WHOS AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME, fourth wing

Chapter seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Damn it," Violet muttered as her toe hit a rock, stumbling in the high waist grass growing along side the river beneath the citadel.

The moon was full, illuminating their way. Seren shifted her cloak, making sure it was kept in place as she followed Violet.

The lakobos River rushed with summer runoff from the peaks above, the currents fast and unforgiving this time of year.

In fact, a first-year died falling in during their down time yesterday. Bummer.

They were looking for vines of fonilee berries to add poison to Violets Arsenal. Challenges start next week and her friend wanted every possible advantage.

Spotting the oak tree they needed to get to the girls head over and start climbing.

"Shit!" Violets foot slips in the bark, "I'm okay," She reassures. "I found them."

Seren let out a small breath, she was on a branch under Violets as they searched for the berries.

Violet plucks just enough off the vine to fill the glass and shove the stopper back in.

They're almost down the tee when Seren spots movement beneath her, she taps violets ankle, causing her to halt.

Two figures in black cloaks walk under the the protection of the tree. The smaller one leans back against the lowest limb, removing her hood to reveal a half-shaved head of pink hair. Imogen, the squadmate who nearly ripped off Violets arm and broke Seren's nose ten days ago.

When the second rider slips off his own hood it's none other Xaden Riorson.

Seren tenses and she can feel Violets panic from above her. The girls hold on to the tree for dear life as they start speaking.

She can't hear what they're saying over the rushing water running by.

Slowly and carefully, Violet moves out of the patchy moonlight and to a branch. Seren climbs back up a to join her. The branch was wide and thick so they didn't need to worry about it braking.

More riders arrive, gathering under the tree.
They're all dressed in black cloaks as they shake hands. And they all have rebellion relics. There are almost two dozen of them. Some third-years and a couple seconds, but the rest firsts.

Marked ones can't gather in groups larger than three. They're committing a capital offense simply by being together. It's obviously a meeting of some sort.

Seren narrows her eyes. Sticking to the opposite side of the trunk and the shadows rapped around her as she climbed down another branch slowly. Violet mentally cursed her out before giving in and following.

Their voices are still muffled by the river, but they can hear the loudest of them, a tall, dark-haired man with pale skin, whose shoulders take up twice the space of any first-year, standing opposite Xaden's position and wearing the rank of a third-year.

"We've already lost Sutherland and Luperco," he says, but Seren can't make out the response. It takes two more rungs of branches before their words are clear.