After this, Ismira and Zathvir talked much. In time, she and he became very close, so much so that often, they knew not who had originally had a thought. Other times, Ismira would start a thought or sentence, and he would finish it, or they would switch, with her finishing.

The Rider-Dragon pair were quickly the envy of many in the city, elven, Dwarven, and human alike. In this way, they made a few enemies, but, being a dragon and a Rider, they were left well enough alone.

Why do they do this, Zathvir? Ismira asked him one day. They were simply walking down a hall, reveling in the other's company, for the two had been forced to train separate and apart. He blinked, not knowing how to respond.

I do not understand, Little One, he replied.

For a 'wise and mighty' dragon, you aren't very observant, she noted before explaining: They turn away, or if they don't, they glare at us.

Who is they? Ismira stopped.

What do you mean?

Exactly that. Who are the ones you call 'they'? Are 'they' Riders? Ismira ran to catch up with the amber dragon, who had not ceased walking. She was silent, not knowing how to respond. Eventually, she did, saying: Some of the humans, a few each of elves and dwarves.

And Riders? Yes, no? She sighed.

No.

Precicly. You cannot change the nature of men, nor of dwarves. Men are dead-set in their ways, and dwarves are as stubborn as the stone they were wrought from. If they disapprove of you and I, then that is their business, not ours.

And the elves?

You know, Little One, he said sagely, with no small amount of humor in his voice.

Ah… no, I don't. Zathvir disagreed. Their thoughts flowed together, mingling like a pair of rivers. For a brief moment, Ismira heard a few sounds, jumbled and confused, then they vanished. Oh, I see, she said after. They will change, maybe. They are easier to change, but need less to change their minds. Zathvir agreed.

With this in mind, Ismira went to work, trying harder still to be the greatest Rider since Vrael himself. Time passed, and she spent every waking moment reading and studying the most Ancient of Languages, in the hopes that one day, she would be the greatest mage ever, unlikely though that was.

It was a real challenge, though, when Eragon, or as he told her to call him, Ebrithril Eragon, asked her to spar with Uftak. She raised her sword, on loan from Rhunon until she was to gain her own Rider's Blade, and tried to ignore the sweat rolling down her face.

The Urgal before her was a Kull, of course. 'Cause why do things the easy way when the hard way might be more humiliating? she thought to herself dejectedly.

Uftak towered over her, a full eight feet from the ground, half and two above her head. From this angle, he was even more frightening. With his massive curling horns, each as big around as her arm, mouth of very sharp teeth, and hands as large as her head, with claws several inches in length each, he was a killing machine as it was. But, because that was not enough, he also wielded a huge Greatsword of steel, having foregone his own sword, Renix.

Thus far, she had fought Eldur, and Hermandur, but something told her that these battles would be insufficient in this one. She watched him, trying to spot the tell-tale twitch of muscles that preceded any movement in nearly all beings. Uftak snarled, and swung downwards, hard. Ismira leapt to the side, rolling as she did so. Springing into a standing position once more, she then decided to watch the blade. The weapon was large, heavy, and very unmanuvourable. Once swung, Uftak would have to commit to the swing, even if it missed.

With this in mind, she stepped close, and rapped him on the leg twice, for her blade was far smaller. Before he could hit her, she leapt back, raising her blade to block his Greatsword. She cried out as they connected, falling to her knees in the process. Uftak suddenly bore a look of concern, but only for a moment, as that would have been a sign of weakness, something that he would never admit.

Watch out for his weapon. Even a glancing blow like that one can seriously injure, Zathvir chastised. Ismira grunted, pushing herself to her feet.

Then you fight him, she said, angry and frustrated.

I have, he replied simply, without further explanation, before cutting off his thoughts from her. As it always did, she felt as though a part of her was missing, and again, as always, it was far more prevalent than her hearing. She turned to face the Kull, and raised her blade.

