Branches and leaves whipped against Eragon's face, in some cases drawing blood, as he sprinted through the trees, trying to stay as close to Arya as possible. The elf-woman was running at a reckless-yet remarkably silent-pace that made him fear for her life. If she tripped-unlikely as that possibility may have been-at that speed, she would be fortunate if she didn't break her neck. She would, at the very least, break something, be it bone or branch, and most likely both.

Thus Eragon's fear.

She was also dangerously far ahead of him. So far ahead, actually, that he could only catch glimpses of her as she cut around trees and bushes. Growing increasingly worried, Eragon continued to follow her, relying mostly on Arya's crushed pine-needle scent to keep him on the correct path.

Thankfully, as he was crashing rather loudly through the underbrush, the forest was filled to a deafening level with the chaotic noise of the forest animals madly fleeing the scene, screaming and growling all the while. Thorn continually flew overhead, passing over the forest and sending the beasts of that place into a crazed, terrified frenzy. Twice Eragon nearly collided with rampaging stags.

Why are we running so quickly? Eragon wondered. It wasn't as if they were standing in open space. They were under the protective cover of the trees, guarded from the eyes of the birds and dragons above by the leaves and branches overhead. What was gained by this mad race? Despite his misgivings, Eragon was not about to stop, not if Arya wasn't. He didn't understand why she was running so recklessly. Was she running away from him again, or afraid of something else?

Of course she's afraid of something else, Eragon thought, sure Saphira would have provided the realization much more quickly had she been there. She was captured once by the Empire, and was tortured for months on end as a result. She must be terrified by the possibility of being captured again. These thoughts helped Eragon to understand Arya's fear, but didn't make him wish any less that she would slow down. She was going to break her neck… Or attract the attention of a certain ruby dragon and its Rider.

A sudden pressure spiked into Eragon's ears, causing him to wince painfully and nearly trip over his own feet. He staggered, but did not fall, while his mind processed the pain he had just felt. Thorn was close by. Tensing, he darted his gaze every which way, searching for a hiding place. Before he could scan so much as a single leaf, a slender hand painfully grasped his arm and pulled him to the ground.

Eragon's breath left him in a sudden whoosh as he collided in none to gentle a fashion with the ground, the soft bed of leaves offering little comfort as the rocky earth broke his fall. Sharp ridges of stones dug into his back as the hand moved to his chest, pressing him down against the earth. Stiffening, Eragon immediately began to resist, these events taking place too quickly for him to understand what was happening.

Another hand clamped down over his mouth as he growled in exertion, and the one on his chest pressed down harder, threatening to stave in his ribcage. Still, Eragon struggled.

"Be still," Arya hissed in his ear. Eragon immediately calmed at the sound of her voice, allowing himself to be pressed harder into the ground. As he settled, he was able to perceive his immediate surroundings, and found that Arya had pulled him under a thick bush, the leaves of which kept tickling his face. Thin beams of sunlight shone through the small branches, and the painful concussions grew louder and louder. Eragon, feeling the creeping fingers of panic and fear steal through his heart, attempted to be silent as the grave, barely daring to breathe.

It wasn't difficult.

Eragon was suddenly extremely surprised to find that Arya was quite literally on top of him, her abdomen resting across his torso, causing her soft form to conform to the hard muscles of his chest. One of her hands was still fastened over his mouth, filling his nostrils with the sharp crushed pine-needle scent that wafted from her skin. Her other hand was held tightly on his arm, fingers digging painfully into his bicep.

Eragon was even more surprised to find that Arya's face was scarcely more than two inches from his own, her mouth hovering above his ear as she stared upward with panicked green eyes. He black hair tumbled about her pointed ears, pooling about Eragon's face and tickling his cheeks. Her mouth opened slightly as she gazed up at the sky, her eyes darting frantically about.

"Can't we use magic to hide ourselves?" Eragon whispered around Arya's hands, already knowing the answer but attempting to calm Arya by distracting her. She quickly withdrew her hand, pressing it almost distractedly against Eragon's forehead.

"No," she whispered, barely moving her lips and keeping her eyes trained skyward. "Murtagh would detect our use of it… We cannot risk using gramarye until we are a safe distance away." Before he could say anything else, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, so softly that he could barely hear it, "Now be still and silent, Shurtugal, for the danger has not passed." She raised her head again, staring at the sky once more.

