Hopefully I did better on the spelling/grammar/etc this time! I had a friend look over it before I uploaded it.
It was, of course, just Miles's luck to have overslept the next morning. The others, having found her bunk still empty when asked about her whereabouts – for they'd have never cared enough to check on their own, of that she was sure – had no clue as to where she could be. She only ever came to the tree where she'd spent the night alone, after all. Not as if anyone had ever asked where she was going, or even really noticed her leave.
I could just disappear, and no one would miss me, she told Eværín sleepily, not surprised or awake enough to care, as she hurried to the training fields. She did her best to blend into the edge of the work already underway, and hoped to go unnoticed; though, she'd always had all the subtlety of a band of lumbering Urgals – no disrespect intended, but it was true.
So, she met her fate with a grim smile, as she was instructed to await further punishment for her tardiness, and no less than a day after her other offense. Great.
The day went exactly as she'd expected it to be; she went through the morning exercises as best she could with her left hand, earning almost twice the usual number of bruises and feeling her arm tightening twice as fast and burning twice as much with the effort. By the time everyone broke for lunch at noon, she could hardly feel anything of her arm besides the burning in its muscles, and she didn't expect to have very good control over it during the afternoon – of course, that would imply that her control over it was previously somewhere along the lines of normal.
She was relieved when, after the short lunch break, the training masters announced they wouldn't be sparring any longer for the day. As opposed to taking up more academically inclined lessons, as was the usual when such a thing was announced, they were going to be playing a game of sorts. Not that anyone had any objections, though Miles was highly skeptical that it would be an actual, fun game of any kind; not that she was about to speak against something that would get her out of fencing, even if her voice would have been heard – which, it wouldn't have.
Instead, everyone stopped and listened with rapt attention; the training field went so still that Miles would have sworn that the waterfall, located a short flying distance away, had momentarily ceased to fall. No one wanted to miss an instruction and consequently miss a new chance to excel past their peers.
It was announced that all the students were to be sorted into two teams, and each would appoint a captain to lead them. One team would be assigned a territory to defend, and the other would be charged with the task of breaching it. Weapons would be blunted, but blows not softened. Weapons already awaited them, dipped in an everlasting red paint that would mark 'victims'; if a 'wound' was judged to be incapacitating or fatal, said person would be 'killed', and would be made to sit where they'd been 'struck down'. When enough of the students were 'killed', the game would be over and the victory awarded by the training masters to whomever they deemed appropriate; however, there would be no prize for winning, and no penalty for losing.
What small relief she'd felt left Miles. This mightn't be sparring, but it sounded about ten times worse. She would hardly be allowed to use magic, and she was unable to use a bow with her broken arm, which would be the one way she felt she would ever be useful in a battle setting. Warily, she reached for a blunted spear dipped in red ink when everyone was dismissed to collect a share of weapons. She grabbed a few throwing knives and tucked them into her belt, though the blunted versions were not really knives at all; it would be foolish of her to carry absolutely nothing else to use. At the very least, no one knew she couldn't throw them, which was more than everyone knowing just how deficient she was with a sword.
Leaving the other weapons untouched, she faded to the edge of the crowd as quickly as possible – any other remaining weapons would be better utilized in another set of hands.
She was grateful when it was made apparent that those in charge of mediating the game would be sorting them into teams, rather than the students picking their own. She knew she would then be the last to be picked, humiliatingly, had the latter choice been the reality of the situation. Instead, she was simply tapped like the others, and walked with the group towards the indicated side.
She didn't participate in the task of electing someone to lead their group, instead choosing to hover around the edge of the group just enough to be an identifiable part of it, and leaving that particular job to the others on her team. Her opinion would have been no more heard by her peers than by the training masters on the best way to win a duel; in any case, and she was obviously not going to be the one chosen, even if she was the most eligible for the task, which she was obviously not. She might as well save her breath for the fight (or 'fight') to come – she would most likely be needing it, along with any other help she could get.
