••• important please read •••

AUTHORS NOTE

Chapter one has be updated and is ready for your viewing again. I have added more details to remove some confusion and hopefuly it will all make sense now.

Thank you for taking the time to read this note ❤

WARNING:

This story is rated T for a reason

3/10

This chapter has mild violence, blood and 'behind the scenes' dismemberment. And a little bit of dark thoughts.

Though I'm not one for gore, sometimes just a little bit is necessary even if such scenes are not described.

Chapter 2: Eclipse

When she left the campus of the University she was tired and a little down. She hated seeing Erick with such a pained look in his eyes, the sorrow in his features. It gutted her each time he faded off like that. And no amount of asking or soothing had ever helped. He was a mystery and despite knowing him for nearly five years, she knew nothing of his past or who he was before they met. It made her anxious that he wasn't comfortable with telling her.

Isla sighed, breathing out. That only meant she needed to be extra careful on friday. The stories he read from his great grandfather's journals sometimes made him like he was at the car park. And sometimes he'd go silent all together. Perhaps asking him to read for her wasn't such a good thing. She didn't want him to hurt. But she supposed it was a bit late now. Though she will give him a call when she gets home - he didn't have to read the tales if he wasn't feeling up to it.

Isla sighed again as she carefully followed the road into the woods. She squirmed in the car seat, her back beginning to ache from sitting all day in class. This was normal. The body becomes tired if it doesn't move. It wasn't meant for that kind of thing even in today's age. Artists tend to have these problems if they don't have a sport or keep active.

Nowadays her weekly archery lessons and walking to the store was about as 'athletic' as it got. Besides the stairs of her apartment building, it was enough to get rid of the energy that stuck around. Try sleeping with a restless body that hardly moved at all the whole day. Some don't realize how tough it is to be creatively inclined.

She breathed in, feeling Ericks gloom form in her chest. People say she is brave for pursuing her dreams and choosing to study a 'dead art'. She'd lost count of the hundreds of people that tell her to rather go into Graphic Design or Animation, into a field that will actually pay the bills. And of course she was aware of the disadvantages of traditional art in a modern world.

They say she was brave to move out at 16 and live on her own. Erick says she is a stubborn flame, resilient for weathering every hurdle that comes her way; the move, the boyfriend that dumped her on her 17th birthday, graduating, Markus's passing, stresses of University life, overdue rent…the list goes on.
They are fools. She is no such person. They use words to describe a knight not a struggling orphan that could barely make ends meet. She was not brave, she was not resilient. She was exhausted, constantly afraid, maybe even desperate, miserable and too stubborn for her own good. If Erick wasn't going through his own hardships these past years then she would have gladly given into his 'move in' plan. She didn't want to be a burden to him more than she had already been.

She was no one special, just weird Loony 'landra. She was no knight. She was just human. Not a flame that was too stubborn to go out.
Isla turned into the pass now feeling miserable. The downside of tiredness. Though amongst it she was anxious. The spooky darkness of the forest made her stomach do turns. It was not a safe road yet the University continued to ignore it. She swallowed, her knuckles going white on the steering wheel. If only this old-trash car didn't have such dim headlights…

No…she wasn't afraid of the dark. But rather what hid in it. That's what scared her the most since she was small; the unknown, the unseeable. And worse, the completely invisible that not even light could reveal. She couldn't see all the 'spirits'. She swallowed again.
She slowed the car as the road sloped into the deepest part of the pass. The worst part. Snow fell lightly on the windshield and her wipers did their best to clear her view. She turned on the radio in hopes it would ease her nerves.

This is where the girl died last year during the partial eclipse in May. No one could find out why her car rolled off the road into the trees below. It would've needed a considerable amount of force to cause such a deep indent in the side of the car to send it barrelling down. The girl was missing for a week until a brave hiker found the wreckage and her body near the small stream at the bottom.

Isla swallowed again, her heart racing. She needed to stop thinking. She will be fine. The car will not slip off the road and it will not cut to leave her stranded again. She will not have to walk back to campus in the complete dark. And she will not barrel off the road by something invisible or worse. She was safe. Even in the pitch black of the night and the cold.

Eventually, after a long while of twists and turns the road seemed to be going up. She must be almost to the city. She put the car in first gear and sped up. If she didn't she wouldn't make the slope. Curse the founders of this place and this demon pass! Why didn't they build a proper tar road with rails or a damned bridge!

