Page 105 - Fourth Wing
P. 105

weapon in the growing arsenal that nine nights of sneaking out has given

                me. This was exactly the reason I brought the book of poisons with me.
                   Challenges start next week, and I need every possible advantage.

                   Spotting the boulder I’ve used  as  a landmark for  the past five years, I

                count the trees on the riverbank. “One, two, three,” I whisper, spotting the
                exact oak I’ll need. Its branches spread wide and high, some even daring to

                reach out over the river. Lucky for me, the lowest is easily climbable, even

                more so with the grass oddly trampled underneath.
                   A twinge of pain shoots up through my shoulder as I slip my right arm

                out of the sling and begin to climb by moonlight and memory. The pain

                quickly fades to an ache, just like it has every evening while Rhiannon has
                been kicking my ass on the mat. Hopefully tomorrow Nolon will let me out

                of the annoying sling for good.
                   The fonilee vine looks deceptively like ivy as it winds up the trunk, but

                I’ve scaled this particular tree enough times to know this is the one. I’ve

                just never had to climb the damn thing in a cloak before. It’s a pain in my
                ass. The fabric catches on almost every branch as I move upward, slowly

                and steadily,  climbing past the wide branch where I  used  to spend  hours
                reading.

                   “Shit!” My foot slips on the bark and my heart stutters for a heartbeat

                while my feet find better holds. This would be so much easier during the
                day, but I can’t risk being caught.

                   Bark scrapes my palms as I climb higher. The tips of the vine leaves are

                white  at  this  height,  barely  visible  in  the  mottled  moonlight  through  the
                canopy, but I grin as I find exactly what I’ve been searching for.

                   “There  you  are.”  The  purple  berries  are  a  gorgeous,  unripe  lavender.

                Perfect. Digging my fingernails into the branch above me, I manage to keep
                from  wobbling  long  enough  to  retrieve  an  empty  vial  in  my  satchel  and

                uncork it with my teeth. Then I pluck just enough berries off the vine to fill
                the glass and shove the stopper back in. Between these, the mushrooms I’ve
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