년 1월 22일 3XmL5TgF - Read and download Veronica Roth's book Free Four: Tobias Tells the Divergent Knife-Throwing Scene in PDF, EPub, Mobi. 1 New York Times bestselling author Veronica Roth retells a pivotal Divergent scene (chapter 13) from Tobias's point of view. This thirteen-page scene reveals . Fans of the Divergent series by No. 1 New York Times bestselling author Veronica Roth will be thrilled by the knife-throwing scene from Divergent, now told f.
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Chapter 6 is from Free Four: Tobias Tells the Story by Veronica Roth Against one wall is a table covered with throwing knives- ugly metal. So the is'FREE FOUR' the full story. soundofheaven.infoca Roths chapter 6 is here everyone loves her 'FREE FOUR:Tobias tells the knife throwing scene' but what. Title: Free Four: Tobias Tells the Divergent Story Author: Veronica Roth The painfully short, 16 page read tells the perspective of Tobias during the “knife throwing scene.” Here is a link to a free PDF of “Free Four”.
View 2 comments. Maybe, maybe not. Jacelover wrote: Can we just have a book from Four's perspective? I wish veronica would release her first copy of divergent written in Four's perspective. In fact, he comes out of it being somewhat more psychotic.
Jul 13, LOVED this novella! Jul 31, Aug 02, Sep 10, Amanda wrote: I wanted more from it! Jan 10, I agree. I like it when authors sometimes write from another character's perspective. His POV would contribute a lot to the story. Jan 27, It would be cool to have his POV, but that would be like re-reading Divergent since Tris usually explained everything, which I loved: But it would be cool, if it just had a little of his past, then kind of skipped fast through the two years till he met Tris.
It would be cool just to see what his first impression of her was and what he was thinking the whole time. Yeah, I always think of that all the time. To be able to know his reaction when she came to Dauntless and what was going through his mind during training.
Jan 28, I've read Free Four. There is something about Four's POV that makes it different and new, but still interesting. Yeah, he and Tris think differently and see things differently.
Feb 26, I reallly hope they dont mess up the book with the movie. Mar 14, I agree with a lot of you guys, Free Four was way way to short ;.
Mar 21, I wish veronica would release her first copy of divergent written in Four's perspective. I love love loooooovvvve this series. Apr 08, KelseyKES wrote: That would be amazing! Jun 02, I really want another ebook from Tobias' perspective. Tobias Tells the Story by Veronica Roth. I wouldn't have volunteered to train the initiates if not for the smell of the training room- the scent of dust and sweat and sharpened metal.
This was the first place I ever felt strong. Every time I breathe this air I feel it again. At the end of the room is a slab of wood with a target painted on it.
Against one wall is a table covered with throwing knives- ugly metal instruments with a hole at one end, perfect for inexperienced initiates. Line up across from me are the faction transfers, who still bear, in one way or another, the mars of their old factions: He doesn't look at me. I hurt his pride yesterday, and not just during capture the flag- Max pulled me aside at breakfast to ask how the initiates were doing, as if Eric was not the one in charge.
Eric was sitting at the table next to mine at the time, scowling into his bran muffin. Everyone pick up three knives, and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them.
I straighten up. I hate when he treats me like his lackey, like I didn't knock out one of his teeth during our own initiation. They scramble for knives like factionless kids over a spare piece of bread, too desperate. All except her, with her deliberate movements, her blond head slipping between the shoulders of taller initiates. She doesn't try to look comfortable with the blades balancing on her palms, and that is what I like about her, that she knows these weapons are unnatural yet she finds a way to wield them.
Eric walks toward me, and I back away by instinct. I try not to be afraid of him, but I know how smart he is and that if I'm not careful he'll notice that I keep staring at her, and that will be my undoing.
I turn toward the target, a knife in my right hand. I requested that the knife-throwing be taken from the training curriculum this year, because it serves no actual purpose other than fueling the Dauntless bravado. No one here will ever use it except to impress someone, the way I will impress them now.
Eric would say that dazzling people can be useful, which is why he denied my request, but it's everything I hate about Dauntless. I hold the knife by its blade so the balance is right.
My initiation instructor, Amar, saw that I had a busy mind, so he taught me to tie my movements to my breaths. I inhale, stare at the target's center.
I exhale, and throw. The knife hits the target. I hear a few of the initiates draw breath at the same time. I find a rhythm in it: Everything goes dark around the center of that board. The other factions call us brutish, as if we don't use our minds, but that is all I do here. I leave the knives in the board to remind the initiates of what is possible, and stand against the side wall. Amar was also the one who gave me my name, back in the days when the first thing initiates did upon arriving in the Dauntless compound was go through our fear landscapes.
