"What are you thinking about?" Eragon asked the silent figure beside him.

"Fäolin," she answered, her voice little more than a whisper. And though he could barely make out her features in the pale glow of the moon, he felt her pain; a pain worse than a sharp dagger piercing the heart, because it went on forever. Never stopping, never letting you forget.

A single tear trickled out of the elf's eye, and Eragon reached up to wipe it away, his hand lingering on her cheek a bit longer than intended; his other arm wrapping around her waist. And for once, she didn't push him away. For once, she fell willingly into his embrace. For she knew that in his arms, nothing could harm her. And she could lose herself, finally letting go of the past; finally forgetting.