Arcturus' brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to make sense of Richard's explanations. 'I hadn't heard any of that before,' he admitted. 'I don't feel heavier when I pull up suddenly, but I do feel a force as if the air is pushing down on me. That might be it?' It wasn't something he'd ever considered, just taken for granted as the way things worked.
'And I don't think I'm likely to fly high enough to have to fret about the air,' he added, this time with an easy smile. 'That must be over a mile and a half upwards, before it becomes a trouble. Far too cold up there for my liking, even with decent warming spells.' The main problem with those spells was that while they could make one feel perfectly comfortable, they didn't alter the objective temperature. Arcturus had heard dire cautionary tales about wizards on expeditions who made use of them and didn't notice the frostbite in their fingers until it was too late. They were necessary, for any flight that was longer or higher than usual, but one had to be careful.
He nodded his agreement as Richard encouraged him to try flying out on his own again, and pulled ahead. It was very difficult not to be too heavy-handed with his control, because intuitively it seemed as if a more powerful broom would be more difficult to manage. But, safe in the knowledge that he could rely on the sticking charm and the brakes if anything went too far wrong, he tried to do as Richard advised, flying just a bit faster, but with a lighter touch. It took some trial and error, and a lot of wobbly flying, but after a time Arcturus thought that he might just be getting used to this.
He glanced back at Richard, and then signalled a direction to him – he was going to try to fly over a longer distance. Tipping the broom into a fairly steep climb – a little steeper than intended, but no harm done – he reached what he thought was a reasonable height for a sustained flight, then straightened up and began to accelerate away. Nothing he had tried thus far had put him over twenty-five miles an hour, but soon he was flying at what he guessed was about the top speed of his Celeritas. The C-Class, however, didn't feel as if it was anywhere close to the ragged edge of its limits. Encouraged, Arcturus pressed on. Faster. Fifty. Fifty-five. So fast! He almost let out an exuberant yell at the thrill of it. Faster still-
And then, getting close to seventy miles an hour, Arcturus looked down and panicked. It was too fast. He probably wasn't supposed to be going this fast, and Richard wouldn't be too pleased about it, and what if there was an accident at this speed, it'd kill him, and- all of a sudden it was too much, and he had to brake, with a strong tug of magic that would have meant a rapid but controlled deceleration on his Celeritas. With the C-Class? It was far too heavy. The broom didn't suddenly come to a dead halt, but it wasn't far off doing so. Instinctively, Arcturus leant forward, not only making use of the sticking charm along the broomstick to keep him anchored, but wrapping his arms around it in a tight grip too, as if afraid he might be thrown off entirely. He stayed there as the broom drifted, catching his breath, and raising one hand to signal that both he and the broom were unhurt.