Greetings, all!

Veyna shifted in her waking dreams, sensing that daylight had not yet come. She settled down in a more comfortable position. In her mind's eye, she was back in the glade where Kyra had given her speech a year ago. She could see Kyra's nervousness as she began, the speech interrupted frequently with unbidden memories of Veyna's own. "I always wanted to be a Rider, since I was a little girl."

The scene changed in her subconscious. "I'm going to raise a dragon and save the world, just like Eragon!" shouted her twin, thrusting her tiny play sword in the air and charging Veyna once more. Five-year-old Veyna just laughed, attacking with renewed vigor.

Suddenly she could see the green and pink eggs cracking open again, the forest with enthusiasm and the rose dignifiedly. "Nuaen, her name is Nuaen."Kyra smiled, placing her hand on her dragon's back.

"It's beautiful. Would you like to be called Istalri?" Both of their eyes danced with happiness gazing upon the two wondrous beings in front of them.

Next, on Gedwëy Evarínya. "If you want an accomplice for breaking into the hall, go ask Soetrí or someone! You certainly spend enough time with him!" she heard herself saying.

"Goodbye, Veyna." Kyra stepped backward, melting into the shadows and sprinting out of sight.

That was when the memories started to differ. The change gave them a blurry quality, but Veyna could still tell exactly what was going on. "Istalri, stop pushing me! I'll do it when I feel ready!" She felt her dragon's snort of derision just before the mind was closed to her.

Then, something she recognized, but still distorted: "Ky!" Veyna called, "What are you doing?"

Her sister ignored her and continued chanting, voice volume rising higher as her spell reached its conclusion.

"Stop!" Veyna cried out. She could say nothing more as Kyra's enchantment reached its end and it was as if a noose had tightened around her neck. Gasping for air, Veyna could barely hold on as Nuaen slammed into Istalri, knocking her out of the sky. Words swirled frantically through her mind as she searched for a counter-spell from the jumble that was her oxygen-deprived brain.

Istalri raked her claws across Nuaen's exposed wing, cutting through the leathery substance like it was nothing. The dragon screamed and Kyra swung her blade forcibly at her twin, intent on inflicting as much damage as she could before they hit the ground, no matter what the cost. But it did not seem like Kyra behind the eyes, as if someone were controlling her, for her movements were jerky and uncoordinated.

Nuaen, however, was as dangerous and vengeful as ever. She's doing this, Veyna realized. Nuaen barreled toward her and the last thing she saw were the fiery eyes of the pink dragon before she and Istalri both were engulfed in flames.

Veyna woke with a start. Dawn sunlight was streaming in from the balcony and Staria slept as peaceful as ever in her bed. Outside, Adura and Istalri also lounged, but Veyna could sense the turmoil in Istalri's thoughts though they were hidden from her.

Later in the day she and her sister were hanging out under the shade of a large tree. They had sparred for several hours, but even the physical activity hadn't lessened the sense of impending doom in Veyna's mind. Kyra, however, didn't seem to notice Veyna's strangled silence. Veyna couldn't help glancing at Nuaen every so often, although she hoped the formidable and proud dragon wouldn't notice.

I'm going hunting, Istalri interrupted Veyna's thoughts.

Okay. Is Nuaen going with you?

No.

As soon as Istalri's graceful green body had disappeared over the tree tops, Nuaen pounced on Veyna, pinning her beneath one giant forepaw. In that instant Veyna saw Nuaen in a different light—fiery eyes filled with fury, hate, and malice, every bone in her body wanting nothing more than to rip her to shreds. The pink dragon became almost impossible to look at, and panic boiled up inside of her.

You've been looking at me oddly all day, Nuaen accused her. Why?

Before Veyna could answer, Istalri hurled herself down at Nuaen, blind to Veyna's realization and only perceiving the terror she had felt a moment before. Istalri grabbed the smaller dragon around the neck with her teeth and yanked backwards. From where she had been sitting, Kyra leapt up, words flying from her lips and magic cascading out from her hand in a rosy torrent. Istalri roared and rounded on Kyra as sparks of lightning shocked her wings and lit up the sky above.