While the two groups were occupied, she devoted her attention to the masters setting up various traps around the terrain to trip up the students, and made a mental note to avoid those places. They weren't serious or injuring, but would render their victims 'incapacitated', and Miles was determined not to be the first one struck down in this game, though she thoroughly doubted that she would be one of the last standing. She was bound to have been marked as a weak target by just about everyone from the moment the game was announced, and for good reason; it would be wise to get her out of the way of the game, along with some of the younger and less experienced students, so that more skilled displays of combat to go unhindered.
She let out a long sigh, blowing her bangs off of her forehead and turning her attention to the sky. It was still just barely after midday, to her dismay, and she was already wishing for evening – at least that was a private kicking of her arse.
At least they won't completely overlook you, pointed out Eværín, who was quite interested in this new 'game'. It would be worse, would it not, if you were the last one left to defend your terrain?
Well, if only more than half of the other force is 'killed' I should think that the other team would win and end the thing there; but I know not how long they really intend to let the game go on. In a realistic sense, yes – it would be terrifying; a last stand, the kind of things Bards would sing about… assuming someone tells one the tale, which no one probably would… She responded in agreement with Eværín's point – being the last one standing would be a frightening thing to behold on a true field of battle, though that wasn't exactly what he'd meant – here would be terrible just because she would then be the main target, something she had nowhere near the skill to deal with. There, well… she didn't want to think about it. I don't think this is constructed to be very realistic – what if you were guarding something of vital importance – something you would die for? I suppose someone would have to escort it away from the field of battle, and that would take away from the exercise…No, I think it's more of a break in the usual pattern of things, which is nice.
She chewed on her lip, her arms folded defensively across her chest, as her group came to a consensus with an aching slowness. It was actually quite amusing to her how long it had taken to choose a leader from amongst them; everyone had wanted to be the leader and lead their group to victory, and each clearly thought themselves the most qualified for the job; however, none would outright nominate themselves. Each time someone tried to assert themselves, Miles would take a break from her own thoughts to crack a small smile. Looking around, she found some of the training masters were also amused. Everyone had been so wrapped up in securing a spot of leadership that they hadn't even bothered to notice the traps being set up; no traps had been mentioned in the conversation, at least, though that might not be a good thing to judge by. Perhaps that was the whole idea of the traps, to begin with.
If that was the case, she would have to give her training masters a round of applause; it would be brilliant to watch her peers stumble over traps and unwittingly be knocked out of the game.
Scanning her surroundings one last time, she gripped her spear and turned her attention back to the group in full. They'd chosen a tall, well-muscled boy of sixteen to be their leader; Miles dimly remembered his name to be Thaddeus. He had hardened dark eyes and dark hair that fell across his forehead in a jumbled mass. He'd come to begin his training shortly after Miles had, but she didn't know him too well; only that he was from a small town on Woadark Lake, and still had some family there. She doubted if they'd ever spoken more than once or twice, if that.
He was addressing the group of roughly ten other Riders, giving orders with an unexpected authority on the arrangement of their defense; she was impressed despite herself on how politely, but firmly, he declined any bits of advice offered by the others in the group. He put them in a formation that protected their 'camp' – a small area of no more than twenty paces across – from intrusion on all sides.
It was only after everyone had taken their stations that Miles realized she hadn't been given a place to help, and walked up to him. She didn't have any inhibitions about speaking her mind to the boy, though he was roughly half a foot taller than she. "You haven't given me anything to do," She said, her voice clear and staring at him without flinching. Neither was intimidated by the other, and neither of them spoke a word for a long while, but waited to see if the other would break under the weight of a strong gaze.
"Your orders are to stay out of trouble," He said simply, his hardened expression relenting after studying her for a small moment longer, casting a pointed look at her splinted arm. She watched him with a rising incredulousness as he stalked off with no further comment, making to join the front of the defensive circle which was the land's highest point of elevation; though not by much. The training field was on relatively level ground, which was good for fighting, however, it was bad for someone to observe the fighting and administer orders, and to follow the tide of battle as commanders must. Though what they were about to engage in, she felt, would hardly be defined as battle.
