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After Saphira took off in such a rushed manner, Daemon returned to Carvahall and his eyes narrowed as he saw smoke rising in the direction Eragon's house was located. Breaking into a run, Daemon made his way in that direction and finally came upon Eragon's house on fire.
"Shit." Daemon breathed before summoning Ice and blasting the fire in order to douse the fire as best as he can. Once he had doused enough, he broke through the door, ignoring any remaining fire around him. "Garrow! Garrow, where are you?!"
"H...Here." A weak voice called out. Daemon rushed to it and found Garrow under some debris, but Daemon picked it up and tossed it aside before he grabbed Garrow and helped the man out of the burning house. Now that they were safe from the burning and collapsing house, Daemon lowered Garrow to the grass and checked him over. The man's skin was growing gray, and dry, as if a fever had burned off any sweat. His lip was split, and there was a long scrape on his cheekbone, but that was not the worst. Deep, ragged burns covered most of his body. They were chalky white and oozed clear liquid. A cloying, sickening smell hung over him—the odor of rotting fruit. His breath came in short jerks, each one sounding like a death rattle.
"Hang on, Garrow." Daemon muttered as he picked Garrow up and brought him in the direction of the village. He could heal him, but he didn't know if damage to this extent could be healed as the Healing Magic in Skyrim was mostly done to regain strength and continue a fight, some heal from physical scars and wounds through time.
As he approached Carvahall, he saw someone running in his direction and tensed before slightly relaxing as he saw the village's storyteller, Brom. The man looked worried.
"What happened?" Brom barked.
"An attack." Was Daemon's short response as Brom helped him in supporting Garrow. "His house was burned. Where's Eragon?"
"I'm not sure. I saw him not too long ago as some strangers came into town. I urged him to go home... he wasn't there?" The old man asked.
"No." Daemon shook his head. He didn't say anything about Saphira. If her Rider was in danger, it must've been the reason she took off so suddenly. So with any luck, Eragon is with her right now. But what could've caused them both to hide away right now? That was lost on the Dragonborn as he and Brom brought Garrow to the village. They'd have to get him to a healer.
"I'll take it from here." Brom offered, taking most of Garrow's weight from the Dragonborn. "You keep an eye out for Eragon."
"And what about those strangers?" Daemon asked, his eyes searching around for any suspicious kind of person.
"Oh, I'm afraid they're gone." Brom said, and it was then that Daemon finally noticed that one side of his head was caked with dried blood.
"What happened to you?" Daemon inquired.
"Ran into them." Was all the old man said as he walked on, carrying Garrow. Daemon narrowed his eyes, having a feeling there was more to Brom than it seems.
Brom found Eragon the following day, the boy looked ragged and exhausted, and his legs were badly bleeding like someone had grinded a sharp stone against them. Brom took Eragon to Gertrude's while Daemon watched from the shadows. Something was going on, and Daemon wanted to find out what it was. Eragon won't be able to tell him given his state, Brom was too mysterious and cryptic, so he may not get a straight answer from him, so that just left one...
Saphira.
Daemon walked away from the village until he was sure he was far away. "Saphira, if you are nearby and can somehow hear me... we need to talk." He said, though he wasn't sure if she was anywhere nearby, he had hope that she would be as close as she could get to where her Rider is located.
I'm right here.
Daemon snapped his head to the left as Saphira revealed herself from the trees. She came to a stop before him, her eyes looking at him intently. "What happened?" Daemon asked, wasting no time.
So Saphira told him. That she left him so suddenly because he called her in alarm and fear for his uncle, but she... had reacted differently and took off to get her Rider away from the strangers that had attacked Eragon's farm. They spent the night in the Spine, and it was only because of Eragon's stubbornness that Saphira agreed to bring him back, but they had found the burned down house and no sign of Garrow, but Saphira had picked up Daemon's scent and inquired that maybe someone had arrived and brought Garrow to the village and so Eragon went there, but exhaustion took over and he collapsed.
Daemon let out a exhale as she finished the tale. "Well, that's quite an explanation." Daemon said, running a hand through his hair.
Saphira tilted her head. Why do you care? Her voice and tone were not hard, but merely curious as she always has been of him since meeting yesterday. Why go out of your way to help Eragon's uncle?
I'm not one to leave innocents to die, Saphira. Daemon said firmly. He then thought of something. Is there any way I can show you my past without explaining it?
