Page 69 - Fourth Wing

small hoop earrings in her left lobe, but the pink-haired one stays silent.

“Sawyer?” Dain looks at the first-year to my left.
“I’ll get them there.” The tall, wiry cadet whose light complexion is

covered with a smattering of freckles answers with a tight nod. His freckled

jaw ticks, and my chest pangs with sympathy. He’s one of the repeats—a
cadet who didn’t bond during Threshing and now has to start the entire year

over.

“Get going,” Dain orders, and our squad breaks apart around the same
time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to

a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another

direction, including Dain.
“We have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Sawyer shouts at the

eight of us first-years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the
academic wing. Get your shit and don’t be late.” He doesn’t bother waiting

to confirm we’ve heard him before he heads off toward the dormitory.

“That has to be hard,” Rhiannon says as we follow the crowd toward the
dorms. “Being set back and having to do this all over again.”

“Better than being dead,” the smart-ass says as he passes us on the right,
his dark-brown hair flopping against the brown skin of his forehead with

every step the shorter cadet takes. His name is Ridoc, if I remember

correctly from the brief introductions we went through before dinner last
night.

“That’s true,” I reply as we head into the bottleneck that’s formed at the

door.
“I overheard a third-year say when a first-year survives Threshing

unbonded, the quadrant lets them repeat the year and try again if they

want,” Rhiannon adds, and I can’t help but wonder how much
determination it would take to survive your first year and then be willing to

repeat it just for the chance you might one day become a rider. You could
just as easily die the second time around.