Page 202 - Fourth Wing

so I kick up my speed, my gaze darting between the leaf-covered path I’ve

chosen and where I think—scratch that, where I know they are toward the
left. I can make out their lumbering shapes in the distance.

I hear a pop, and the ground falls out from under me, then rushes for my

face. My hands fly out to brace myself a second before I slam into the forest
floor. I bite into my lower lip to keep from crying out as my ankle screams.

Popping isn’t good. It’s never good.

Glancing back, I curse at the fallen branch, hidden by fall foliage, that’s
just wrecked my ankle. Shit.

Block the pain. Block it. But there’s no mental trick to keep the shooting

agony from turning my stomach as I drag myself to my knees and rise
carefully, keeping my weight on my left ankle.

There’s nothing to do but limp the final dozen feet to the clearing, gritting
my teeth the whole way. The tinge of satisfaction that I beat Jack here is

almost enough to make me smile.

The meadow is big enough for ten dragons, ringed by several large trees,
but the golden one stands alone in the center, like it’s trying to get a suntan.

It’s just as beautiful as I remember, but unless it can breathe fire, it’s a
sitting duck.

“You have to get out of here!” I hiss from the cover of the trees, knowing

it should be able to hear me. “They’re going to kill you if you don’t leave!”
Its head pivots toward me, then tilts at an angle that makes my own neck

hurt.

“Yes!” I whisper loudly. “You! Goldie!”
It blinks its golden eyes and swishes its tail.

You have to be fucking kidding me.

“Go! Run! Fly!” I shoo at it, then remember it’s a godsdamned dragon,
capable of shredding me with its claws alone, and drop my hands. This is

not going well. It’s going the opposite of well.
The trees rustle from the south, and Jack steps into the clearing, his sword