Lower the barrier around your memories. I will do the rest. Saphira said after a moment's hesitation. Daemon agreed and di so, allowing Saphira into his memories, to see the life of the Last Dragonborn. She saw his early life, he was quite the troublemaker in his childhood, it amused Saphira a bit. He was also quite the warrior as she watched him train at the age of 11 with a sword, besting some far more skilled warriors. She watched him grow into his adult years and his arrival in the land known as Skyrim, his capture at the hands of Imperials, followed by Alduin's arrival. Saphira's eyes had widened when seeing the black dragon with red eyes, eyes that seemed to look at everything with hate and the look of superiority. She witnessed Alduin's power as he destroyed the town called Helgen.
She watched Daemon escape with the aid of a man named Hadvar, then they made their way to Whiterun where Daemon rested up before making his way to Whiterun. From there, she saw his life. How he joined the Companions, how he explored and delved into dangerous ruins and fought off giant spiders and undead creatures known as Draugr, how he killed his first dragon, which made her growl slightly as even though the dragon was killing for sport, he was still a member of her race. She watched in awe as he absorbed the dragon's soul and knowledge, using his first Shout, meeting the Greybeards, meeting Paarthurnax, the Blades, joining the Dark Brotherhood, the Thieves Guild, she witnessed everything.
She watched with awe as he battled the one known as Miraak, the First Dragonborn. And then she witnessed Paarthurnax summon Daemon to the Throat of the World, where he was informed about Miraaks return and the signs of a new Dragon Rider.
Once it was all said and done, Saphira came out of his memories and looked at him as he stared at her. Well?
...You have been through so much. Saphira said softly.
Daemon nodded with a sigh. Yeah, I have. I hope this shows that I mean you nor Eragon any harm, and that I can be trusted despite the fact that I've... slayed your kind before.
Skyrim's dragons are much different than the ones here. Saphira reassured him. They lusted for blood, carnage and battle, preying on the innocent without remorse. They deserved to be put down like the wild animals they are. If I may ask, where is the one known as Odahviing?
Back in Skyrim after he brought me here. But I am able to call him should I have need of him. Daemon said, getting an understanding nod from Saphira. If... If it's not that much of a bother to you, may I... place my hand upon you?
Saphira raised a sacley eye ridge at him before a chuckle came from her as she lowered her head. Go ahead. Not many would ask such a thing of a dragon but seeing as you trust me enough to let me delve into your memories, I suppose you have earned my full trust as well. As long as you do not mean any harm to Eragon.
Daemon smiled and reached up, placing his hand upon Saphira's snout and gently rubbing her nose, to which she gave a soft snort.
That tickles. She laughed in his head, making him smile. Well, seeing as we trust one another now, I will give you permission to speak in my mind as I will yours. Though, I will inform Eragon of what I now. If you are here to truly seek out this Miraak, and aid us... then he must now.
Daemon nodded. I understand.
Two days passed. During those two days, Daemon spoke with Saphira and kept her updated on Eragon, to which she was thankful for. However, Eragon soon awoke and Daemon ad to cease communicating with Saphira for a bit as she talked with her Rider. Then came the tragic news: Garrow had died from his injuries. Not long after, Saphira informed Daemon of Eragon's decision to track and hunt down the strangers that burned Eragon's farm, something Daemon was adamant in joining as he wasn't going to let Eragon do this recklessly. Saphira agreed, knowing Daemon would be a great help to them with his abilities.
Right now, Eragon was planning to leave as he crept through the town. The streets were clear; few people were up at this time of day. Eragon stopped for a minute and forced himself to focus. I don't need a horse. Saphira will be my steed, but she needs a saddle. She can hunt for both of us, so I don't have to worry about food—though I should get some anyway. Whatever else I need I can find buried in our house.
He went to Gedric's tanning vats on the outskirts of Carvahall. The vile smell made him cringe, but he kept moving, heading for a shack set into the side of a hill where the cured hides were stored. He cut down three large ox hides from the rows of skins hanging from the ceiling. The thievery made him feel guilty, but he reasoned, It's not really stealing. I'll pay Gedric back someday, along with Horst. He rolled up the thick leather and took it to a stand of trees away from the village. He wedged the hides between the branches of a tree, then returned to Carvahall.
