Disclamier: I do not own Eragon, or any of it's charcters, I only own my own made-up's and such.

The world seemed to meld away on horseback. It always did, it just melted to a blur, and nothing seemed to matter. A messenger, a thief, or an assassin could just run through and not be noticed.

But a young girl on the back of a black stallion was confused, what was she? Did the world matter, or was it merely a part of life, she always thought, people just grew up to die. But she was unsure. She had doubts.

Was it wrong to be a thief and a messenger for the Varden? Was it bad, that she said she was on one side but, wasn't sure exactly where she was herself?

The girl turned her head to one side and thought, yet she dropped the topic early when here day dreams were interrupted by her long braid thumping on her back, wisps of inky black hair got in her eyes every so often, and she would have to brush them away frequently.

She straitened her back and looked down at herself; her dark green tunic was crinkled, from waiting and ridding on horseback.

Her hard protective leather leggings were starting to itch; her leather boots were getting too small and starting to pinch her toes.

Hard leather fingerless gauntlets protected her hands, and wrists.

She had been ridding for what seemed like hours when she reached part of her destination. In the horizon she could dimly make out the silhouette of a bandit camp. A few more hours and the first part of her trip would be done.

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She drew nearer to the camp, and she pulled back on her stallion's reins, slowing him to a trot. Once she was on the outskirts of the camp, she pulled him completely to a stop, and dismounted.

She smoothed part of her tunic and tied the black horse to a cactus and patted him softly on the nose before walking though the camp.

The camp was very basic, traitors were at their stands selling some goods, in tents and the whole area revolved around a rather large campfire.

Sitting around a campfire only were 5 people, 4 talking one starring into the fire intently. He was wearing a cloak and the hood was pulled up.

But she knew who this was, she was supposed to meet him, she only had met him a few times before. She tapped him on his right shoulder and waited for him to turn around; he did almost as soon as she pulled her finger away.

"Ah, young Ryeliey, you've finally decided to come?"

Ryeliey rolled her eyes and spoke sharply, "The Haddrok(sp?) desert is hard to cross Jormundur. What do you need now?"

"You to stay away from the Empire."

"Why? I can take care of myself." Ryeliey spoke penetratingly, meeting Jormundur's gaze coldly.

"The Varden needs you," he said simply. Ryeliey clicked her tongue, obviously not satisfied with his response; still she said nothing for a moment. She thought about her comeback, and then retorted "Why does the Varden need a 16 year old thief?"

"A. your our messenger. B. no one suspects you."

She sighed and looked at the sky and said, "I'll stay away for one week, but no longer." Jormundur dipped his head and said meekly "That is good enough."

"So to the Varden then?"

"Yes, come on." Jormundur set off at a fast pace towards a dusky brown grey horse, she mounted it and adjusted himself in the saddle. "Go get Carrisib, and follow me."

Ryeliey sprinted off untied Carrisib pulled off her quiver of arrows, put that on her back, and rummaged though her saddle bags for her sword. Once it was attached to her belt, she mounted Carrisib and galloped to catch up with Jormundur.