Hi readers! Thought you should know the only characters in this I own are Armelle, her father, and the egg she finds, which you'll find out more about later. The rest belongs to Chris Paolini, the guy that made me want to start writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Leave reviews please!
Armelle stood miles from her house, looking around the thick forest surrounding Osilon. She looked around with eyes the color of liquid silver, a wooden bow loose in her grip as she trotted through the woods with noiseless steps, avoiding fallen sticks and crunching leaves beneath her feet. She paused, her golden strands of hair pulled back tightly, though her bangs fell into her eyes messily. She had a black hood pulled over her blonde hair, concealing it from her possible prey. She had traveled far to get there, though she was still within the edges of Du Weldenvarden, and the elves had only permitted her to hunt if she went to the edge of their never-ending forest.
The forest was silent for long moments as she leaned against a tree, silver eyes sharp as she looked around. She moved forward when she spotted a young doe grazing about twenty-five yards away.
She drew her bow back, aiming for the doe. She stepped one foot forward into an easier, stronger stance, but her foot slipped on something hard, like a smooth rock. Her arrow slid into the ground down to the feathers, and the door looked up with large brown eyes, hearing the soft thud of Armelle's knee impacting the ground. The hunter nocked a second arrow, firing it off quickly, and, as the door fell, she turned to look at what she had fallen over.
A large shimmering stone of silver, breaking in color only to show white veins webbing across the surface, buried partly under the soil. She couldn't stop the sudden urge to dig it up and take it home to show her father, and, though she knew it was never a good idea to take things so far from her home, she did exactly what she thought foolish. She tugged the stone from the ground, cleaning off the silver object and sliding it into her animal skin hunting bag.
She moved toward the deer, and brought it to her home, through the miles of the thick woods between the edge and the outskirts of Osilon, where her home rested.
Armelle's father was waiting for her in front of the door. She smiled toward him and moved to help her with the dead doe. Together they skinned it, and the teenage girl took the skins to make bags, pouches, and leather clothing. As she did, she remembered the silver stone in her bag.
She pulled it out and left her room. "Father," she said as she moved forward. "Look what I found in the forest."
He looked it over carefully, his golden blonde hair which matched hers, though his was graying, hanging messily over his forehead as his head swung. His hazel eyes widened as he looked over the stone.
"You found this in the forest?" He asked slowly.
Armelle nodded.
"This is not a stone, my dear," her father informed quietly. He looked at his daughter again, meeting her silver eyes. She had his hair, but she was much like her mother. Her mother was an elf; she inherited her athletic build, strength, speed, and was at her full height of 5'10", far taller than the average human female, at her young age of sixteen. Her eyes were slanted, but unless you knew she had elven blood you would never guess it was from that, and she carried the proud and graceful looks of an elf, her ears even pointed like those of the elves. But her mother hadn't only been an elf, she was a Dragon Rider, as her father had once been before his dragon was killed by the Forsworn leader, Morzan.
"Then what is it, Father?" Armelle asked, raising a blonde eyebrow.
"You have found a dragon egg," he breathed in disbelief, "but how?"
the sixteen year old tensed. "I... I tripped over it. And then I just felt as though I needed to bring it home with me."
"Take it back to your room, and pack lightly." Her father said firmly. "We must leave."
"Where are we going?" Armelle asked, frowning.
"To see an old friend of mine, and your mother's. Bring the egg."
She nodded and went back to her room. She took her hunting pack and a larger pack, and piled as many of her things inside as she could, stringing on her bow and quiver once she was finished. She meet her father outside their small home, where they saddled their horses and filled their saddlebags as best they could with rations and water skins before climbing into the leather saddles and leaving their home behind.
Armelle's horse, a young golden filly she had owned for two years which she had named Dana, was padding the ground with her hoof, her ivory mane gleaming in the sunlight lines from the shaded barn's roof.
"Hey, Dana," Armelle cooed gently to the filly. "We're going on a trip."
She climbed into the horse's saddle, hiding the silver egg in the saddlebag on the right side of her saddle, and cantering out of the barn atop the golden horse. Her father had saddled his massive black stallion, Mordor, and was waiting for her outside. She nodded to her father and he turned Mordor around and they rode toward the edge of the woods at a full gallop.
Dana's legs were long and steps fast, but she had difficulty keeping up with Mordor, as he was a war horse and best suited for lengthy trips and fast rides. By nightfall, Armelle and her father had traveled far from Du Weldenvarden and had just reached the edge of Ceunon. They settled down to camp outside the town.
"If we keep the pace we had today," her father said, cooking meat for their meal over a small fire. "We should arrive in Carvahall in two days time."
She nodded slowly. It had been a long day of riding, and like her horse, she was exhausted. She had an elf's endurance, but hunting before sunrise until nearly noon, and then arriving at home only to leave again and ride on horseback for such a long distance would tire nearly anyone.
"Rest, Armelle." Her father said gently, his hazel eyes soft. "I will wake you when the food is done."