Now for food. He went to the tavern, intending to get it there, but then smiled tightly and reversed direction. If he was going to steal, it might as well be from Sloan. He sneaked up to the butcher's house. The front door was barred whenever Sloan was not there, but the side door was secured with only a thin chain, which he broke easily. The rooms inside were dark. He fumbled blindly until his hands came upon hard piles of meat wrapped in cloth. He stuffed as many of them as he could under his shirt, then hurried back to the street and furtively closed the door.
"Well, that was clever of you."
At the familiar voice, Eragon whirled around to see Daemon leaning against the wall next to the door, Eragon not having even noticed him.
"Though, you are a novice at the art of thievery, but I have seen better." Daemon said with a shrug.
Where did he come from? How long has he been standing there? Eragon thought before asking. "What are you doing here?"
"Calm down, Eragon. I'm not here to get you into trouble or take you back to Horst's. I want to help." Daemon said reassuringly. "I assume Saphira told you about me?"
She had. Eragon had been shocked when she told him that Daemon, the mysterious individual who arrived a month prior was from the land of Skyrim and was something known as a Dragonborn, a dragonslayer but he only slayed those that preyed on the innocent. Eragon believed Saphira, as she would never lie to him, but it had still come as a big sock that his friend, well he hoped they were friends, was something of a powerful warrior, like a god.
"She... she did." Eragon said hesitantly. "Why do you want to help?"
"Because you're my friend, least I hope we are, and I don't stand by when someone kills an innocent. Whoever these strangers were, they need to be hunted down. And it will also get me away from here so I can begin my search for Miraak."
Right, Saphira also told Eragon about that.
Eragon was silent as he contemplated his words. I know I can trust you, Daemon, just as much as I trust Saphira. If anything, I'd be happy to have you and her at my side for this. Nodding, Eragon said. "Okay, you can come."
Daemon nodded with a small smile. Suddenly, both heard a woman shout Eragon's name nearby, causing them to quickly duck behind a corner.
"You didn't tell anyone you just up and vanished." Daemon stated more than asked in a quiet whisper, both going silent as Horst walked between two houses not ten feet away.
"No. They were asking questions that will lead them to Saphira." Eragon whispered back.
"Good thinking." Daemon said with a nod. "We don't need any complicated situations for this."
Like you aren't used to such situations. Saphira said in both of their heads, causing them to nearly jolt in surprise.
"I can tell she's gonna tease us both through this." Daemon muttered. He looked and saw Horst was gone. "Okay. We run on three, okay?" Eragon nodded. "Three, two... one. Go!"
They ran as fast as they could, down an alley and back to the trees. They paused as they ducked behind trees, looking to see if anyone was coming after them. They were relived to see no one had noticed them nor was anyone coming.
"Going somewhere?"
Daemon and Eragon whirled around to see Brom standing there with a angry scowl, and a ugly wound on the side of his head. A short sword hung at his belt in a brown sheath. The hides were in his hands.
Daemon placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, ready for anything as his eyes narrowed at the old man.
"Give them back." Eragon snapped.
"Why? So, you can run off before Garrow is even buried?" The accusation was sharp.
"It's none of your business!" he barked, temper flashing. "Why did you follow me?"
"I didn't," grunted Brom. "I've been waiting for you both here. Now where are you two going?"
"That is none of your business." Daemon said this time. Eragon lunged for the skins and grabbed them from Brom's hands. Brom did nothing to stop him.
"It is my business. I hope there's enough there to feed your dragon."
Daemon and Eragon froze and shared a look before Eragon looked back at Brom and asked. "What are you talking about?"
Brom crossed his arms. "Don't fool with me. I know where that mark on your hand, the gedwëy ignasia, the shining palm, comes from: you have touched a dragon hatchling. I know why you came to me with those questions, and I know that once more the Riders live."
Eragon and Daemon shared another look before Daemon indicated his eyes to the sky, sending him the message through eye contact: Call Saphira!
Eragon did just that. Saphira!
For a few agonizing seconds she did not answer, but then, Yes.
We've been discovered! Daemon and I need you! He sent her a picture of where they were, and she took off immediately. Now they just had to stall Brom. "How did you find out?" he asked in a hollow voice.
Brom stared into the distance and moved his lips soundlessly as if he were talking to someone else. Then he said, "There were clues and hints everywhere; I had only to pay attention. Anyone with the right knowledge could have done the same. Tell me, how is your dragon?"
