Eragon looked back for the tenth time, sure that he had heard someone say his name. Not only that but the voices were going crazy in his head.
Stronghammer! Stronghammer!
He gnashed his teeth, irritated. What was wrong with them? Who the hell was Stronghammer? Were they talking about Roran?
He didn't know why he should still care. Before Roran, the only other person in Eragon's life was his master. He clothed and fed Eragon since he was found in the woods as a baby. Someone had abandoned him and hadn't come back to look for him.
His master held no qualms telling him that he was only his caretaker. He didn't believe in lying. Lying only clouded a person's true judgment of their character. Lying also came back to bite you in the ass later on, so he avoided doing it at all costs. Thinking about it now, he was sure that's what caused most of the fights he and Roran got into.
There wasn't much Eragon wouldn't do for his master. For Roran to have made even the smallest slight against him was a slight against Eragon himself.
But even he had to admit that he might have overreacted a bit.
Eragon sighed, stopping among the trees, and looked back. Angry as he was, that didn't make it right to let Roran wander around the forest alone in punishment; he couldn't just allow him to die. Though he was tempted to let him suffer a bit, he would rather not walk up and find Roran's corpse lying on the ground if he could avoid it.
Resigned, he turned back.
