Saphira whimpered, a rare and pitiful noise. Eragon ran toward her, but no matter how hard he strove, he couldn't seem to get any closer. He called her name desperately, but she did not seem to hear him. He thrust his mind towards hers, but her isolation had been so great for so long that she did not even seem to notice him. However, he did see what she saw and he felt her pain. He saw himself in Galbatorix's clutches. He saw himself being tortured, and he felt Saphira's hopelessness and misery, for in her mind there was nothing she could do to help him. Eragon knew from his connection with her that she believed whole-heartedly the vision that had been placed there. Eragon put his whole being into calling her, making her aware of his presence, but she could not respond, for she was completely absorbed into her vision. "Saphira! Saphira, please! I'm right here! I'm fine! SAPHIRA!" Eragon called as loud as he could, tears streaming down his face. But Saphira did not hear him. She keened and wailed at the top of her lungs, and no matter how hard Eragon strove, he could not disrupt her mourning howl. Eragon's heart cried out to her as he watched her for what seemed like hours, unable to do anything and yet still calling her name as loud as his voice would allow. Then, suddenly, her moans stopped and she looked at Eragon. Eragon's heart leaped. But his elation did not last long. There was something wrong with Saphira. As she turned to him, he noticed that her eyes were no longer bright and twinkling, but hard and cold. Her gemlike scales were dull and lusterless. And when she spoke to him, there was not a trace of the companionship or love that Eragon had so fondly remembered. Eragon, she spoke into his mind, I waited for you. I survived for you. Two hundred years I've waited. Two hundred years, alone. You might as well have been dead. I waited. But still, you did not come. Eragon attempted to apologize, knowing that no matter what he said, it could never be enough. Tears fell freely and unabashedly. Saphira interrupted him before he even begin to express his lamentations. WHY DIDN'T YOU COME? Saphira roared, both in Eragon's mind and out loud. The pain in her voice and her soul was so real and evident that it made Eragon want to curl up into a ball and weep for her. He didn't, however. He was shocked. After so long apart, he had imagined their reunion as joyous and happy. Never had he imagined that Saphira would reject him and his love. Saphira, please, Eragon began imploringly and desperately, I tried. God knows how hard I tried. Please, words can't even begin to scratch the surface of my regret. I've been lost without you! I need you! I've nearly killed myself hundreds of times in my misery of your absence! Eragon's mental voice grew louder and louder, until he was nearly shouting at Saphira, trying to make her understand how sorry he was. I wish you had killed yourself. Saphira said brusquely, her voice like stone. Eragon could say nothing. He simply gaped at the partner of his mind and soul as she turned away and walked out of the room, where he saw Galbatorix sneer smugly at Eragon as he rested a hand on Saphira's shoulder. *** Eragon gasped and sat straight up, almost banging his head on a low-hanging branch. He was panting as if he had just run across all of Alagaësia and his heart beat was double its normal rate. Eragon stood up and started pacing quickly, trembling like a leaf all the while. He nearly threw up in his panic, and he could not even begin to think about controlling his breathing and heart rate. The calming methods taught to him by the elves flew from his mind. Eragon was unable to think about anything but his terrible nightmare. Without picking up any of his things, Eragon started half-stumbling, half-running, trying to outsprint his terror and horror. Eragon finally stopped at a large rocky structure and sat down. He shivered uncontrollably, though it was not cold, and remained that way for some time. He stared blankly and uncomprehendingly into the void of his misery. He knew not whether he sat in that place for minutes, hours, or days, nor did he care. Eragon could not force himself to think of anything other than his dream. He kept mulling the terrible events over in his mind, and for a few moments, he became oblivious to the truth of his situation and was convinced that the events that had transpired were real. In those moments, it was all he could do to stop from murdering himself. However, no matter how deep his pain, his resolve to live was still unwavering. Eragon cared not how Saphira had received his presence, now his only goal in life was to fix his relationship with her, to make her understand. Then he remembered that the events that had occurred were simply a dream, and his only goal was to be reunited with her, even if he was not accepted. He mulled over new ways to get out of his isolation, but each idea was crazier than the last, and he rejected all of them. Feeling dejected and forlorn, Eragon roused himself from his stupor and looked around. As he sat staring at the massive cliffs in front of him, a memory stirred. He remembered these cliffs. This was the place where he had learned to be a Rider! It was here that he had first discovered how deeply complex the mind was; it was here he had learned the ancient language; it was here he had begun to understand how great his potential truly was. He was at the Cliffs of Teln'rag, the home of his teachers, Oromis and Glaedr. Eragon nearly jumped for joy until he remembered that Oromis and Glaedr were gone. For a second, one glorious second, he had believed otherwise. They had seemed so old and unchangeable when they were alive, just as ancient, wise, and unmovable as the rocks of the Cliffs in which they resided. Eragon had come to believe that they could not be killed. Even now, twenty years after their deaths, Eragon half-expected Oromis to come prowling out of his hut at the base of the Cliffs and berate Eragon for being late. However, it was not so. Eragon walked slowly to the home of his former masters. It looked much the same as his last visit, all those years ago. Eragon went inside the hut, searching for he knew not what. It was clean and orderly, just as Oromis had left it. There was not even any dust, Oromis must have cast spells preventing dusting. Everything looked just as if it was waiting for its master to come home. Eragon ran his fingers over the familiar scrolls, smiling slightly. He pulled one out at random and started reading. It was a poem about the ships in which the elves had sailed to Alagaësia. Silver sails whisper in the morning breeze. All who see are transfixed by their divine shimmering. Eragon only read a few snippets here and there before putting the scroll back in its place and picking up another one. He started to read, and before long realized that the lines and stanzas of the poem were startlingly familiar. It was the poem about the warrior farmer, the poem that Eragon himself had composed. Eragon scanned the lines with an odd feeling of sadness. "It was so long ago," he whispered to himself in a voice that crackled with disused and rumbled from hoarseness born from his night terrors. "I feel so much older now... It was so long. It's been so long..." He repeated the same thoughts aloud over and over again. Thoughts of what had been overflowed into his mind, unbidden. He could not stop the tide of his memories from protruding into his mind and, for once, he did not even attempt to push them down. He remember Saphira in happier times, when they were studying with Oromis and Glaedr. For the first time in twenty years, he did not think of her in the present or future, but thought of her past, their past. He saw Saphira diving low over the landscape and let out a roar of triumphant, joyous flames that reverberated throughout the entire forest. He felt her contented humming as he leaned against her, resting. He remembered the time she had gotten the hiccoughs and almost burst out laughing. He saw her glittering eyes and her brilliant hide sparkling in the sunlight, more beautiful than a thousand gems. But above all, he remembered her love for him. He remembered her feelings in the past, her overwhelming affection for him. Her distant feelings filled his heart and warmed his whole body. Eragon realized that he was both smiling and crying at the same time. A/N: Hi! Sorry about the long wait between chapters! I just couldn't find the inspiration to write(a terrible excuse, I know). Please, please, please review! I really wish to improve my writing so I would be most grateful if you provided me with constructive critiques. And compliments! Compliments are good too! Thanks for reading! (Oh, and sorry about the terrible poetry- that is why I stick to prose)