The car struggled to climb the small slope, the tires slipping a little on the icy snow that was practically frozen mud. But thankfully the trash she had for a car made it to the top. If she had a newer car with snow tires it wouldn't be a problem. But life sucks and she could only afford this hazard on wheels.

At the top she slowed down and let out a breath. She hated winter and its early nights and freezing weather! And this pass….she feared and hated it the most. But she was safe now. The worst was over.

With a stressed sigh she turned the wheel to follow the road as it went into a long straight stretch. The pine trees moved past her steadily and the cold still bit at her skin. Perhaps now she could put on her banged-up heater to try and warm up.

Isla reached down, briefly glancing away from the road to do just that. She didn't notice the echo of pine trees moaning or the eerie wind that blew a rotting smell over the road. Nor did she notice the glow behind the clouds turn orange and distorted figures appear in the shadows with a distant crack. When she managed to get the heater going after a moment she looked up….and stilled.

"...what the…." she breathed, frowning deeply. The snow and air was amber in her car's dim white headlights and it suddenly reeked of death, of sour earth and rotting flesh. Her stomach twisted and she gagged with a cough, covering her mouth. The smell was overwhelming, pungent.

Something's not right.

Something told her as she attempted to roll down her window for fresh air. But a worse stench only followed. She coughed and gagged again. She shut the window quickly, grimacing. Never before had she smelt something this horrid.

She then covered her nose with a gloved hand as she continued to drive with the other. The visibility was worse than before with the strange orangeness in the air. And the smell only made it all the more difficult to focus and breath.

Her anxiety grew as she tried to concentrate on the road, leaning right into the steering wheel in hopes she would be able to see better.

But this smell, she thought. Was there another accident? A murder? Did a sewer pipe burst? Surely the university would have announced such things? Would they?

No...this is different… This stench couldn't be sewage. This was a thick forest no one dared to hike or build in. That hiker who found the girl was stupid and none-the-wiser, lucky to get out without a loosing himself perminently.

This forest, this land the university was built on has been rumored since the 1500s that it's haunted by demons, ghosts and monsters. It's even had its fair share of investigators and conspiracy theorists. All of which leave the forest swearing never to return. Some believe the Bodagh lives in these woods as well as the Baisd Bheulach. Strange orbs and noises not from any animal or human. And of course a smell…

Isla! She scolded herself as her fear and anxiety worsened with her head's wanderings. No...she is safe in the car and nothing will happen to her. But despite her attempt to reassure herself, the anxiety got worse.

Something wasn't right and she knew it. It all seemed unnatural, this smell and the orange in the air. How she knew that...she just did. Call it instinct. The irrational fear deep within the human DNA… She hoped it was sewage and not something much worse….

But this light...It didn't look like one made by a spotlight or a fire. It was not normal and she didn't like it.

Isla found herself pushing more on the gas pedal to go faster, the anxiety turning her stomach. She shivered as chills ran down her spine that weren't from the cold. Like someone was suddenly watching her, staring. Like a deer being stalked by a predator.

It grew and grew until her forehead was damp and her hands in her gloves were clammy. Her heart raced in her throat and in her ears, thumping to an instinct or a 'feeling' that she wasn't alone. That she was being watched. That she was the prey.

A breath left her as her lungs hitched on their own, her clammy knuckles white under the gloves. She wanted out of this pass! Now. She wasn't comfortable nor did she feel safe. In fact the last time she felt this unsafe was just before the gas stove exploded all those years ago...the one that killed her parents.

The hairs on her neck stood high in alert and she grit her teeth. She drove faster, pushing the pedal down as far as she dared.

Her knuckles began to ache at how hard she gripped the steering wheel and the soft radio no longer gave any comfort. Shaky thoughts and more explanations spiraled within her head in panic. One thing is for sure - she will never drive this pass alone again. Ever.

Then strange noises reached her ears over the hum of the radio; screeches and loud gurgles that left her breathless and bone cold despite the heater. It sounded like monsters...big and close. She dared not look in her rear mirror….but in the corner of her eye, in the side mirror, she saw dark shadows leap into the road behind the car.

A frightened shudder ran down her spine, her eyes widening. She knew no animal looked as such even just in shadow. She wasn't alone and it was her that they were after. It terrified her that she somehow knew that.

