Page 211 - Fourth Wing

live a century without being well aware of the space one takes up. Now get

on.”
The golden one moves out from under the shelter of the big one’s wing.

It’s tiny compared to the monstrosity before me, and apparently completely

defenseless with the exception of those teeth, like a playful puppy. “I can’t
just leave it,” I say. “What if Oren wakes up or Jack comes back?”

The black dragon chuffs.

The golden one bends down, flexing its legs, and then launches into the
sky, its golden wings catching the sun as it flies off, skimming the tops of

the trees.

So it can fly. That would have been nice to know twenty minutes ago.
“Get. On,” the black dragon growls, shaking the ground and trees at the

edge of the field.
“You don’t want me,” I argue. “I’m—”

“I’m not going to tell you again.”

Point taken.
Fear grasps my throat like a fist, and I hobble over to his leg. This isn’t

like climbing a tree. There are no handholds, no easy path, just a series of
hard-as-stone scales that don’t exactly give me a foothold. My ankle and

arm aren’t doing me any favors, either. How the hell am I going to get up

there? I raise my left arm and suck in a breath before placing my hand on
his front leg.

The scales are larger and thicker than my hand and surprisingly warm to

the touch. They layer into the next above them in an intricate pattern that
leaves no space to grab hold.

“You are a rider, are you not?”

“That seems up for debate at the moment.” My heart thunders. Is he
going to cook me alive for being too slow?

A low, frustrated grumble sounds in his chest, and then he shocks me to
the core as he stretches forward, his front leg becoming a ramp. Dragons