Eragon complied, watching Arya carefully. She looked to be on the edge of a knife, no more than a whisper of a breath from losing control. Her eyes were panicked, and she was almost hyperventilating, bathing Eragon's face in her warm breath.

"Arya," he whispered. She glanced down at him, then back to the sky, her eyes flitting wildly. "Arya," he repeated. She didn't respond, her breath quickening if anything.

Quickly, before all was lost, Eragon raised his hands and placed them on either side of Arya's head, forcing her to look downward. She tried to look away, but he captured her eyes with his own. The emerald orbs were panicked and filled with fear, a dark undertone of madness swimming at the edges.

"Arya," he said, quietly as he could. "There's no need to be afraid." He was lying, of course, but the truth was not conducive to keeping Arya under control.

"Of course there is," she said, her lilting voice cracking. "We will be captured once more. They will torture me for information, like they did before." Her voice quavered, and she looked terribly close to tears, something Eragon had never before seen. It unnerved him, but didn't repel.

"Arya," he said, trying to make his whispering voice sound comforting. "I'm right here. I won't let them take you."

"But you cannot stop them," Arya said dropping her gaze. "He drove me to madness once, Durza… I cannot do that again." She slowly shook her head. "Not again."

"Durza is dead," Eragon said consolingly.

"Yes, and can you not imagine how much worse Galbatorix will be?" Arya snapped. "He will be break me, and take everything I know, violate me in the worst fashion… And that will not even be as terrible as what they will do to you!" Her lips quivered, and Eragon recognized then how truly close to insanity Durza had driven her. He cursed the Shade to the deepest pit of hell, almost wishing he was still alive so he might exact justice from the creature first.

His rage melted away as Arya spoke again, "They will torture me, and do worse to you. Eragon, I cannot bear it if they…" She trailed off, raising her tortured eyes to his, looking as if she wanted to say more, but refraining from doing so.

"Arya, I won't let them do that." Eragon vowed softly, slowly stroking her cheekbones with the tips of his thumbs, her hair twining about his fingers. "I won't let them hurt you again. Not again."

The concussions continued to grow steadily louder as Arya's green eyes flicked from his left eye to his right, then back again, terribly confused and more than a little afraid. Eragon was unsure if it was just capture Arya was afraid of now, but he was sure that his comfort hadn't worked, at least not as well as he would have liked.

Throwing caution and reason to the winds, he drew her to his chest, drawing her tight against him as he took his turn at staring up into the sky. She hid her face in his shirt, her fingers tightly gripping his arms with bruising force. Eragon easily ignored the pain, wrapping his arms around her slim shoulders as he stared up at the sky.

Even though the continual pain in his ears indicated the close presence of one of his mortal enemies, Eragon was not unaware that he was holding Arya in his arms for the first time. Still, it was not a moment of lust or passion for Eragon, but one of fear, one of worry. It was not love or desire that drove him to hug the elf-woman to his chest, but camaraderie, a moment of friendship. He knew that Arya was panicked and terrified, which in itself scared Eragon. He'd never seen Arya so afraid. Though he wished it was more, he was doing nothing more than offering Arya a shoulder to cry on, a solace in which she could hide her face from the world and all that she feared in it.

She has had precious little of that, Eragon thought, carefully monitoring Thorn's overhead passage. She walks alone… Others have offered her little comfort before.

The noise of the panicking animals increased ten fold as Thorn flapped directly over them, nearly blinding Eragon with the red light reflected from his scales. The dragon neither stopped nor slowed, but continued on, apparently oblivious to their presence. As the shadow of the beast passed, Eragon released a pent up breath, loosening his hold around Arya's shoulders. She tightened her grip on his arms in response, causing Eragon to wince.

"He's gone, Arya," he whispered. She raised her head slightly, meeting his eyes. "We're safe now…" He cocked his head. "Sort of," he amended.

Slowly releasing her grip on him, she stood and stepped back, allowing her hair to fall as a veil before her face. As Eragon got to his feet, she rolled her shoulders and straightened, seeming to bring herself back under control.

