Eragon frowned and rolled over in his sleep as the nightmare became more vivid and macabre -

He was on all fours, his head hung limply between his shoulders. Blood dripped down his arms and face, and in the tears of his tattered armor.

Suddenly his head jerked up and his pained, but still murderous glare locked onto his adversary and gave him a look of pure hatred; the very air seemed to sizzle.

Then an agonized moan made his gaze flick over to a woman with dark hair, a few meters away from the confrontation.

She looked no better...or worse...than him. Her hair was hanging in lanky, bloodstained locks that draped over her delicate face, neck, and pointed ears.

A bloodthirsty rage welled up inside him and he raised a gleaming sword and let out a throat-wrenching war cry. He stood and roared at his enemy, sending an electric blue shockwave out from his body.

His eyes were glowing as he swung his sword and-

Eragon sat bolt upright with a gasp as the nightmare's effect finally jolted him awake; his blanket was twisted into ropes but still covering him. A hand instinctively twisted over his shoulder and felt the back of his neck for his scar. He let out a sob of relief when he couldn't find the troublesome ailment.

His breathing was heavy and deep as he raised his knees and rested his head on them.

The heat of The Burning Plains provoked most of the men - and some women - to sleep nude, and Eragon was no exception. He just hoped no-one - especially Arya or Nasuada - walked in on him...unless it was Saphira.

She used one ivory talon to move enough of the tent flap to stare at him. He must look a mess...
Are you alright little one? she asked, a note of concern in her voice.

He looked up at her vivid blue eye that was peeking through the tent opening and he could see his reflection mirrored there; his hair was ruffled and a few stray locks still clung to his forehead and nape with sweat. His face was pale and he could feel his arms shaking.

Yes. I just had...a bad dream... he replied.
I know...I felt it too, she assured him with a snort.

Then she gave him a sympathetic - almost pitying - look. Of all of Saphira's words, expressions or thoughts, this hurt the most.

Eragon turned his face away from her, hiding the grimace of pain. Go Saphira. I'm getting up now, he said in a falsely commanding voice. Saphira nodded and then let the tent flap drop.

Eragon sighed as he wrapped his blanket around his hips before he swung his legs over the edge of his cot and stood, yawning and stretching. He ran a hand through his already sand-gritted hair.

He tied the blanket around his waist sarong style and retrieved the leather hide strips he used to secure the tent opening.

When he had finished, he let the blanket slide to the ground and knelt beside his pack, and began pawing through it, looking for a clean pair of breeches. He pulled out his soft doeskin pair, and quickly shucked them on.

He rummaged through his pack again, now searching for a tunic - it was far too hot to wear a shirt; it was barely half an hour after the sun had risen and already it was boiling! He found a pale blue tunic, rested it and Beloth the Wise over his shoulder, wriggled into his boots, then made an effort to make his hair stay flat.

He untied the tent flaps and flinched at the wave of heat, light, and wind that bombarded him in the face.

He glanced around and found Saphira lolling about near Nasuada's tent. He pulled on his tunic and tied Beloth loosely around his hips and made his way toward her. She was resting her large head on her forepaws, her tail slowly coiling and uncoiling. Solumbum was sprawled spread-eagled underneath one of Saphira's wings which he was using as a parasol.

Even though it was early, people were already scurrying about on their daily routine. Eragon watched them, a disbelieving frown making its way onto his face.
What is it Eragon? Saphira asked, without moving.
I slept through this noise? Unbelievable! he shook his head.
It's true...I was wondering that myself. Oh! By the way! Arya asked me to tell you that she would like to spar with you. She has a sword you can use since you don't have Zar'roc with you. At this, She opened one blue eye, then closed it, making a chuckling noise in the back of her throat.

Eragon smiled privately to himself. He'd been hoping this would happen. He'd really wanted to pit himself against her with his newfound elven strength. He threw a gentle hug around Saphira's neck before he trotted off toward the large 'field' they used to practice.

He spotted Arya immediately and made his way toward her, watching as she took a deep breath, then, with her feet together and with nothing to prevent her from overbalancing, she arched smoothly over backward.

Her eyes met his and she instantly whirled upright again. She touched two fingers to her lips and Eragon mimicked her, his gaze never wavering like it used to. He knew she hadn't called him here just for a spar...

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I edited it! Yippee! No spelling mishaps! Woot!