"... for the dark king has fallen!" Orik's magically magnified voice boomed. Orik and his parties, Eragon thought gloomily. "Let the feasting begin! Tonight, we shall dance, drink, eat, and enjoy ourselves!" As Eragon took his place on the dwarf king's right hand, he noticed that Íorûnn, grimstborith of the war-wolves sat across from him. She winked lazily at him. For some reason, he felt his heartbeat quicken like it did when he was with Arya. He felt blood flood his cheeks and hurriedly stared down at his empty plate. The platters of food were then brought forth. Piles of sweetmeats, a giant boar, a platter of icy creamy stuff the dwarves called 'ice cream'.
A fitting name, don't you think, Saphira? Try some, it's delicious, she replied, shoving a whole dish of it down her throat, platter and all.
He batted her leg. Saphira! That's disgusting! "Eragon!" Orik whispered urgently, "Ice cream is not good for dragons. When too much of it meets the fire within their bellies, it combusts."
Hear that Saphira? he asked.
She blew a plume of smoke at him. Íorúnn, she's quite something, isn't she? Saphira asked slyly, sliding a look at the dark-haired beauty. He felt hot blood flood his cheeks.