courage: 1, 1, +1. [b]3.[/b]]

And it occurs to her, as the swarm closes around her, that she doesn't have the benefit of trial and error in this puzzle.