"Again," she said in both voice and mind. Uftak nodded once, then hefted his sword. He swung first, something he had done every time previously, and Ismira ducked below the blade. She stood quickly, lashing out with her sword. Uftak merely stepped to the side, following the swing of his Greatsword, thus making the step faster than otherwise. They stopped, Ismira breathing heavily. Uftak, however, was in just as fine a condition as when he began.

If I cannot overwhelm him, and I cannot tire him… perhaps I can out-maneuver him, she thought to herself. She let her blade drop, the tip hovering just above the ground. Uftak watched her warily, knowing she was fond of tricking her opponents, for that had been how she had beaten Hermandur nigh on each time they had dueled. He swung again, a blow across his chest that would have rent her from shoulder to hip.

But she was not there. Anticipating that he would attack first, and that it it would come from the right, she leapt to the left, careful to keep her sword angled away from her leg, and landed just beside him. She spun, whipping her sword upwards against his back, then back down. He fell to his knees, a bellow escaping him. While unable to hear it, she certainly felt it, as the entire clearing shook.

Concerned, she opened her mind to him, asking if he was injured too badly. He breathed rapidly, and shallowly, a hand clenched over his chest. He turned slightly, and that was the only warning she had.

Somehow, she had ended up on her back, his hand hovering just above her throat. His other had knocked her sword from her left hand, and now held it down. His knees were pressed together, one of her legs pinned between them. Uftak's eyes held a wild look in them, as though he had succeeded. Then, as suddenly as it happened, he released her. He offered her his hand, and she took it, standing.

"Remember, little Rider, that an enemy like I would not have stopped. Compassion and mercy are great things, but they can get you killed. But," and his expression softened at this, "thank you. Many would not have felt concern for an Urgal, even all these years later." They bowed to the other, as she did to all the people she dueled, and she collected her sword.

Returning to Ebrithril Eragon, she noted that Ebrithril Saphira and Zathvir were returning as well. Ebrithril Eragon looked up from his writing, and smiled as he saw the three returning.

"Ismira," Ebrithril Saphira started, "what are the five signs of a storm, and how do you avoid them?" Ismira looked from Zathvir to Ebrithril Eragon, confused.

"I am most sorry, Master. I do not know," she answered, somewhat ashamed.

"And you, Zathvir. What are the weaknesses pertaining to large weapons and strengths of the same?" Master Eragon asked the amber dragon. He lowered his head, ashamed, saying, "I do not know, Ebrithril."

"Indeed. As you have both noticed by now, when either of you leaves the other's mind, a void seems to be left in its place," Master Saphira started.

"But, furthermore, neither of you can truly leave the other," Master Eragon continued, looking from one to the other.

"From now on, expand this as far as you can."

"You both already have a greater than normal connection."

"Keep working at it, and you might reach a point where you can see out of each other's eyes, taste with the other's tongue, and hear with the other's ears." Ismira looked up, excited at this. Ebrithril Eragon chuckled.

"And, Ismira, Zathivr?"

"Yes, Master?" they replied at the same time.

"Do not fret; few are able to complete this task so early in their training. It took Saphira and I many months to reach that point."

"And still we must try, for by times we forget, do we not, Little One?" They all laughed at this.

It is… comforting, methinks is the right word, to know that even the greatest of Us still have failings, Zathvir said to Ismira as they flew above the Forests beyond the city. Ismira was silent; she agreed, and Zathvir already knew exactly why. Now, all they needed to do was perfect remaining unconsciously connected, and all would be well.

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Anyone? Oh dear, it really has been nearly a month since I updated last, yeah? Er... yeah, so no real excuses there. Two stories at once is hard to maintain, so only every other week will have an update. In the meantime, read this, and if you feel like it, review! Good, bad, whatever; it's just nice to know that some people care enough to review.

Also, check out my other story, Leo Valdez and the Prophecy of Eight, if you're into the Percy Jackson series.

See you in few weeks! -Ron