Still, her being so blatantly left out of the arrangement enraged her, despite her poor skills and damaged limb, though she knew it was probably the best option for everyone involved. It was still hurtful and embarrassing to be singled out like that, on top of everything else she'd gone through in the past few days – with new punishments, the usual lack of sleep, and an increasing soreness that always permeated her body and making her reluctant to do much more than walk; she knew she shouldn't be letting those things effect her as much as they did, and cause her to get this offended, but she couldn't much help herself just then. She stood in the middle clearing, carefully controlling her breathing; gripping and ungripping and regripping her spear until her knuckles went white. Looking around, she studied each of the teammates individually, but no one paid her any attention. She felt her anger, if possible, fan skyward.
Fine, if they don't want to pay attention, I will make them pay attention.
Ignoring the cautionary words of Eværín, pushing them deftly to the back of her mind and informing him that she could take care of herself, thank you very much, she hefted her spear in her hand; though she didn't think she'd be using it. She set a ready stance and waited for the game to start.
Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long.
It was only the space of a few minutes before the first of the 'attacks' came into their humble camp. It was more than enough time to think through her slightly reckless plan, and make her sure enough of herself to have the confidence to do it.
A few tentative attacks on the surrounding area, preempted by blunted arrows whistling through the trees, signaled the beginning of the game as determined by the attacking force. The first few people foolish enough to break through the line of trees on their own were easily overpowered; all of the attackers promptly being made to sit down where they were marked in red, with bruises sure to follow. Only one of their own defenders went down, and the circle promptly shifted to fill the gap.
Right, because I'm so completely incompetent that they can't even let me act as a physical barrier. I could at least be doing something; I'm not completely worthless. She thought bitterly, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes. She didn't have any more room in her reputation to be acting childish.
Miles's team had been paired off into a slightly staggered in a circle around her. Many had shown signs of wanting to join into the small scuffles that broke out on one side of the circle, that nearest to the trees, but a few sharp orders from Thaddeus were enough to keep them in line.
By a few quick calculations she was sure everyone was doing inside their minds, Miles estimated that there were about six or seven people still remaining to attack.
Everyone had been expecting an attack in force on the opposite side of the area they'd been assigned to defend, having simply failed at their attack plan, but much to everyone's surprise all six came out simultaneously from different angles. They each took out their opponents with almost synchronized moves that left their victims with red lines across their throats, evening out the numbers between the opposing sides.
Miles promptly dropped her spear in surprise as one of the attackers moved in, with her clearly in sights the next target. Miles backed up, all thoughts of a plan flying out of her mind, and made for the edge of the camp where she'd seen one of the traps set by the training masters earlier. She heard a few laughs from the people who'd already been made to sit out as she dashed wildly for the edge of the clearing, sure that she was being followed.
She knew she looked like an idiot and a coward, but she didn't have many other choices if she wanted to remain unbruised and in the game – though she wasn't completely sure that she did, mind you – and this was probably her best shot out of the lot of them. She wouldn't back down because of a few snickers from her peers; she'd dealt with worse in her day. Turning abruptly when she reached the tree line, positive she'd skirted the trap, she wheeled around to face the would-be attacker. She was a blonde girl of a middling height and fierce green eyes, wielding a sturdy looking sword and shield. They both stilled and Miles began to slowly move to her left, knowing she was just barely out of range of the trap at the tree line, but trusting that the other girl was close enough to trigger and catch most of whatever it was. She knew it had to be somewhere around her, and she could only hope she was going in the right direction.
After a few tentative steps, the other girl smiled and hefted her sword, presumably already savoring her impending victory over Miles, and followed her steps towards the trap. The girl had just opened her mouth to say something domineering – or so Miles assumed – when with a loud snap! she stepped on some kind of release, triggering a spray of red paint to surge skyward. Miles had to repress a laugh when a large amount of the stuff landed in the blonde girl's opened mouth, plucking the slightly tarnished shield off her splattered arm with utter delight. Casting a look back as she dashed past, Miles received a dirty look from the seated girl and her teammates. In return, she gave them a large smile, finding that she couldn't take any of them seriously as the girl spat out copious amounts of red onto the grass, her blond hair congealed in already drying paint.