Isla couldnt breath, couldn't swallow and couldn't think any more. The only thing that made sense now was to floor the pedal and get out to the city as fast as possible. No matter what. She would be safe there…

She slammed on the gas without another second thought and the car jerked forward into a race. That's what it was, a race. For her life. She couldn't explain the consuming panic and fear….the knowing that if she didn't get out she would die.

Someone, no something was after her, chasing her, hunting her. She could feel it...hear it over the radio, the screeching and gurgling….she could feel their intent. They were getting closer!

The long stretch of road quickly came to an end and she jerked the wheel to force the car into a turn as it sped. The rear drifted out, tires skidding in the frozen mud before hitting something hard. A tree? A railing?

No.

Her heart dropped in the realisation that that scraping thud had been something with claws. They were right here….beside her…not behind her. And she only had glass and rusting metal for protection. They were keeping up. She was going nearly 100mph! Whatever they were, they didn't seem to tire.

She forced the car into another slippery turn, the rear drifting out again. Only this time they screeched as if in anger. The sound made her ears ring at the volume and her heart stop at the echo as it bounced off every tree….

Then suddenly the roof of her car dented with a bang. She screamed her lungs empty, the car swerving out into another stretch of road. But there was something in the middle of it….

A dark figure covered in black was revealed by her car's dim lights as the vehicle sped. The eyes of its pointed skull were hollow and the clothes were rotten flesh and rags. It stared right into her soul… and she had no breath left to scream, terror gripping every cell in her body.

Time slowed as the wheel jerked to avoid the creature, missing it by millimetres. Just as it did two daggers pierced the roof seconds later. The blades narily missed her head but one dug into her shoulder, cutting the seatbelt free. The searing pain half blinded her, her arm going limp.

Then the steering wheel jerked to the left on its own. The car hydroplaned, losing its traction from the ice. And the last thing she saw was the tree line bending to meet her as they all barreled off the road into the forest, rolling. Glass shattered in a flash of light. Then…

Darkness

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Alagaesia, The Spine - winter (pre-Eragon)

It was a horribly cold evening as the thirteenth eclipse settled. It was dark, the foreboding orange of the remaining light casting ominous shadows over all of Alagaesia. Every soul had feared this day for weeks, the prophets all over the land predicting great woes upon those who ventured from their homes tonight. This was no ordinary happening. Atleast, for those who believed in superstitious humbug.

Brom did not. Galbatorix would do anything to keep the people of this land under fear. From false prophecies of plagues to the rampage of Urgals to the murdering spree's of the Ra'zac. What was a simple eclipse compared to that?

Though Brom knew better than to question or step out of line. He may not believe in such superstitions but there was something in the air that wasn't right. In fact there wasn't a single breeze or a single sound. Strange for the waning blizzard season in The Spine. No deer either or a single bird song from the coming spring. Nothing.

But there was magic. He could feel it. It was in the cold of the unmoving air, in the snow, in the remaining light of the eclipse. Dark and menacing, powerful….like nothing before. Had it been Hallows Eve perhaps he'd understood. Yet it was winter far from the cursed day of the dead. Something was afoot. His instinct was never wrong.

So Brom did not venture out that evening to hunt. This was the perfect happening for the dark sorcerers and evil beings to roam freely and cut down those who they pleased. Especially the Ra'zac. He would not be so stupid to step a foot out the cave he settled in for the night. Even his horse sheltered with him.

"I don't like the air of this…." he murmured to himself as he returned to the fire in the back of the cave. His horse, Snowfire, winnied anxiously in agreement. He sat by the flames' warmth on his bedroll, the chill already in his aging bones.

The eclipse will last for a few days at most. Everyone knew this thanks to the prophets. Though he hesitated to pin any form of credit to their words. The last Seer he took seriously predicted long life and prosperity to his childhood friend and his family. Even to the wife's young sister who was born on the Hallowed day. They all were murdered by the same Shade. He'd never trusted a prophet or seer since.

Brom exhaled, his breath white in the air. He'd gotten his revenge….but at a great cost. He leaned back against the rough cave wall with a grunt. The age old wound in his left abdomen was the lesser cost he had paid that night. He held the aching scar as the muscles stitched. He was burdened with the guilt of murdering the last Dragonrider. Even though Morzan was evil….he was still a rider.