"She," said Eragon, "is fine. We weren't at the farm when the strangers came."
"Ah, your legs. You were flying?"
Daemon glanced at Eragon's legs and saw they looked scraped and cut, like someone had been dragging something rough and hard across them to cut and break the skin.
Eragon, more nervous and worried at Brom's words, searched his mind out for Saphira's and found her circling far overhead. Come!
No, I will watch for a time.
Why!
Because of the slaughter at Dorú Areaba.
What?
Brom leaned against a tree with a slight smile. "I have talked with her, and she has agreed to stay above us until we settle our differences. As you can see, you really don't have any choice but to answer my questions. Now tell me, where are you two going?"
Daemon and Eragon shared a look, but Eragon replied. "We were planning on staying somewhere safe for a while, so my legs can heal."
"And then?"
"We go hunt down the strangers and kill them." Daemon said bluntly and honestly.
"A mighty task for two so young," Brom said in a normal tone, as if they had proposed the most obvious and suitable thing to do. "Certainly, a worthy endeavor and one you are fit to carry out, yet it strikes me that help would not be unwelcome." He reached behind a bush and pulled out a large pack. His tone became gruff. "Anyway, I'm not going to stay behind while two reckless boys get to run around with a dragon."
So young? Boy? I'm 25 years old! Daemon thought with an offended frown.
Eragon grabbed Daemon's shoulder and brought him back a few steps so they can talk quietly. "What do we do? Should we let him come?" Eragon asked quietly.
"I'm not sure." Daemon shook his head. "But Brom knows about Saphira, he knows about the Dragon Riders. perhaps... perhaps he can give you insight into the line you've joined. It may be useful in having someone with knowledge of the Riders with us, and he may have answers to who attacked your farm and killed Garrow, that's useful information to have. Plus, if Saphira was worried, she'd have probably made him her next meal."
Eragon considered his words and nodded before they turned back to Brom. "We don't need help," said Eragon, then grudgingly added, "but you can come."
"Then we had best be going," said Brom. His face blanked for a moment. "I think you'll find that your dragon will listen to you again."
Saphira? asked Eragon.
Yes.
He resisted the urge to question her. Will you meet us at the farm?
Yes. So you reached an agreement?
I guess so. She broke contact and soared away. Eragon glanced at Carvahall and saw people running from house to house. "I think they're looking for me."
Daemon looked back and saw. "We should go."
Eragon hesitated. "I'd like to leave a message for Roran. It doesn't seem right to run off without telling him why."
"It's been taken care of," assured Brom. "I left a letter for him with Gertrude, explaining a few things. I also cautioned him to be on guard for certain dangers. Is that satisfactory?"
Eragon nodded. He wrapped the leather around the meat and started off with Jayden. They were careful to stay out of sight until they reached the road, then quickened their pace, eager to distance themselves from Carvahall. Eragon plowed ahead determinedly, his legs burning. The mindless rhythm of walking freed his mind to think. Once we get home, I won't travel any farther with Brom until I get some answers, he told himself firmly. Like Daemon said, maybe he can tell me more about the Riders and whom I'm fighting.
As the wreckage of the farm came into view, Brom's eyebrows beetled with anger. Daemon's expression tightened with anger. Eragon was dismayed to see how swiftly nature was reclaiming the farm. Snow and dirt were already piled inside the house, concealing the violence of the strangers' attack. All that remained of the barn was a rapidly eroding rectangle of soot.
Brom's head snapped up as the sound of Saphira's wings drifted over the trees. She dived past them from behind, almost brushing their heads. They staggered as a wall of air buffeted them. Saphira's scales glittered as she wheeled over the farm and landed gracefully.
Brom stepped forward with an expression both solemn and joyous. His eyes were shining, and a tear shone on his cheek before it disappeared into his beard. He stood there for a long while, breathing heavily as he watched Saphira, and she him. Eragon heard him muttering and edged closer to listen.
"So... it starts again. But how and where will it end? My sight is veiled; I cannot tell if this be tragedy or farce, for the elements of both are here... However it may be, my station is unchanged, and I..."
Whatever else he might have said faded away as Saphira proudly approached them. Eragon passed Brom, pretended he had heard nothing, and greeted her. There was something different between them now, as if they knew each other even more intimately, yet were still strangers. He rubbed her neck, and his palm tingled as their minds touched. A strong curiosity came from her.
