" Before he could finish, the poor donkey—whether from fatigue or because he could no longer bear the indignity of such a jiggly rider—went down. Oskar’s eyes bulged as he soared through the air toward the clearing where Janner stood. He flew with a surprising grace, hair trailing behind, spectacles dangling, his mouth forming a perfect O as the reins, still firmly in his grip, snapped taut and flipped the round man over to land on his back at Janner’s feet. The donkey brayed. Oskar lay on the ground, blinking, surprised he wasn’t dead. "

― Andrew Peterson , North! or Be Eaten (The Wingfeather Saga, #2)