A Close Encounter
Garrow frowned.
Outside, just beyond the confines of the farm, a large mound sat, unmoving, in the snow. And it wasn't the first of its kind. Not by a long shot.
Garrow looked up at the sun. It would be a while yet before the boys came back from the village; he had time, and his curiosity was slowly getting the better of him.
He dropped his shovel and set out across his land.
It took him longer than it would have taken one of the boys, (Eragon especially, who had taken to all but sprinting out into the woods each day) but he made it there fast enough. Soon, a foul smell overwhelmed his senses as he grew closer to the mound. His eyes watered, and he backed up several feet.
Dear gods, he thought, covering his face and wiping way tears. Any creature that can make something so foul...
It was obvious to him now what the mound was. It was also obvious that he wanted nothing to do with it.
He turned, intending on heading back to the house, when he heard a rustling from the treeline behind him.
He froze.
The creature could still be near, he realized. Slowly, he turned around...
The dragon shivered as the wind blew gently past her. Heart racing, she watched the unfamiliar two-leg standing next to her excrement. It—he, for it was obviously the same sex as her Eragon—turned to leave, and nearly collapsed in relief. Flying from those few feet to her hiding spot had been a good idea; she hadn't left any tracks.
She turned to go.
The leaves rustled.
She froze.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the dragon turned back toward the two-leg, hoping he hadn't heard.
He had.
The pair stared at one another, the two-leg unaware of the dragon's presence, as the branches around her hid her from view.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves around the dragon.
The two-leg nodded, convinced the beast was gone.
He walked back to the farm house.
The dragon relaxed.
And the two went their separate ways.