Disclaimer: Eragon and it's chara's belong to Christopher Paolini

---

Mother…

Who are you? Where are you? And more important, why did you leave me?

Resting on his scythe Eragon day dreamed about his mother, one time a woman in rags, the other time a woman of court. Who would she be? A dancer at court, pregnant of the tiran Galbatorix? Or a maid? Or even a prinses?

Roran hit his cousin on the back, 'And as usual, my dear daydreaming cousin of mine, you are staring at the field without touching the weed with a finger. If you do the same with hunting, you come home with nothing but dreams.'

Eragon turned around, 'What do you mean? You don't dare to set foot in the Spine without peeing in your trousers of fear!'

'So? You call me a pipsqueak?' Mock growling like a wolf Roran sneaked around him, 'Who's the pipsqueak!' Eragon dropped the scythe and run after his cousin, tackled him and fighting they run down hill, to end up at the feet of their father and uncle.

'Well, well, boys, we should harvest the weed, or else we won't be able to sell this autumn.' Once he was just like them, not so long ago.

Selena…Sad he trotted up the hill, thinking about his sister Selena, she who left her son so long ago with him and left the same minute further into the Spine. Wherever she was, he thought of her daily. Selena… wherever you are… I love you…

Brom, storyteller and village idiot, watched from the smithy to the spinewood, the high mountain ridges peered threatening above the forest, ice and snow covering them to enlarge the threat of them.

'what are you thinking off, eyeing the spine like that?' the smithy asked, 'silly old man…'

Brom eyed him, and in a flash the smithy noticed that Brom wasn't so mad as people always thought. The eyes, mirror of the soul, showed a memory making the evening suddenly very melancholic, 'Maybe I think back at a time, not so long ago, that there were dragons… dragons in all shapes and colours, with riders so brave and great, lost within their own arrogance and lust for power, beaten by their own stupidity.'

Three guards passed by and the smithy decided that even though the situation wasn't that threatening, even though the guards of Galbatorix believed the very word Dragon – even a name calling for old wretches – made them mad and defended their lord and employer.

'Poetic words, silly old Brom.' One of the guards looked over his shoulder, very angry. The smithy nodded friendly, 'Good evening gentlemen, to what battlefield you go?'

'To the bar and your girls!'

'Such girls are unknown to us gentlemen. I fear that you have to march to Trondheim to find such ladies.' The smithy returned to his fire when spoken. The summer heat made it impossible to work by day and so the smithy worked at night, much to the anger of the butcher living nearby.

Brom turned to the smithy again when the guards were out of hearing distance, 'once… and mark my words, there will be dragon riders again…'

Spine…

Deep in the night, where the wolves run free, just like other feral animals as bears, wolverines and martens… but also things beyond the human imagination… whatever lived there, the frightened humans remained far from it…

'it takes a lot of courage…' Brom watched Eragon disappear into the forest, armed with bow and arrow, 'it takes a lot of courage of a dragon rider to go into that forest. If you know what lives there…' if you know what happened there…

Once Eragon had found it… bones of a frightening animal. It looked like the stories of his uncle. And yet… he felt so sorry when he saw these cream white bones. As if something inside him cried over the bones of this creature.

It was almost 16 metres long and had a width of 40 metres, he thought. But what did he know? He hadn't studied? And yet he wasn't far off….

Dragons don't exist anymore. That was what Eragon felt whenever he heard it. Deep within his heart he hoped to meet one, who would take him far from here, even though he had a good life with his uncle. Going onto adventures so dangerous and quests so deadly… and then he… would miss the deer! Sucker! How could he mist the deer?

The deer hipped away and Eragon cursed himself for it. Nonetheless he followed the deer like a wolf on the prowl. This animal was lost and would go back to her family.

Would he ever meet his family?

---

Owari