Ismira ran down through the meadow, laughing with the small brook that ran down from the Spine to join the Anora River. Poppies and violets bloomed vivaciously around her nimble feet that jumped over rocks and mole-hills. "Ismira, get back here right now you little minx!" She was supposed to be helping Birgit with the sewing but when someone had knocked on the door she had taken the opportunity to escape. Birgit was a crotchety old woman with a nasty temper. Ismira was fourteen now, with long curling auburn locks and sparkling green-brown eyes. After the War, once Eragon had left, Roran, Horst, Loring and other villagers and families had returned to their ransacked village, and tried to mend what they could, and start afresh where they couldn't. Her father had ensured that Carvahall was well fortified so it would be easier to defend. The village was built in a circular shape, and at the centre was a large hall for meetings, feasts and other suchlike events. Roran and Katrina's home was on the outskirts, with swathes of fertile land surrounding it.

"Mira! There is someone here to see you! It is important! Now get your rebellious back-side over here!"

Ismira turned. A cloud covered the sun which shone brightly but a second ago. The Spine glowered in the corner of her eye and behind Birgit she saw the silhouette of a man. Curious, she stalked up the hill taking care to avoid bumble-bees and butterflies which flittered frantically away. When she got to the door, Birgit gave her a tongue-lashing to be proud of, but Mira stood square, and glared into her eyes, defiant. She heard a soft laugh from round the corner, "No wonder she runs away from you, Birgit, if you talk to her like that!" An elf like, lithe man sat in the large living space on a stool. He stood up, slightly too quickly and moved gracefully over to Mira. She narrowed her eyes. Again the laugh, like the bass notes of a harp, resonated to greet her. In spite of herself she smiled. "Ismira. You look a lot like your Mother, but I can see Roran's eyes and attitude in you! Atra esterni ono thelduin." Her eyebrow twitched upwards questioningly. A different laugh this time coming from within the living room. A woman, an elf, strolled over and twisted her hand over her sternum. "Atra du mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr, Ismira Katrinasdaughter. May the stars watch over you. You will not remember me, I doubt it at least, I am Arya Drottning." Realising she was in the company of a Queen, Mira bowed deeply and smiled nervously. The man spoke-"In my self-assurance, I forgot myself. I thought you would remember me. I am your Uncle; Eragon." How could I not have realised? Mira thought to herself. Now she knew she could detect some of Roran's features in his face, angled differently perhaps, but the same nonetheless. He smiled and gave her a polite hug. "Sorry to steal away your seamstress, Birgit, but I think we need a guide to find my cousin, wouldn't you agree, Arya?" A smile of happy understanding passed between them. Once she had been safely escorted from Birgit's little house, Eragon began to talk. "Well, I never would have thought Roran's child would have been locked away in a room doing sewing, but it doesn't surprise me with such feisty parents that you ran away like that!" Arya laughed with him and without realising it Ismira relaxed and started to laugh also. "I sure gave us a shock that you had disappeared!" Arya intercepted the merriment with a more serious note. "Ismira, would you be so kind as to show us where your father is? We have come here on business and it is important that we see him as soon as possible." Mira nodded solemnly.

"We live on the other side of town, if you would follow me." Ismira led the way through the maze of houses, arranged so as to make it difficult for intruders to find their way around. Roran had been altered by the War, his mind remained keen and logical, he was always pacing about, on edge- alert. Katrina was a balm to his anxiety, soothing him when he was heckled by the demons of his imagination. And his son. Roran had been one of the key people involved in arranging the town, a task which he took very seriously, knowing well that his design could lose or save lives. "We are here now." Mira announced. She walked into her home, and brought them to the living area, which had plain windows which viewed the fields where Roran toiled. Along with the original villagers, other people moved to Carvahall. One of these people was a glass-blower named Dernhill. Carvahall was one of the few places in the North where almost every house had glass windows. Mira ushered them to some seats from which the farmland and the river could be seen and said " I will go and find him for you." She went out the back entrance and ran down to the lower crop field. She arrived panting as Roran vehemently cursed the ass, Uiko, for stoutly refusing to pull the plough. "You useless beast" He exclaimed, "I don't know what I was thinking when I bought you, you sleazy maggot ridden son of a-" Ismira coughed prudently. " Oh! Mira, you didn't hear that! What is it child?"

"Eragon and Arya are here."

A frown creased his forehead , but then a smile erupted onto his face.

"What the devil are they doing here?! It's about time! Tell me Mira- where are they?"

"They said it was a matter of business. I left them in the living space. It is urgent."

Roran frowned again, this time his eyes turned to stone. He sprinted off up the steep hill to the house, leaving Mira standing with Uiko. She slowly made her way back up to the house, dispirited. That was the closest her father had ever been to looking frightened. When she reached the house she pulled off her mud-stained boots and went into the living space. Scared.