A.N. SORRY SORRY SORRY x1000000000000 I feel so, so bad I know it has been forever since I last updated in fact I am surprised if any of you remember me. Suffice to say I am not dead. I honestly have very little excuse too, and that makes it worse. All I have to say is I have been quite busy (but not that busy and not as busy as I have been some other times when I kept the story going so that's no excuse) and I have had a major case of writers block with this fic.
What seems to have been happening recently is basically me transcribing the dialogue which is already in the book, which is mega-boring for me and I suspect you all as well. So I am going to try and go back slightly to how I wrote at the start, shorter chapters with less dialogue and more description. Whether I will succeed is another matter…
Brisingr, page 185
Arya felt Eragon's shadow fall across her back. He was breathing heavily. She spoke without looking at him.
"How is it you could kill that man but you could not bring yourself to lay a finger on Sloan?" She stood, shaking from her hands the water she had used to wash them. It fell in a thousand shining droplets to the earth, swallowed up by the dusty ground. She lifted her head and looked at Eragon. He wasn't so much as sweating, but his whole demeanour was that of a man who had run miles. He shoulders were slumped, his breathing heavy and as he lifted his face to hers she saw his eyes were blank and empty.
He shrugged. "He was a threat, Sloan wasn't. Isn't it obvious?" his words were emotionless, but they cut to Arya like a knife. She stared at the bodies that lay around them. Obvious? Should it be obvious? If it was, why couldn't she understand it? What have I become?
"It ought to be, but it isn't… I am ashamed to be instructed in morality by one with so much less experience." Eragon's expression did not change. He had heard her, but Arya doubted her words had made any impression. He stared at the dead soldiers.
"I feel like a murderer." For all his strength and training, he sounded in that moment like a child after a nightmare. Arya longed to comfort him, but there was little she could say to ease the pain. He had to learn to cope with it himself, in his own way, as she had, as they all had if they were to win this war.
She turned away and picked up a spear.
A.N. I know I don't have much of a leg to stand on, but please, if you read this chapter, could you review? You don't have to say much, I would just quite like to know who is still reading and who's given up on me…
