The next morning, Eragon awoke to Saphira's warm breath rustling his hair. Her head rested on a rock ledge above his bed, with her nose right over his head. Her neck rested next to his ear, and her body was curled up on the floor, as close to the bed as she could manage. Her tail rested over the end of the bed, with the end of it resting on one of Eragon's feet. It made Eragon chuckle as he shifted his weight slightly.
"Wake up, Saphira!" He said, jokingly shoving her neck. Her eyes snapped open and she stood, stretching like a cat and yawning. Then she settled next to the bed again, a low hum coming from her throat.
You're in an awefully good mood, little one. She observed, looking at him with one glowing blue eye.
Soon the healer arrived in his room, and, after a large breakfast, she checked his leg and helped him to a sitting position. She took the crutch she brought and gave it to Eragon, who fitted it under his arm. Before he could stand up, she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Don't move to quickly," she warned. Then she stepped back, and Eragon slowly stood up. At first, he kept all of his weight on the crutch and his right leg, but then he started adding a fraction of weight to his injured left leg. When he was positive that it would hold him, he took a shaky step forward. He could feel Saphira's presence right next to him; she was ready to catch him.
The next couple of weeks went by in the same manner; a few times a day, Eragon would walk around his room, carefully overseen by Saphira and the old healer. He would slowly add weight to his left leg, then rest it. It got progressively better, until he could walk without the crutch, with only a slight limp.
"Well, you're still not fully healed, but as long as you don't do any running or combat or anything like that, you should be fine for the next few weeks." The healer said, looking him over.
"Can I ride?" He asked, testing his leg slightly as he stood.
"No, not yet. Give it time, and patience." She said, then gathered her things and headed for the door. "And I'll check in on you soon."
The next week passed by so slowly, Eragon thought time had stopped. He spent his time shooting arrows, walking around, or just talking with Saphira. Occasionally, he would unsheathe Zar'roc and slay imaginary foes, walking through his combinations at a snail's pace. When he did feel good enough to speed them up, he had practiced them slowly for so long that he had mastered them with surprising skill.
One day, Eragon walked through Tronjheim, and stopped in a small home at the dead end of a road. He knocked, and the healer opened the door. "Good evening, Eragon. Is your leg bothering you?"
"No. But can I ride?"
The healer sighed, and said, "Come inside, let me see."
After examining his leg, and watching his movements, she said, "I suppose, but make sure you don't press yourself."
"So you keep reminding me," mumbled Eragon under his breath.
The healer swatted him on the head. "And for good reason! You may ride, but don't make me regret letting you."
Eragon thanked her quickly; then hurried back to his quarters. He grabbed his saddle and called Saphira with his mind. She answered him promptly, and landed on the ledge outside his room. When she spotted the saddle, Saphira roared with delight. He buckled it on, and swung his leg over. It was only midday, so they had plenty of time for a trip around the mountains. Saphira dove from the ledge, flying off at breakneck speed. Eragon had the straps over his legs fastened tightly and he clung to the tree of the saddle with his hands.
Soon Eragon recognized his surroundings, and said, go left.
Saphira did so, tilting her body slightly and catching a draft of wind. Soon, she, too, recognized where he was heading for. She abruptly halted in the air, jerking Eragon forward. Are you mad? She asked him angrily, changing their flight direction.
No, I'm not! But he couldn't think of anything better to say; no explanation or excuse that would quite cover it. So he grudgingly let Saphira take him back into the mountains. When they landed again, Eragon took his saddle from Saphira's back and stomped back into the cave-like room.
I'm going hunting, Saphira stated flatly. He didn't look back at her, but heard the rush of her wings through the air as she left.
Then Eragon had a terrible idea. He grabbed his saddle and took off down the corridors. When he arrived at the stables at the edge of Tronjheim, a dwarf showed him to Snowfire's stall. The stallion hadn't had good exercise in a while, and he pawed the ground wildly at the sight of Eragon. He saddled the big white horse and led him out of the city. He calmed the beast with his thoughts just long enough to jump into the saddle. As soon as he had the reins between his fingers, Snowfire started to prance around, ears flicking every direction. He struggled to get the horse under control, but when he did, he directed all of his energy into running across the river valley.
The stallion galloped at a ferocious speed, tearing up dirt and grass in his wake. After he ran out of sight of the city, Eragon relaxed, and slowed Snowfire to a trot. It took him a while to find his bearings of the world from the ground; he was so used to seeing it from above. He let his horse gain his breath back while he tried to find the right direction.
A line of trees suddenly caught his attention. It sat in front of a line of small mountains. That's where it is, he thought, careful to block it from Saphira. He pulled the reins left and spurred Snowfire onward. The horse responded quickly and galloped toward the small forest.
The sun was nearing the horizon when he finally reached the trees. Picking his way through, he headed straight, willing to cross every inch of ground to find the clearing. He hoped that she would be there, and he had a sense that she would be. He imagined the last words they had exchanged weeks before. I shouldn't see you again, Eragon Shade-Slayer, but that doesn't mean I won't. he desparately hoped that it was a good thing.
A half an hour later, Eragon arrived at a break in the trees. His heart pounded against his ribs, seemingly shaking his entire body. As he left the forest cover, though, he realized that it wasn't the right clearing. With a frustrated sigh, he coaxed Snowfire into a quick trot and headed for the opposite side of the clearing. But a long shadow traveled over them, and the white stallion skittered to the left, nearly putting Eragon on the ground. He struggled to calm him as Asmyin landed behind him.
Eragon slipped out of the saddle before Snowfire could throw him, and held the reins as tightly as he could. He patted the upset horse on the neck and turned to face the massive red dragon. He was dismayed when he saw no Rider upon his back. Asmyin snarled, baring his fangs, and crouched. What are you doing here? And control your beast before I consume him as a desert.
Ignoring the threat, Eragon asked, "Where is Aries?" He could not keep an edge from his voice. In his head, he heard Saphira chastising him, and trying to learn his whereabouts. He guarded it from her, though.
A plume of black smoke trickled out Asmyin's nostrils. Stupid boy, you're on a fool's errand. I won't tell you, and she isn't interested in seeing you again. He said coldly.
Eragon didn't know what to say next, so he glared back at the dragon, matching his angry glare. Asmyin's crimson eyes bore through him. "Shouldn't you be with her?"
I was hunting. And what a funny coincidence it is that you are here, now isn't it? He lifted his head higher, lifting his chin so he looked like a scrutinizing noble. But, luckily, I have no interest in you, and I am not so foolish as to condemn my race.
Saphira listened intently through Eragon. I'm coming. She told him, and he knew that she was speeding towards them from the mountains.
You know, that's why so many want you alive. Not because of you—a weak-hearted, over-affectionate boy—because of Saphira. If it weren't for the fact that you are so closely bonded, you would have been disposed of long ago. I and my brother would have seen to that personally.
"You're brother?" Eragon asked incredulously.
Aye. You've met him, even gave him a nasty scare on his leg. Thorn is my brother, and Murtagh is yours. Asmyin's snarl disappeared for a moment, before it came back with even more malice.
Eragon stopped breathing for a moment at the mention of his blood brother. He had tried so hard to not think about his true past; the part he never knew, and wished he had never learned. Realization dawned on Eragon. "You were the third dragon egg."