He arrived home empty-handed. He didn't know why he decided to help the boy. Maybe Eragon felt sorry for him. He had heard the desperation in his voice and knew that he was telling the truth. Besides, it got him out of the forest faster.
He found his master sitting at the table. Their house was made from a tree sung into shape by the elves. Years ago, the Spine was one of the places where the elven folk and dragons battled. There were houses scattered throughout, most of them using the cover of trees to hide from prying eyes above. They were all abandoned, though, the elves now taking refuge in Ellesmera. Or so the legends went.
This one had two layers, both with rows of books on shelves carved out from the sides of the tree's interior walls where vines draped like curtains. Magical lights hung from the ceiling, getting brighter as night slowly ate away at the sunlight. Spiral, wooden stairs led up to the second floor where there was a bed while on the first floor there was a wide table, a large rug, and a hearth.
It was at this table his master was reading a book. Several of them, judging by the left open tomes spread out in front of him, all within reachable distance. White eyes looked up at his arrival.
"You've returned."