Returning back into the middle of the clearing, Miles found herself in the middle of a thoroughly uneven fight – two remained from the opposing team, but only the captain, Thaddeus, was still standing from her own; save herself, of course. She bit her lip, unsure of how to help and nearly positive she couldn't, but wanting to all the same. Anything would be better than standing dumbstruck where she was, like a half-wit, trying to think up some solution while the duel grew stale; though, she only had the luxury of that position, standing still for an instant longer to complement to herself on Thaddeus's skilled swordsmanship (If only she could hold off two attackers like that - !) when one of two attackers wheeled to face her.
Finally cursing her bad luck – for she hadn't wanted to end up as one of the last few remaining players – Miles brought up the shield instinctively to block a blow from his blunted sword, though the position was difficult to maintain due to her one injured arm; it forced her weaker left to bear all of the dull weight that shot up to her shoulders in small shocks. It seemed that the blunted edge of the blade had only served to stiffen what was already a fearsome set of blows; as she doubted if she could pull another player through a trap, having already done so once, she began do despair at the strength of her opponent. She was doomed, right as rain; all she could do was hold him off as best she could until Thaddeus could help her; for she had no doubts that he would win a duel with the one opposing swordsman after facing off against both with so much success.
It was just a matter of her arm not giving in until then, and bearing the shame of being no more than a glorified punching bag for her opponent. She gritted her teeth, determination flooding into her limbs. No matter what, she would see this particular venture through, as silly as she found it. Useless, bah! She thought – she'd show everyone she was good for more than a laugh.
Seized by a sudden inspiration and borne on some new wave of resolve she'd never felt before, she ducked and spun under the shield, side-stepping the blow and using her small size to gain the few seconds needed to return to where she'd dropped her spear. She brought up the shield once more to bar yet another blow, giving grim thanks that her attacker appeared to be a one-trick pony when it came to attacks; it gave her more options than a more creative opponent would have.
Immediately following one of the strikes, Miles threw all her weight into the shield, throwing the attacker off balance and spinning under her shield again; this time extending her arm to touch the blunted spearhead to the boy's stomach in one fast strike; being sure to leave a bruise. She stared down at her own arm with something akin to shock after the moment passed, unsure if she was caught in some kind of dream. She'd never really won any kind of duel before, as every time she'd come close her clumsiness would kick in and she would find herself scrambling for a dropped weapon, or sprawled on the ground, coated in dirt from tripping over her own feet. Slowly, a smile spread across her mouth.
"Dead," She pronounced, pulling back her arm and watching with a smug satisfaction as the boy sank down onto the grass in front of her.
It was only when the training masters then appeared out of the brush and declared her team the victor that she realized she had, indeed, been the last one standing.
Ͽ ҉ Ͼ
A few evenings later into her punishment lessons, Miles had taken to simply meeting Eragon just beside the bunks and mess hall, as opposed to following him out of the mess hall once he was finished with his supper. Her dread of the lessons, and, in truth, of fencing in general, had decreased somewhat since they'd begun playing the game in which had won Miles her first ever victory; the fear and hatred of sparing had faded into a general feeling of wariness and distaste. She doubted she'd ever really like it or be good at it, but at least she found she'd been more able to avoid bruises. Though, she was always paid them back measure for measure during the evenings – she didn't mind too much, though; she could hardly expect to be made to spar with Eragon Shadeslayer, the Rider who slayed Galbatorix himself, and escape unscathed! A few bruises were a small price to pay, in all honesty.
However, her peers' attitude towards her was quickly deteriorating, and she feared that the situation might soon reach a boiling point; whereas before she was regarded with sheer indifference – simply ignored and occasionally taunted when contact was unavoidable – she now found people going out of their way to make her miserable. Miles had now spent several nights outside, including a rather unpleasant stormy one; though Eværín had always been able to help greatly in those situations. She'd taken to reading and meditating before supper as opposed to after, and catching the last gleanings of food when no one was around to trip her up as she walked down the aisles; sometimes, she skipped eating supper altogether. As a result, she was growing even scrawnier than she'd ever been before.