I've seen no humans except you and Garrow, and he was badly injured, she said.
You've viewed people through my eyes.
It's not the same. She came closer and turned her long head so that she could look at Daemon. The Dragonborn smiled and lifted a hand so he can pat her on the nose gently, causing her to snort.
Tickles. She laughed in his head. Nice to see you again, Daemon.
Same to you. As always, you look majestic and beautiful.
Knew I liked him. Saphira said to Eragon.
The young Rider grinned a bit. You do love flattery.
She turned to Brom as he did the same, allowing him to touch her lightly on the brow. This time she jerked back and retreated behind Eragon.
What is it he asked. She didn't reply.
Brom turned to him and asked in an undertone, "What's her name?"
"Saphira." A peculiar expression crossed Brom's face. He ground the butt of his staff into the earth with such force his knuckles turned white. "Of all the names you gave me, it was the only one she liked. I think it fits," Eragon added quickly.
"Fit it does," said Brom. There was something in his voice Eragon could not identify. Was it loss, wonder, fear, envy? He was not sure; it could have been none of them or all. Brom raised his voice and said, "Greetings, Saphira. I am honored to meet you." He twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed.
I like him, said Saphira quietly.
Of course you do; everyone enjoys flattery. Eragon touched her on the shoulder and went to the ruined house with Daemon. Saphira trailed behind with Brom. The old man looked vibrant and alive.
After salvaging what he could from the wreckage of the house, Eragon led them to a small clearing in the woods nearby. Saphira flew to meet them there, less she leave anymore tracks than she already had. As they got a fire going and settled down, Saphira landed beside Eragon and Daemon and folded her wings, careful to avoid the thorns. She curled up, snapping twigs with her hard scales, and rested her head on the ground. Her unreadable eyes followed them closely.
Brom's eyes watched Daemon carefully. "So, who are you?"
Daemon paused and looked at him. "What?"
"You are not from Carvahall, and that armour you wear is not of any make in this land." Brom said, looking at the Daedric armour Daemon wore, and the Daedric helmet that sat beside him.
"Alright..." Daemon looked at the old man firmly. "I'm from Skyrim."
Brom paused at that. "There hasn't been anyone from Skyrim in this land for hundreds of years. How do I know you're telling the truth?"
"What reason would I have to lie? You said it yourself; I wear armour not made in this land." Daemon said pointedly. "But might as well get this out of the way. In Skyrim, I am known by many names. Arch-Mage, Listener, Harbinger, Guild Master, vampire-slayer, but the one everyone calls me by and knows me by... is Dragonborn."
Brom's eyes widened as he sat up straighter. "Dragonborn... that legend still goes?"
"I am the Last Dragonborn." Daemon said with a nod.
Feeling more assured now, Brom nodded before he stood, brought his pack over to the fire, and pulled out a long object wrapped in cloth. It was about five feet long and, from the way he handled it, rather heavy.
He peeled away the cloth, strip by strip, like a mummy being unswathed. Eragon gazed, transfixed, as a sword was revealed. The gold pommel was teardrop shaped with the sides cut away to reveal a ruby the size of a small egg. The hilt was wrapped in silver wire, burnished until it gleamed like starlight. The sheath was wine red and smooth as glass, adorned solely by a strange black symbol etched into it. Next to the sword was a leather belt with a heavy buckle. The last strip fell away, and Brom passed the weapon to Eragon.
The handle fit Eragon's hand as if it had been made for him. He slowly drew the sword; it slid soundlessly from the sheath. The flat blade was iridescent red and shimmered in the firelight. The keen edges curved gracefully to a sharp point. A duplicate of the black symbol was inscribed on the metal. The balance of the sword was perfect; it felt like an extension of his arm, unlike the rude farm tools he was used to. An air of power lay over it, as if an unstoppable force resided in its core. It had been created for the violent convulsions of battle, to end men's lives, yet it held a terrible beauty.
"This was once a Rider's blade," said Brom gravely. "When a Rider finished his training, the elves would present him with a sword. Their methods of forging have always remained secret. However, their swords are eternally sharp and will never stain. The custom was to have the blade's color match that of the Rider's dragon, but I think we can make an exception in this case. This sword is named Zar'roc. I don't know what it means, probably something personal to the Rider who owned it." He watched Eragon swing the sword.