"Are you ready, Shurtugal?" she asked, causing Eragon to wince once more. He had forgotten that she was angry with him. Or rather, herself, and taking it out on him. He desperately wished she would just tell him whatever the matter was.

Feeling suddenly slightly grumpy, he didn't answer but started forward again, moving progressively east to circumvent the hills. Arya followed silently.

Both had taken perhaps five steps when the forest abruptly erupted into a deafening chorus of shrieks and growls, adorned with the rustling of leaves, as if many beasts were suddenly raging through the underbrush.

"Is Thorn coming back?" Eragon asked as he stopped short, confused.

Arya's slanted eyebrows met. "I do not think so, but this is peculiar… We shall be cautious."

Eragon, his brow furrowed, nodded as he slowly looked around. The noise increased, and the sound of a large animal rushing toward them met Eragon's ears. Several birds suddenly collected overhead, circling under the trees like vultures, chirping harshly. A number of squirrels gathered on the branches squeaking as if jeering. Two rabbits leapt out from under a bush, slinking low to the ground as if wolves while they bared their prominent front teeth, ears pressed back against their skulls. Eragon would have laughed at the ridiculous sight if the ominous feeling had not begun to settle over him.

"What is happening?" Arya asked calmly, though Eragon could tell by the look in her eyes that she was unnerved.

"I think," Eragon said slowly, trying to be aware of all the animals gathering around them. "That the whole world has suddenly turned against us." Remembering his lessons under Oromis, he expanded his mind so that he was aware of all the creatures around him, but not so far as to accidentally brush against Thorn or Murtagh's minds.

What he found was horrifying.

With an angry snort, a large stag suddenly appeared from around a tree, rushing toward Eragon with its antlers lowered, froth collecting on its mouth as it sprinted furiously. With a surprised exclamation, Eragon pushed Arya to the side and jumped from the stag's path, narrowly avoiding a blow to the ribs from its antlers.

Snorting and huffing as if deranged-which it was-the stag whipped around, kicking up leaves and plants, and rushed toward Eragon again, antlers once again lowered. Reacting quickly, Eragon seized its antlers and held his arms stiff, immediately halting the stag's mad rush. He groaned with the exertion of holding the beast back. The stag huffed and snapped its straight teeth at him, attempting to whip its head back forth as Eragon maintained his grip on its antlers. Grunting with the effort, Eragon held it in place, digging his heels into the soft soil as the beast pushed him along the ground. Inhaling sharply, Eragon tossed the beast back a few stops, and then, before it could recover, lunged forward and jabbed its forehead with the heel of his hand, shattering its skull. The beast dropped to the leaves and was still.

Glancing only briefly at his kill, Eragon looked around to find that Arya was kicking at the rabbits and slapping away the squirrels and birds that were attacking her. He saw her open her mouth, saw the look on her face, and knew what she was about to do.

"Don't use magic!" he warned, jumping forward to help her. She glared at him, but closed her mouth and worked in silence as the two-slightly disgusted with themselves-disposed of the small creatures.

When the last mad bird fell to the ground, Arya said, "Murtagh has turned the animals of the forest against us."

"I figured that out for myself, thanks," Eragon snapped, clenching his fists as he glared around, looking for any more threats. What Murtagh had done would require no more than a nudge of the mind to an animal… It would not have been difficult.

Arya stared at him for a moment, but disregarded his remark. "Why did you stop me from performing magic? We would have been done with this far sooner."

More of the small creatures were collecting around them, chattering and chirping madly as they prepared to attack. Entertaining no desire to slay the entire forest, Eragon seized Arya's arm and started running east once more. She slapped his hand away, but followed anyway.

"We would have played right into Murtagh's hands," Eragon explained as the went, answering Arya's question. "He can't really think these animals would kill us. Besides, that's not his goal. He wants to capture us, remember?" He shook his head, disgusted-yet, at the same time, grudgingly admiring-of his brother for the strategy. "He just wants to force us to use magic and reveal our location." He might overlook the manipulation of energy, Eragon reasoned. But we shouldn't take that risk.

He could feel Arya's eyes on the side of his head. "You sound as if you respect his tactic," she remarked.