After two nights of escaping to her usual apple tree, she'd sat under its familiar branches, truly relaxing for the first time all day, only to have some brown substance – whose true identity she didn't really care to know – rained down upon her. Two of the smaller students had apparently followed her earlier, and concealed themselves in the tree's abundant foliage with the help of some older students, so as to catch her by surprise. She grudgingly bathed in the nearby stream, freezing cold, and found herself a new spot to escape to without the torment of her peers – by the waterfall, some distance north of the training fields; nearly twice the walk to the apple tree. Every time she found herself retreating there, she was doubly careful to ensure she wasn't followed.
Whatever she did, she didn't inform any of the training masters of their petty pranks. She wasn't going to be giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing she'd caved after only a few rather uncreative attempts to soil her spirits.
If they didn't like being beaten by me, you'd think they would have let it go after the next game when I lost – it wasn't even me who was this 'winner'. It was my entire team, for gods' sake! I don't understand! Why does it even matter so much? Loads of those kids win things over me every day! She thought angrily, removing the toads someone had put in her bed on the lone night she'd managed to get into the bunks before someone barred the door. Eværín was always sympathetic to her plight, but couldn't fathom why she wouldn't simply tell one of the training masters and put an end to it.
You have uncounted hours at your disposal to tell them in private, no one need ever be the wiser, and then you can sleep in the same comfort and warmth provided the others, he counseled her one evening after she'd been locked out for the third time, and set herself down to sleep under the shelter of his wing. You've never been one to be unwisely prideful, don't start the habit now.
Goodnight, Eværín, she would say after hearing his reasoning for upwards of an hour. She was frustrated, and chilly; for fall was quickly approaching the land, which left little to no change save different colored foliage and a new bite in the night air; until she'd been forced to start sleeping outside, she had not even noticed the latter. In the daytime, the weather stayed curiously the same.
She sat on the ground, wary and sore from the day's practice already, and awaited Eragon's arrival for the few short minutes she could. When he arrived, she was pleased to discover that tonight's lesson would not be accompanied by the usual uncomfortable silence as they walked through the woods to the clearing some distance from camp, leaving behind everyone to their free time, and took up the lesson where it had left off the previous night. Now, Eragon led her in another direction; and waiting for them at the edge of the collection of sparse halls was the dragon Saphira.
She was a massive and majestic being, larger than any given hall and by far the largest and oldest dragon in attendance at the training camp; that is, if you did not wish to count the Eldunarí, which were positively ancient in Miles's novice opinion. Stopping to give a short to bow and pay respect to the Dragon who contributed as much as Eragon to the downfall of the Empire, Miles turned to Eragon.
"Are we going to be flying, Eragon-elda?" She said, still using the respectful elvish term, as she had been. He had not requested her to switch to the customary 'Ebrithil', or 'Master', so she had decided to simply stick with the simpler word. She hadn't the energy to ponder the subtleties of politeness at the moment.
"Yes," He said, nodding, "You can summon your dragon if you wish, though I am sure that Saphira has strength enough to carry us both. It is your choice,"
The blue dragon lowered her head to examine Miles, and Miles did her best to stand as tall and look as unintimidated as possible. It would not due to appear weak in any circumstances, though she knew she was only an increasingly scrawny teenager as of late, with much growing ahead of her; her attitude could still emanate confidence. She'd seen in it done by many others, and there was no reason that she should not be able to do the same. Saphira observed her for another silent moment as Eragon made to mount the saddle situated between her wings, and Miles met her gaze without so much as a flinch.
Eværín? She called through their mental link, while she stood silently and did her best not to be tense, sending him a stream of images of the past few moments. He was already on his way, flying the short distance from where the other dragons had been congregated.