"Stop!" shouted Veyna forcefully. All three paused and stared at her. Kyra still had the Ancient Language at the tip of her tongue and her dragon was halfway through a swiping motion across Istalri's foreleg. Istalri had her mouth open just the slightest bit, as if she had been about the breathe fire down on Kyra.

"Stop," Veyna repeated. "Istalri, I'm fine. Nuaen, sorry, she thought you were trying to hurt me. Kyra...well, yeah."

Kyra lowered her raised palm and cracked a smile. "No harm, no foul." Nuaen hissed at Istalri before sitting down to preen and lick her wounds. Istalri, however, hung her wings limply at her sides, as if to send Veyna a silent mewl. Without speaking a word Veyna concentrated on Istalri with all her might, ignoring the fact that they had started to heal but just thinking her intentions loud and clear. Though it had been dangerous, Veyna harbored a slight joy that her mind was trained enough to commence the healing with no deviation.

When she was done, she apologized to Nuaen, knowing she was not innocent of what she had been accused of, but did not mention the dream. It had no importance. That wasn't what had happened, and their dragons had brought nothing but joy into their lives.

0==]=======

It was only a day later that Eragon called her to him with a new assignment. "Veyna?"

"Yes, Eragon?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course."

"One of the Urgal mentors had to return to Alagaësia for a short time to take care of family business," Eragon told her evasively. "Her apprentice, Vosk, is also an Urgal and knows little of the intricacies of the elves. He has a curious mind and is very eager to learn. Will you accept him for a few days?"

"I would be delighted to," Veyna smiled. "Where can I find him?"

"He is sparring with one of the other apprentices, Yulek, at the training field."

Veyna nodded and thanked Eragon for this opportunity. As she stepped out into the hallway from Eragon's room, thoughts besieged her like many bees swarming honey. Vosk! An Urgal, but an apprentice for a few days nonetheless. She had learned a few odd customs of the Urgals throughout her training, but she had never really interacted with one before.

It was easy to locate the Urgal on the training field because he and his female partner were the only ones fighting at the time. Though the battle was ferocious, only a few people had gathered to watch: two other Urgals and an elf. It seemed that even on Gedwëy Evarínya racial tensions ran through the dwarves, humans, and Urgals, though they had been steadfast allies working to topple Galbatorix twenty-five years ago.

Veyna stood to view the match, watching Tosk and Yulek spar. Yulek, she noticed, though also an Urgal, seemed to like to dodge and swerve as much as take the offensive. Her raven-hair was held back by a black hair band but flowed freely over her shoulders, almost reaching her waist. Her horns curled almost artistically over her head, a shiny copper in color.

Tosk, too, had jet black hair, but his was cut short and rough. Although clean and well-kempt, Veyna still felt a slight bit of apprehension as she observed the two apprentices. She had nothing in common with Vosk—culture, heritage—they didn't even look similar to elves! Humans, at least, despite the ruggedness, lower cheekbones, and overall weakness, had shared aspects of themselves. Urgals, however, were a completely different species entirely.

The two disengaged with a final parry and uppercut. The Urgal looked around almost self-consciously. He seemed to recognize her immediately. Vosk barred his throat as he approached her. "Ebrithil," he murmured.

"Come with me, Vosk," Veyna told him. Once the sun was high in the sky and they were both seated in the grass, she asked, "Now, where would you like to start?"

"I was wondering something," began Vosk. "The Urgalgra do not dream, but after a week of being here I had my first."

Veyna hid her surprise at the fact. She feared her education in the ways of the Urgals had been woefully sparse due to her lack of interest.

"Since I know nothing about dreams," continued Vosk, "are the Riders' dreams ever prophetic?"

"No," Veyna shook her head, "Though we are graced with many special abilities, that is not one of them. Dreams are merely fabrications of our subconscious, but do not belittle their importance because of it. Dreams, though they may show nothing of the future but a possible scenario, are to be reflected on and learned from. While you are asleep, your mind is free and unguarded to think about everything in a non-restrained manner at a most basic level. All of the races shadow themselves behind masquerades of nobility, clothing, ability, and knowledge, so much that we may begin to forget who we really are. In our dreams we are our true selves, and much can be gleaned from that. That is why dream analysis is so important to the process of learning one's true name."