"Maybe I do," he growled, low in his throat. "It almost worked, didn't it? It was logical. Wrong and immoral, but logical."

"The ends do not justify the means."

"No they don't," Eragon agreed, still angry. "But the means never seem to matter to those who care enough about the end."

Arya was silent for a long moment, a moment filled only with the sounds of their feet striking the earth, the sound of their breathing, and the shrieks of the animals searching and in pursuit. "You have changed," she said quietly.

Eragon pretended not to hear; he knew she was right.

More loud rustling sounded close by, alerting Eragon to the presence of several large beasts moving to pursue them. Putting his hand on the small of her back, Eragon directed Arya away from the animals. To his relief, she didn't push him away.

A heavy weight stuck Eragon in the back, clinging to him and digging into this skin with sharp claws. Unprepared for the sudden burden, Eragon tumbled forward, rolling across the ground and flinging whatever it was that had jumped on his back ahead of him. The claws ripped through his skin as the creature was tugged free.

Rolling into a crouch, Eragon came face to face with a huge, bizarre cat. Its eyes were red and glaring, and its body was lean as it crouched low to the ground, the muscles of its powerful shoulders standing out against its fur covered skin. Its long face was bordered with a thick, black mane. Yellowish fangs curved down along its jaw, and a long, gray scar arched across its snout like a crescent moon.

Werecat, Eragon quickly identified, barely able to process the thought before it leapt at him. Employing the limited flexibility he had gained from his experience with the Dance of the Snake and Crane, Eragon leaned back, sending the werecat sailing over his head. It's razor sharp claws whistled through the air an inch from Eragon's face.

Eragon twisted about as it landed behind him, twirling to the side as it leapt once more. However, he was not entirely quick enough to avoid the blow, and the tips of its claws caught him across the shoulder, raking lines of fire across his skin.

Arya attacked the creature, her hand extended like a knife toward the werecat's neck as it landed. The werecat hissed ferociously and slashed at her hand. Eragon's heart stopped, but thankfully, Arya pulled her hand away before the blow connected. Her boot encased foot snapped out at the feline, but missed as the werecat jumped out of the way. It leapt toward Eragon once more, fangs bared and claws fully extended.

Prepared for this, Eragon swept his hand back and lashed out, catching the beast on the flank with the back of his hand and sending it flying through the air past him. It collided in a painful looking way with the ground, rolled, and leapt back onto its feet, hackles raised. It initiated a new tactic, bounding with lighting speed toward Eragon's legs. Eragon kicked out at it, but it dodged the blow and slashed at both of his legs. Blood beaded along the cuts. Growling in pain, Eragon tripped over the werecat as it dodged around his legs. He went to his knees, and from there to his back as the werecat lunged into his stomach, knocking him backward and digging viciously into his skin. Eragon groaning in pain, tried to shove the creature off his stomach, but it hooked its claws underneath his skin, rooting it firmly in place and bringing the pain to new heights.

Then Arya was at his side, her leg speeding forward into a full kick. There was a sickening crunch as her boot struck the werecat in the flank, and it howled in agony as it was flung from Eragon's stomach. It rolled on its side across the leafy ground, landing on its feet and holding its left foreleg off the ground. Hissing and spitting, it turned and limped into the bushes, fleeing the scene.

Arya stood over Eragon, glaring at the werecat as it fled. When it was gone, she went to her knees at his side, hair cascading around her face. "Eragon, are you alright?" she asked anxiously, brushing his bangs from his face. Eragon felt his face heating at the touch, and more so from the concern she was showing for him. His pain seemed to fade away as he looked up at her. Without his bidding, his hand reached up toward her face. Arya's green eyes followed its slow approach, her face tortured and indecisive.

Without warning, a snarling blur of gray fur knocked Arya aside, taking her from Eragon's view.

"Arya!" he cried, moving to stand. A second blur suddenly landed on Eragon's chest, knocking the breath violently from his lungs with the force of its flight. Instinct saved Eragon then; he threw his hand up to grip his attacker's throat, and found himself holding back the snapping, slobbering maw of a gray wolf as it tried desperately to tear out his throat. Its cold yellow eyes glared at Eragon with madness, spittle splattering across Eragon's face as he held its yellow fangs from his throat.

