Page 159 - Fourth Wing

joints from dislocating.

Stay calm. Stay calm.
Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate, swinging me toward the

next one. This is because feathertails reportedly abhor violence and are not

suitable for bonding.
I repeat motions, grasping from one ball to the next, keeping my eyes on

the chains and nothing else.

Though this scholar cannot be certain, as one has never left the Vale
within my lifetime. I continue reciting from memory as I reach the fifth and

final ball. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball

and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path without rolling an ankle.
It’s all momentum for the next ascent.

“Green dragons,” I mutter under my breath, “known for their keen
intellect, descend from the honorable Uaineloidsig line, and continue to be

the most rational of dragonkind, making them the perfect siege weapons,

especially in the case of clubtails.” I finish as I line my body up with the
first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward.

“Are you…studying?” Aurelie calls up from where she leaps onto the
first ball below.

“Calms me down,” I shoot back in quick explanation. There’s no time to

be embarrassed here—that can wait for later.
There are three iron rails in front of me, each lined up like a battering ram

toward the next. “The Scribe Quadrant is looking pretty good right now,” I

grumble under my breath, then launch myself toward the first. At least the
texture gives me something to keep hold of as I work my way hand over

hand. The ache in my shoulders grows into a throbbing pain when I reach

the end of the first rail, swinging my feet to work up the momentum for the
next.

The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp
as terror claws its way out of my stomach. Orange dragons, coming in