Chapter 2
Meh, I know. I'm lazy. Short chappie.
Garzhvog, still slightly startled, pondered upon which story he would tell him. He decided to tell him the story of Maghara, and spoke to the Rider, spinning the tale as he watched, entranced by the passion the Urgal could put into the words. After the story, Eragon remained quiet for a time, and then asked, "Tell me something about your villages."
"What?"
"Anything. I experienced hundreds of memories while I was in your mind and in Khagra's and in Otvek's, but I can recall only a handful of them, and those imperfectly. I am trying to make sense of what I saw."
Garzhvog rumbled quietly, "There is much I could tell you." He gazed at his hands, and lifted his makeshift toothpick up to his mouth, where he began picking his teeth. Then he told the boy of how they created poles with the faces of animals to keep evil spirits away, and how they hung namnas* across the doorways of their huts, and how they described the history of the family that resided there.
The boy listened, captivated, as he told him about the how mated Urgals wove hearth rugs, and how it could take five years, or more, for it to be completed and help to determine if you had chosen a good mate.
After he had told him all this, the Rider's face darkened as he opened his mouth to speak. "How is it you learned this language, Garzhvog? Was there a human who lived among you? Did you keep any of us as slaves?"
The Kull felt his anger flare again as he held Eragon's sharp gaze. "We have no slaves, Firesword. I tore the knowledge from the minds of the men I fought, and I shared it with the rest of my tribe."
"You have killed many humans, haven't you?"
"You have killed many Urgralgra*, Firesword. It is why we must be allies, or my race will not survive." Garzhvog reluctantly said, unwilling to show weakness of any kind.
~Now I just get lazy and start paraphrasing.~
Eragon crossed his arms across his slender chest. "When Brom and I were tracking the Raz'ac, we passed through Yazuac, a village by the Ninor River. We found all the people there dead, with a speared baby on the top of the pile. It was the most terrible thing I've ever seen. And Urgals were the one responsible for the heinous deed."
Garzhvog felt a stab of pity and compassion in his heart, but quenched it quickly, telling his own story of how his father had taken him to a village in the western Spine, and how they had found a village, burnt, with corpses littering the ground, covered in terrible wounds. Narda men had learned the location, and slaughtered everyone.
His voice stuttered slightly as he told him all this, but he kept going, telling him how battle was glorious and that there was no other joy, but that his race was still aware of its flaws, and that Galbatorix would kill them all if he defeated the Varden. "Am I not right, Firesword?" he said afterwards.
Eragon dipped is head in a sharp nod. "Aye."
"It does us nothing to dwell on past wrong. If we can't overlook these things, there will never be peace between our races."
"What about after Galbatorix is defeated? If you get your land, your children will simply engage in more violence to win mates, and your hard work will be for nothing."
Garzhvog sighed heavily. "Then we hope the Urgralgra that live across the ocean are wiser than us, and continue to thrive."
After that, no more words were spoken, and they went to sleep. But in his waking dreams, Eragon could here knitting needles, like Gertrude, but louder, and more hesitant, like the person knitting didn't know have as much experience doing so as Gertrude did. It was comforting, but also unnerved him. Was this a dream? And if so, where had he heard it?
The next morning they began running again, and could see the Boer Mountains by the end of the day. They didn't stop that night, instead running through the night and into the next day.
*Urgralgra-the name the Urgals call their species.
AAAAAAGH, HOW FUCKING LONG IS IT GOING TO TAKE FOR ME TO GET TO THE SMEX!