"Where did you get it?" asked Eragon. He reluctantly slipped the blade back into the sheath and attempted to hand the sword back, but Brom made no move to take it.
"It doesn't matter," said Brom. "I will only say that it took me a series of nasty and dangerous adventures to attain it. Consider it yours. You have more of a claim to it than I do, and before all is done, I think you will need it."
The offer caught Eragon off guard. "It is a princely gift, thank you." He showed the sword to Daemon who gave an impressed nod of approval. Unsure of what else to say, Eragon slid his hand down the sheath. "What is this symbol?" he asked.
"That was the Rider's personal crest." Eragon tried to interrupt, but Brom glared at him until he was quiet. "Now, if you must know, anyone can learn how to speak to a dragon if they have the proper training. And," he raised a finger for emphasis, "it doesn't mean anything if they can. I know more about the dragons and their abilities than almost anyone else alive. On your own it might take years to learn what I can teach you. I'm offering my knowledge as a shortcut. As for how I know so much, I will keep that to myself."
After he finished speaking Saphira pulled herself closer to Eragon. He pulled out the rider blade and showed it to her. It has power she remarked and touched the point of it with her nose. The metal's iridescent color rippled, almost like it was made of water. With a satisfied snort, she removed her nose and the sword returned to normal. Eragon replaced the sword in its sheath with a troubled expression.
Brom raised an eyebrow. "That's the sort of thing I'm talking about. Dragons will constantly amaze you. Things... happen around them, mysterious things that are impossible anywhere else. Even though the Riders worked with dragons for centuries, they never completely understood their abilities. Some say that even the dragons don't know the full extent of their own powers. They are linked with this land in a way that lets them overcome great obstacles. What Saphira just did illustrates my earlier point: there is much you don't know."
"Even in Skyrim, dragons held great power." Daemon nodded in agreement. "There was a reason they once ruled thousands of years ago."
"I heard of that." Brom nodded. "Alduin and his kin enslaved the mortals and cults were formed, they were worshipped."
"That they were." Daemon said with a sigh.
After a moment of silence, Eragon spoke. "Who were those strangers? I need to know who I am hunting."
And so Brom explained it to three of them. The Ra'zac, as they were called, were some of the foulest creatures to walk the land. Despite their appearance, the were not even remotely human. Precious little was know about them, only that they were never seen before Galbatorix came to power. Under their hoods were black eyes the size of fist and beaks where a mouth would be, making how they produced speech a mystery. Stronger than a man but unable to use magic, their only real weakness is their aversion to sunlight, although it cannot completely stop them.
As they listened to Brom tell this, and how he tried to confront them on his own, bitterness suddenly swelled up in Eragon. Finally he could not contain himself any longer. "Who are you?" he spat. "How come a mere village storyteller just happens to have a Rider's sword? How do you know so much about dragons, and the Ra'zac?"
Brom tapped his pipe. "I thought I made it clear I wasn't going to talk about that."
"My uncle is dead because of this. Dead!" exclaimed Eragon, slashing a hand through the air. Daemon and Saphira tried to talk but Eragon continued "I've trusted you this far because Saphira respects you, but no more! You're not the person I've known in Carvahall for all of these years."
"Eragon' that's enough." Daemon said firmly.
"No! Explain yourself!"
For a long time Brom stared at the smoke swirling between them, deep lines creasing his forehead. When he stirred, it was only to take another puff. Finally he said, "You've probably never thought about it, but most of my life has been spent outside of Palancar Valley. It was only in Carvahall that I took up the mantle of storyteller. I have played many roles to different people—I've a complicated past. It was partly through a desire to escape it that I came here. So no, I'm not the man you think I am."
"Ha!" snorted Eragon. "Then who are you?"
Brom smiled gently. "I am one of the two who is here to help you. Do not scorn those words—they are the truest I've ever spoken. But I'm not going to answer your questions. At this point you don't need to hear my history, nor have you yet earned that right. Yes, I have knowledge Brom the storyteller wouldn't, but I'm more than he. You'll have to learn to live with that fact and the fact that I don't hand out descriptions of my life to anyone who asks!"
Eragon glared at him sullenly. "I'm going to sleep," he said, leaving the fire.
Brom did not seem surprised, but there was sorrow in his eyes. He spread his bedroll next to the fire as Eragon lay beside Saphira. An icy silence fell over the camp...
And I think I'll end this here.