She was relieved when Eværín landed next to her deftly, and Saphira's gaze retreated. She guessed that she must have shared some funny thought with Eragon, as she could have sworn his mouth twitched up in amusement for a fleeting moment. She ignored it, sure that in her place she would have made more than one quip about her own scrawny appearance, and scrambled up onto Eværín's back with much less grace than that of her Master's, though she'd done it many times before. Tt never got any easier for her; she was naturally small, and Eværín was older and larger than most dragons here, having hatched and begun to grow sooner than they, when Miles was roughly age six as opposed to age ten or eleven.
After she finally secured herself on his back, and declined to fetch a saddle to protect the skin on her legs. "So long as we aren't flying too far, I should be fine," She said calmly, with full faith in Eværín's ability to keep her on his back, and her own ability to stay seated. That was one of the positive outlooks of having been bonded to Eværín for longer than the other students; while it took her a few extra minutes to actually reach the saddle, or in this case just Eværín's back, they had far superior flying skills as a team and were vastly more attuned to each other. She was sure wherever they were going, it would be no trouble for Eværín and herself; it wasn't as if they were flying all the way across Alagaësia, after all.
So, they took off, with Eragon and Saphira leading Eværín bearing Miles. True to Eragon's word, the flight was not too terribly long, though longer than Miles had expected. However, they flew in such a direction that the camp swiftly fell away from them, much to Miles's relief. In all the time she'd been training, she had never once been farther than the short distance from the place required to reach the waterfall; she could almost always make out the faint shapes of the halls on the horizon. She often felt as if she were somehow chained to the place, unable to break free – nothing felt better than the faint shapes of the various halls fade behind her as she flew into the sky with Eværín – really flying, for the first time in a long time. Even the knowledge that she was doomed to return in a few short hours couldn't bite back the feeling of serenity that seemed to occupy the air just out of the camp's reach.
Below them the terrain got increasingly thick with trees, and though their altitude stayed the same, the green branches rose closer to meet them, and seemed to reach up and pull them down as they landed. Clearings like those in which their training field was placed were nowhere to be seen in this particular part of the forest. They had backtracked into the thickest part of the ancient wood; she was surprised when they could even find a clearing large enough for both dragons to land in.
By the time that both dragons had landed and both Riders dismounted, the sun was barely holding itself atop the horizon; the sky appeared golden through the small gaps in the branches, and she could picture off memory alone the image of the sun drooping, sleepy and fat on the horizon, aching to lay itself down below the plains and rest itself for a new day. It'll be dark soon, she thought, how on earth will we see then? I could hardly put a werelight up here and be able to see everywhere I go – this'll be a nightmare.
She felt Eværín give a small huff, releasing only warm air, and nudged the back of her head comfortingly. She turned around slowly, giving him a small smile and placing a hand on the side of his head gently, before walking to where Eragon had seated himself on a fallen log. He was currently at work making two more roughly hewn practice swords, which Miles looked on with some small measure of apprehension.
"Why do you keep making new ones?" She asked, after standing in front of him and watching the wood in his hand gradually take on the semblance of a sword.
"What do you mean?" He asked her, not looking up but continuing his work.
"Why do you keep making new swords – what if someone else decided to inhabit the woods in the future, and they just found all these wooden swords lying about in the woods? And it would…" She searched for a more logical reason to have interrupted his thoughts, for as usual the words to tumble from her lips were the ones her brain had told her to keep firmly inside, meaning, she sounded idiotic and bizarre as usual. "… Save time." She finished, nodding a little at her own words. Saving time, that made sense.
"Do you think I should carry wooden practice swords on me, then?" He said, "And wouldn't the wood have decayed by the time the Riders leave these woods? I can assure you that will most likely not be for a very, very long time."
She shrugged. "Well, if we were returning to the same spot every evening you could simply hide them – I once saw a useful trick for concealing things in the trunks of trees that would be rather useful. It was just a suggestion…" She turned away from Eragon as he made some small noise of assent, walking past him and past where Saphira lay behind him; her head tucked under her wing and presumably taking a nap. She began to wander around the clearing and a little into the woods, playing the passive observer and hoping to find something to help her in the match to come.
