Blood of Dragons (Page 170)
And times when he decided they emphatically were.
None of the keepers seemed to think it odd when Jerd chose a partner for the evening and they retired from the others, not even when she chose a different partner the second night. Davvie and Sylve shared blankets and a long night conversation that kept Reyn awake with their confidential murmuring. The lack of sexuality in their obviously intimate friendship puzzled him almost as much as Jerd’s casual promiscuity. He and Carson and Malta had had several long and philosophical conversations about how these new Elderlings might form their society. This was his first unveiled look at it, and he tried to conceal his surprise and dismay. He suddenly felt a stranger to their culture, as provincial as when he and Malta had been shocked by the hedonism of Old Jamaillia. He lay awake both nights, wondering if this was the world that Phron would grow up in, and how the influx of other Changed Rain Wilders that Tillamon would bring with her would view these new Elderlings. Those thoughts were almost more disturbing than pondering about the war that lay before them.
Down below them, the late-afternoon shadows stretched longer from the bushes, revealing to him that they were taller than he had thought they were. He did not look forward to spending a night in such a barren place but kept his mouth closed. It was useless to voice an opinion on where they landed. That would be determined by the dragons, and right now they were led by Skrim and Dortean. Their riders sat low in their saddles, leaning forward or dangerously far to the side and shouting comments to one another. Kase and Boxter were as alike as their orange dragons, and had even chosen matching harness and tunics for themselves. He watched them and wondered if he had ever seemed as youthful and carefree as they did. They rode to war on dragons, and seemed to accept it as just another day in their lives.
He fought to draw a breath against the wind slashing past his face. His fingers hurt from holding on so tightly, and still they fell. He felt blood start to pound in his face and then it dripped warmly from his nose. He could not form his thoughts into words to beg mercy from the dragon; instead he simply pressed his terror toward her mind and held on as tightly as he could as the sere brown earth rushed up at him.
Reyn was flung against his chest strap so hard that it drove the breath from his body. He felt something furry hit him hard and then bounce away. For a moment or perhaps longer, he lost awareness. When he came back to himself, dusty air filled his nostrils and the shrill bleating of injured animals assailed his ears. He opened his eyes, wiped at them, and blinked. He tried to climb out of his seat before he remembered that a strap across his chest secured him. He unbuckled it with sore fingers, stood up and tumbled to the earth. He collapsed there, delighting in how still it was, how firm under his hands. Then he felt the dragon move and he got up, first to his knees and then barely upright as he made a shambling run away from her. He passed two bleating deer, their shattered bones sticking out of them like bloody sticks. A third was lying still, and the fourth had its head bent at an improbable angle. He threw himself down on top of it.