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Divergent: Tobias' POV (2)Part 3: Chapter 7, pgs. 62-69
Lauren and the Dauntless born initiates dissolve into the shadows, and I turn towards the faction transfers, scrutinizing each one of them in turn. Half are from Erudite. The other half is from Candor, oddly enough. Maybe it requires bravery to be honest all the time. I wouldn’t know.
I keep my face placid, no emotion. That is my best armour, and it alone is enough for them to know that I’m not one to be messed with.
“Most of the time I work in the control room, but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor. My name is Four.”
A copper skinned girl with chin length black hair frowns at me, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Four? Like the number?”
I give her an icy glare and raise my eyebrows. “Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Good. We’re about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It–”
The girl snickers. “The Pit? Clever name.
Divergent: Tobias' POV (3)Part 5: Chapter 10, pgs. 109-111
I fold my arms and look at Peter. His eyes gleam, like he can’t wait to knock Tris out. I see her swallow; I see her gather from within herself all the courage she can muster.
Eric taps his foot, impatient for the fight to begin and end. I, on the other hand, want to freeze this moment in time forever. She’ll try the hardest she can, but it won’t help a bit.
“You okay there, Stiff?” Peter says to Tris, “You look like you’re about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry.”
A voice inside my head tells me that I can’t let her get hurt, I can’t. But I silence that voice. Life isn’t easy. I want to see her try and lose. I want her to hurt, because then she’ll pick herself back up. In the end, she’ll be stronger.
“Come on Stiff,” Peter says, his eyes glinting. “Just one little tear. Maybe some begging.”
I see anger surge through her. She kicks him, but he g
HomesickI am the river's son,
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
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