"You are most wise, Master. But is it true that the elves know theirs instinctively? What use, then, do dreams have for the likes of you?"

"Dreams also contain information that our busy minds picked up during the day and stored for later use. Dreams are an important aspect of all of our lives."

"Can you tell me more about the elves?" Vosk requested. "Is it true that you learn two languages shortly after birth, not one?"

"It is," agreed Veyna, "Though we speak the Ancient Language natively, all are fluent in the language of humans. Most elves prefer the Ancient Language, however, because we may always know that whom we are speaking to is not telling a falsehood."

There was a pause in the conversation while Vosk digested all of this. "What gods do you believe in?" Vosk asked. "When I go to the temple, I see none that I recognize as for the elves there."

"Elves do not put stock in gods," answered Veyna carefully. She didn't want to crush whatever religion he had with her words. "However, the less liberal of us believe that the idea of gods, in moderation, is not a wholly bad one."

"What do you mean?"

"Taking comfort in the idea of a god and believing in them isn't harmful," Veyna explained. "In fact, being comforted by the thought of another, more powerful, being is watching over you might be inherently helpful. We look down upon, however, religious men who lay their problems down and expect some deity to take care of them, though they do nothing to help themselves."

"Are most elves liberal or like that?"

"Most, including our queen, are liberal…" Veyna pondered, "but I am of that opinion. Gods are real for those who believe in them, but not to me."

"Then what do you think happens after we die?"

"We enter the void," said Veyna simply. "Now, what were you learning with your master before she had to leave?"

"She was trying to teach me the meaning of respect," Vosk ducked his head.

"What do you mean?" Veyna asked.

"To the Urgalgra, respect is given to the winner of a fight," Vosk said. "By those rules, I respect no one here that I have not fought, such as Eragon."

"Fighting can earn respect, but it is more often gotten in other ways…" Veyna mused. "How do I explain this? Okay, try this: describe what you feel toward me."

Vosk eyed her for a second and paused, presumably conferring with his gray dragon, who was circling overhead with Istalri. "I trust you…" he began.

"That's a good start," praised Veyna. "Respect is—most of the time—based on trust."

"You are ebrithil," Vosk continued.

"Perfect! Respect can be defined as looking up to someone for any aspect of them, not just their battle prowess. Like admiration."

"Ah, thank you, Master," Vosk smiled sheepishly, showing his sharp animalistic teeth. "As my normal ebrithil is also one of the Urgalgra, she had trouble explaining the topic."

"No problem," smiled Veyna. "What else had you been discussing?"

"Well, we were just about to start Güliatic Theory."

"Güliatic Theory?" Vosk nodded and Veyna took a minute to recall the obscure scientific idea. "Güliatic Theory is an outdated elven theory on luck or good fortune…although a few of our houses still adhere to the principles. More of the other races subscribe to it, however. It was developed by an elf—"

Sliaton, Istalri added from above.

Wow, how did you remember that? Veyna thanked her privately. I don't even recall much on Du Fyrn Skulblaka!

Istalri sent her a mental snort of derision and with a blink Veyna returned to her conversation with Vosk. "—a long time ago."

"But what exactly is it?"

"Güliatic Theory states that luck is an ongoing stream—envisioned as a stream of golden dust—that flows equally to each person at varying times from the stars. There was no such thing as bad luck, just a lack of good luck. Then, if an object or person was blessed for good luck, it would attract more dust from the area around it—that is, it would siphon off the luck of anyone nearby. Blessed objects could also collect luck for later use in this theory."

"Do you…adhere…to it?" the Urgal rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth.

"I do not, but that does not mean that it is not true or that you should not."

"Was it ever proven or disproven?"

"No. Experiments were done, but they only proved that it was a viable explanation of luck. That is, it agreed with all of their data, but they could not rule out other theories that worked just as well with the results."

"Most interesting, Master. Do you think we'll ever know how it really works?"

"Someday, perhaps. Now, is there anything else you would like to know, or should we get started with some spellwork?"

Thanks for reading. Review if you can spare the time please!