She nodded and laid on the ground, but couldn't help herself as she pulled the silver egg from her saddlebag. She laid it beside her and quickly fell asleep.
As her father promised, he woke her when the food was done, and she ate, and then she and her father slept.
She awoke to the sound of cracking beside her head, and opened her silver eyes to see a long, thick crack running over the egg's surface.
Armelle gasped and scrambled backwards. Was it... hatching?
her father stirred at the sound, but never woke.
A silver bat-like wing stretched from the egg after a chunk of the shell blew out, and the piece tumbled across the forest floor. A small scaly head poked out of the larger hole next, looking around with silver eyes the same color as its shimmering scales. The small creature climbed out of the broken shell, falling down and letting out a small squeak of annoyance when its silver scales collected dirt as they scraped the ground.
Armelle let out a small, quiet chuckle.
The dragon hatchling turned and looked at her, eyes bright. It walked forward, in the direction of her slender fingers.
The sixteen year old reached out to it slowly, the dying fire casting amber shadows in her golden hair and silver eyes, as it did across the dragon's metallic scales.
The hatchling poked its nose against Armelle's left palm, and horrible pain coursed through her body, starting in her hand and spreading. Her blood turned to ice water, her muscles frozen as blocks of ice. She gasped loudly, and the dragon cocked its head and looked at her strangely.
She jerked her hand back toward herd, looking at her left hand. A silver scar-like mark ran across her palm. She had seen it before. Her father had one, though it was faded, and so had her mother. The mark of a Dragon Rider.
The hatchling inched toward her slowly. It was a beautiful creature; silver scales that glowed with amber light from the dying fire, eyes of the same metallic shade, eyes that matched Armelle's own. It had a triangular head with rows of sharp teeth, and silvery wings of leathery looks and feel, with blue veins running through them in webbing patterns. Together the wings were much longer than the hatchling's body, made for flight and to support her weight.
"I suppose you and I are one now," the half-elf whispered to the dragon. "But you need a name. Are you male or female?"
The hatchling let out a gentle purr-like growl, nudging her leg.
"Female?" Armelle asked in confirmation, and the dragon... nodded? Yes, it had most certainly nodded. "Alright, now what to name you..." She sat in though for a moment, looking over the hatchling's silver coloring.
"Argenta," she decided, smiling at the newly hatched creature. "How about that?"
The hatchling seemed satisfied.
"Then that is what your name will be." Armelle determined quietly.
Argenta walked toward her and curled up against her leg, the hatchling's spiked tail curling around a sapling Armelle was stationed next to.
The next morning, Armelle was shaken awake by a gentle hand on her shoulder. She opened her silver eyes and looked up at her father, who, with his hand that wasn't shaking her awake, was petting Argenta.
"It appears she chose you," her father said gently. "You should be proud. Though I didn't expect her to hatch so soon."
"Perhaps she was impatient to see the world," Armelle replied sleepily, sitting up and brushing leaves and twigs from her golden hair with her slender fingers.
Argenta nipped at the toe of her boot, annoyed.
The half-elf chuckled and reached out for the silver hatchling.
Argenta scampered forward and nudged Armelle's hand with her snout, sending a tingling sensation up the girl's arm.
Armelle looked up to her father. "How will we travel with her?"
Her father looked thoughtful for a moment, glancing at her saddle. "Empty one of your saddlebags and she should fit. It will draw less attention should we meet anyone on the road to Carvahall.
She nodded and stood, brushing herself off as she moved toward Dana and cleaned out the saddlebag on the right side of her leather saddle. She transferred all of her other belongings to the left side saddlebag or into the buckskin pack she had constructed from the last deer she had taken down on the hunt.
Argenta climbed a tree, standing on a branch above them for a moment before she snapped out her silver wings and floated down from the tree, and landed on Mordor, who only nickered in annoyance and stomped his large black front hooves.
He must remember dragons, the sixteen year old decided, as it wasn't that long ago when her mother and father still had their own. Her mother was killed when she was only an infant, by the last of the Forsworn, Morzan. When her father went to avenge her death, his dragon was killed by Morzan's own.
Armelle shook herself from her thoughts, and smiled at her silver hatchling. "Wrong horse, silly." She chided with a laugh.
Argenta tilted her head and hopped across the horses, but the half-elf caught her in her arms before the hatchling landed on Dana.
"She's a bit skittish," Armelle warned the dragon. "I wouldn't do that if we ever want to catch her again."
Her father chuckled. "You're treating her like a toddler," He stated, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Well, she only hatched last night," Armelle argued, slipping the dragon into the right side saddlebag.
Argenta poked her head out, the tip of her spiked tail hanging out as well as she blew a small puff of smoke from her nostrils in protest.
Armelle rolled her silver eyes before pulling herself into Dana's saddle.
"It could get bumpy," she warned before her father pulled himself into Mordor's saddle and urged him into a canter.
Dana followed, and before long they were galloping into the Spine.