The Search For Perfection
Chapter One
"One's destination is never a place, but rather a new way of looking at things." - Henry Miller
When Eragon woke in the morning his first thought was that he had never seen hair of such color or quality and only rarely had he seen it so long. How it had gotten to be on his pillow he didn't know nor did it occur to him to ask such a question so early in the morning.
Eragon reached out a hand to run through the hair on his pillow, wondering if he was perhaps still dreaming, only to stop at the sight of his hand. Long pale fingers ended in sharp claws, placed on strong hands. The wrist was slender and pierced horizontally with maroon stripes which tapered to a point each looking almost like a pike.
Eragon tried flexing his fingers just to see if those fingers were his own, if that hand was his. It seemed it was.
Back to the silver hair. He reached out again, this time he ran his fingers through that silver hair. Eragon had once felt silk, one year when the traders were in Carvahall, one of the fabric merchants had a single yard of it, and he had never felt anything quite like it. The hair he was now running his hands through made that silk seem like coarse sack cloth. This hair was soft and smooth, it was light and there was not a single knot or tangle he could find. Eragon had the sneaking suspicion that this was his hair and it had somehow changed, just like his hand.
How this had happened Eragon didn't know. Magic was a likely suspect but there were so few who could use it, and why would they use it like this on him? He was just a poor farm boy.
But still, he knew he wouldn't find the answers laying in bed.
Just then there was an impatient knock at the door.
"Eragon, are you up yet?" Garrow, Eragon's Uncle, called through the door.
"Coming Uncle!" Eragon called, sitting up and then he stilled. Was that his voice? It was deep and resonant, a smooth baritone that was somehow both soft and firm.
"Eragon?" Garrow asked again, as he pushed open the door.
Eragon himself had frozen at the sound of his own voice as it suddenly crashed down on him that this was not some strange dream he would soon wake from. He shivered. His entire body felt different.
"Uncle what's happening?" Eragon asked, uncertainty in his voice and on his face as he looked up to see Garrow just inside his doorway. He felt a headache rush up to greet him and then everything went black.
Authors Note
Hello Readers! I'm so happy to finally be posting a story. I would love any comments and/or advice and I hope it came across clearly that Eragon is half asleep up to the point where he hears his own voice. I didn't know how to make it any clearer. :(
Thank You to any future reviewers, I'll try to get back to you soon!