He was the sort of person who made a nickname stick, so likable that everyone imitated him. He's dead now, but sometimes, in this room, I can still hear him scolding me for holding my breath.
She doesn't hold her breath. That's good- one less bad habit to break. But she has a clumsy arm, awkward as a chicken leg. Knives are flying but, most of the time, not spinning. Even Edward hasn't figured it out, though he's usually the quickest, his eyes alive with that Erudite knowledge- craving. Remember what a knife is?
I don't usually hate people, but I hate Peter. I hate that he tries to shrink people, the same way Eric does. Tris doesn't answer, just picks up a knife and throws, still with that awkward arm, but it works- I hear metal slam against board, and I smile.
I watch each of them, trying not to catch Eric's eye as he paces like a caged animal behind them. I have to admit that Christina is good- though I don't like giving credit to Candor smart- mouths- and so is Peter- though I don't like giving credit to future psychopaths. Al, however, is just a walking, talking sledgehammer, all power and no finesse.
Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you? Al the Sledgehammer has unexpectedly soft insides. The taunting pierces them. When he throws again, the knife sails into a wall. The Sledgehammer strikes again , I think. The response is stubborn but there is no strategy in it.
Still, it takes more bravery for Al to say no than for Eric to force him to get a knife to the back of the head, which is something Eric will never understand. The first time I met Eric he wore blue and his hair was parted down the side.
He was trembling as he approached Amar to receive the injection of fear- landscape serum into his neck. During his fear landscape, he never moved an inch; he just stood still, screaming into clenched teeth, and somehow maneuvered his heartbeat down to an acceptable level using his breath.
I didn't know it was possible to conquer fear in your body before you did it in your mind. That was when I knew I should be wary of him. Al, gulping, lumbers over to the target.
I pull away from the wall. I know what Eric will do. And it will probably end with a lost eye or a pierced throat; with horror, as every fight I've witnessed has, each one driving me further and further from the faction I chose as a haven.
Without looking at me, Eric says, "Hey, Four. Give me a hand here, huh? At least I know that if I am throwing the knives instead of Eric, Al is less likely to get injured. But I also can't be this cruel, and I can't be the one who does Eric's dirty work.
I try to act casual, scratching my eyebrow with a knife point, but I don't feel casual. I feel like someone is pressing me into a mold that does not fit my body, forcing me into the wrong shape. Eric says, "You're going to stand there as he throws those knives until you learn not to flinch. My chest feels tight. I want to save Al, but the more I defy Eric, the more determined he will be to put me in my place.
I decide to pretend that I am bored by the whole thing. I can feel blood creeping into my face as I stare at him, and he stares back. Max asked me to be a faction leader and I should have said yes; I would have, if I had known that I would prevent things like this, things like dangling initiates over the chasm and forcing them to beat each other senseless.
I realize that I have been squeezing the knives so tightly that the handles have left impressions on my palms. I have to do what Eric says. My only other choice is leaving the room, and if I leave, Eric will throw the knives himself, which I can't allow. I turn toward Al. And then she says- I know it's her because her voice is low, for a girl's, and careful- "Stop it.
I don't want Eric to turn on her instead. I glare at her as if that will make her think twice.
I know it won't. I'm not stupid. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice.
Dauntless brutes- bullies, Lower Level children- that is what we are, beneath the tattoos and the piercings and the dark clothing. And then his eyes shift to mine, just for a second. It's like he knows, he knows I have a thing for her, so he's going to force me to throw knives at her. For an instant- no, longer than an instant- I think of throwing a knife at him instead. I could hit him in the arm, or the leg, no harm done…. She stands with her back to the board. The top of her head skims the bottom of the target center.
She tips her chin up and looks at me with that Abnegation stubbornness I know so well. She may have left them, but they are what's making her strong.
Eric stands a little too close, tapping his foot on the floor. I have to get this right. I can't throw the knife to the edge of the board, because he knows I can hit the center. But a clumsy throw, an inch in either direction, and I could hurt her. There goes your pretty face. But Peter's right, she's not pretty , that word is too small. She is not like the girls I used to stare at, all bend and curve and softness. She is small but strong, and her bright eyes demand attention. Looking at her is like waking up.
I throw the knife, keeping my eyes on hers.
It sticks in the board near her cheek. My hands shake with relief.