With his elfin strength, this was barely a challenge. He closed his hands around the beasts shaggy neck and squeezed once, effectively snapping its neck. Hastily tossing the carcass aside, Eragon began to get to his feet, searching frantically for Arya. Something closed around his right wrist, holding him to the ground as a searing agony scorched up his arm. Crying out in surprise and pain, Eragon looked down to see a third wolf with its jaws wrapped around his arm. Retaliating in fury and pain, Eragon struck downward with his uninjured hand. There was a chorus of wet crunches, and the wolf yelped once, flopped over on its side, and was still, the splintered remains of four ribs protruding from the midst of the blood-soaked gray fur.

Holding his injured arm to his chest, Eragon sat up and looked around, energy and bloodlust coursing through his veins. He saw Arya climbing to her feet, tossing the corpse of a third wolf into the bushes. When he realized that she was uninjured, he slowly got to his feet, wincing from the pain of his new injuries.

"Are you injured?" Arya asked, brushing the dirt and leaves from her hair as she approached him.

"I'm… Fine," Eragon answered looking down and examining the lacerations in his flesh. Many of the slashes were deep and bleeding, but none appeared to be life threatening.

Arya gasped. "Eragon!" she exclaimed, closing the remainder of the distance between them. She pushed him down to the ground and knelt beside him. With something close to horror, she began moving her hands across his wounds. "Let me heal you," she said.

Eragon shook his head. "No. Murtagh will find us."

"But you could bleed to death," Arya warned, narrowing her eyes at him.

"We'll make some bandages," Eragon said. When Arya pursed her lips in disapproval, he said, "I'll be fine, but not if we start using magic. Murtagh will find us that way."

Before Eragon finished speaking, Arya was already moving to tear strips for bandages from her shirt. Eragon reached forward and caught her hands, stopping her.

"Use mine," he said, holding out the hem of his shirt and tearing a long strip from it to bind the bloody wound of his wrist. Arya complied, combing her black hair back behind her pointed ears as she bound his injuries, pushing his hands away when he tried to help her.

Arya left little for Eragon to do, so he sat back and allowed Arya to tend to him, impatiently looking around for more attackers. Fearful, he continually glanced at the sky, half expecting Thorn to be hovering there, attracted by the commotion they had created. It struck Eragon again then, the cleverness of the tactic Murtagh had employed. Considering it from all angles-as Oromis would expect-it struck Eragon then how similar it was to how Galbatorix did things.

He chuckled to himself. Arya glanced up at him, and then back down to his wounds. "I do not see what is so amusing."

Eragon chuckled again. "It's a terrible twist of irony, isn't it?"

Arya briefly glanced up at him again. "I do not understand."

Eragon gestured to the air around him, wincing when he used his left hand. "All this. We're on a mission to protect life, and Galbatorix enslaves all life to stop us. Murtagh, soldiers, now animals… It's as if he turned all that we try to protect against us. To stop us." He laughed again. "It's amusing. Backwards."

"Ironic," Arya summarized, not sounding amused in the least.

Eragon nodded with another chuckle, looking down to see what Arya was doing. She had bound the more serious wounds, and was moving on to the shallower cuts. He pushed her hands away, getting quickly to his feet.

"Leave it," he said.

"You will bleed."

"Yes. But I won't die." Eragon reached down with his good arm, seized Arya around the waist, and hauled her to her feet. She gasped in surprise, but made no move to stop him. "But worse will happen to us if we remain here," he said quietly, staring intensely into Arya's green eyes, less than a foot away. The elf's gaze flicked between his right eye and his left, and still she made no move to step away.

"We should go," Eragon said after a moment. "We can't linger here."

Arya looked down and stepped back, turning once more to the east. "We have been here too long, Shurtugal. Too many search for us."

As if it had been waiting for those words, a fourth wolf howled and lunged from around a tree, streaking through the air toward Arya's throat. Eragon, snarling in a way that was nearly indistinguishable from the wolf, struck out at the beast with his foot. The creature's jaw splintered as his toe smashed into its chin, snapping it head back and breaking its neck. Eragon stared down at the corpse, panting.

Arya put a hand on his arm. "We should go."

Eragon nodded. "Before anything else finds us."