After about ten minutes, she found herself standing in the middle of a decidedly smaller and darker clearing with a new practice sword in her hand. She was supposed to be 'using the terrain' – though it would probably only make her trip and injure herself in all new and exciting ways, from what she'd been able to see. Another day, another new way to scrape myself up, she thought, at least my skills are improving.
It was a longer pause than usual before the attack finally came, and she resumed the usual torture of attempted blockings, some bruisings, now with some tripping and using magic to light up places as she maneuvered around the small section of the forest, doing her best to use her small size to her advantage and slip through gaps in the trees which Eragon could not.
In the end, she did use the idea of concealing herself in a tree, but she didn't have the mental energy to think up the words in the ancient language to use to create the actual action of hollowing a tree, clambering into that hollow, and then closing it again; not to mention that she would then have to open the tree's bark coat and attack Eragon at a moment's notice. That would take eons of energy, and a precise timing she just didn't have. So, instead, she used a bit of the energy from the necklace that hung under her shirt and darkened her person so that she blended into a small hollow between two trees that only she could fit into, and waited.
She sat tucked comfortably there for a few moments, and was almost sad to leave it when she heard the soft rustle of many tree branches being moved at once, as if someone was bursting through them at a reasonably high speed. She would have dismissed it under other circumstances, but she knew that the person she was up against had elf-like speed, and so she paid extra attention accordingly. Thus, it was unmistakable.
He flashed pass her, hesitating in the middle of the clearing, and wiping a bit of sweat from his brow, panting slightly. Mustering all her strength for as quick a blow as she could manage, she swept out from the hollow behind him, making as little noise as possible while going as fast as she could. She whirled around him, sweeping under his sword as he wheeled around at the noise of her leaving her hiding spot, bringing up her own practice sword in one motion and stopping it to lean slightly against Eragon's collarbone; for the second time, and the first time against Eragon, she had won.
He looked down at the sword and it felt as if the entire wood froze for a few seconds. Using two fingers to push it away from his face, he studied her dark figure with an unreadable expression. She stopped the spell with a quick word from the ancient language, and blinking up innocently at him as she faded into the normal light. It was their first match of the evening, and though the sun had definitely set, it was not yet truly dark – she must have been like a shadow. She felt guilty – it wasn't really through skill that she won the match, and the victory held no real triumph, unlike her first win.
"Well played," he said, his words measured. She shrugged, and brushed her hair out of her face. As usual, it toppled down her back in dark waves, sticking to her sweaty forehead, unbound and messy.
"Just lucky I didn't drop the sword," She said. She made to actually pull her hair out of her face for once – she couldn't afford any other obstructions to her sight if they had to continue to spar in the already dark forest while the night approached – but was surprised to see Eragon toss his sword away and return to the clearing. Keeping her sword, she followed as quickly as her marginally shorter legs would allow her.
"Are we finished?" She said, hardly believing that she could get off so easily.
"Not yet," He said, reaching the clearing.
"No?" She said, confused, "I don't understand,"
"You'll see," He said shortly, "Follow me," He had, apparently, contacted Saphira during the short walk – which seemed much quicker upon the return journey – for both she and Eværín were ready to leave by the time they reached the original clearing.
"Are you angry with me?" She asked, completely taken aback by the sudden change in the usual punishment/lesson.
"No." He said firmly, but not unkindly, turning to face her for a moment before climbing up onto Saphira's back.
Though they'd only sparred once that evening, the journey to this thicker part of the woods and the prolonged sparring combined had taken up more than an hour or two. The return journey was not as at as leisurely a pace as the arrival, but was not at an overly one and still took longer than it might have, had each dragon been going as fast as they could.
At least, not until they came within sight of the camp, or rather, what remained of it; a ruinous collection of smoldering foundations, topped by thickening smoke that stretched towards the ever darkening sky. The place was almost utterly destroyed; decades worth of careful plans to resurrect an ancient order, scattered in the wind like so many grains of sand.