He breathed out as he tried to relax. He was getting old. His bones no longer felt the youth he once did and he'd long lost a young man's stamina. How old was he? He'd lost count, forgotten, and did not want to remember. He was a rider without a dragon, the last left. He wasn't the boy he once was. Nor was Alagaesia.

It was in the past now.

When he managed to relax the stitching muscles he breathed out again, closing his eyes. The rest of his old body followed, relaxing into the cave wall. He shouldn't have ventured into The Spine. This cold wasn't good for him. The rest of Alagaesia was already warming for the spring yet The Spine still carried the last of the blizzards and the cold. He could have been in a tavern in a warm bed with ale in his belly. Yet he was here doing a favor for a friend. Hunting brought good coin but…..

He sighed. His timing was rotten. He should've known his stubbornness would get him in a fix. Perhaps the prophets had been right this time… but the promise of good money that he knew he needed shouldn't have swayed him. He should've waited for the eclipse to pass before being foolish enough to leave Carvahall. He should stick to storytelling.

He opened his eyes to stare at the flames of the fire. The longer he did, watching the fire dance, his eyelids drooped. His thoughts slowly faded into nothingness and before he knew it he succumbed to the depths of sleep he'd been deprived of the night before.

But it seemed like a short slumber when he woke with a jolt. Shot right up from where he slept, his hand already on the hilt of Morzan's sword. His heart was racing, alert. Snowfire winnied in the corner anxiously, her ears flat in spooked fear. Something wasn't right. Brom held his breath as he listened. It was completely silent. Even the embers of the fire dared not make a sound. Then he heard it.

SCREECH

Snowfire winnied in fright and backed further into the cave wall. Broms heart skipped. Ra'zac. He remained still, straining his ears. Three more screeches echoed from the wilderness outside the cave. They were distant but not far. Who could they be hunting? No one would be foolish enough to be out here. Aside from him.

Several more screeches sounded and soon screams followed. Many of them. A caravan most likely. Traders. And there was nothing that he could do. Ra'zac hunted in pairs, never alone. Sometimes there were three if the target was more valuable.

Brom settled back but kept a firm grip on the sword. The Ra'zac were monsters of dark magic, ancient and evil. He did not have the power and strength to fight them. Perhaps one. And even then he would struggle and come too close to death. But many Ra'zac, not a chance. And they left no survivors. Even Azgere, his dearest friend, didn't have the strength or power to take on more than two.

Brom waited, wary and alert, for the screams to fade. It seemed like ages before they did. And even then in the silence he waited. It was always wise too. Minutes passed before he felt safe enough to move.

He carefully rose from his makeshift bedroll. He must not make a sound lest he become the demon's next target. He pulled Morzan's sword from its scabbard, the scarlet blade almost glowing from the dark magic in the air. He silently made his way to the entrance of the cave, listening for any movement or sign of the monsters. But it was dead quiet.

The orange of dawn greeted him at the entrance, the eclipse rising with the sun. Though the sky was clouded it was light enough to see. But instead of the fresh morning air that would've greeted him on a normal day, there was the stench of mold and rotting flesh.

Definitely Ra'zac.

His stomach turned and his lips went dry. They'd come through here to get to the caravan and left the same way. Blood stained the pure white snow in both the monsters deformed footprints and droplets on one side of the tracks.

He knelt down to inspect them. There were four of the monsters and each had a trail of blood. This wasn't a random attack. This was an organised hunt with more than one target.

This was Galbatorix's doing. Some poor Lord or someone made the mistake of defying the King. It may not have been traders after all. The tyrant cared nothing for them. Brom stood from the tracks and followed them cautiously away from the cave. The Ra'zac must have come from Gil'ead to reach the target where his cave was. The only road close enough for him to hear the screams was in the Woardark Lake pass in the south. This is where he was headed. The poor souls must have come from Teirm in an attempt to flee by carriage. They should've fled to the ocean. Ra'zac can't cross water.

When he reached the pass through the forest it was carnage. It was light enough from the orange eclipse of dawn and close enough to see the destruction and the bodies. He was right. It wasn't traders. It was a carriage. He covered his nose with his arm at the reek in the air. Not just of death but Ra'zac blood.

Brom descended the slope to the road of the pass. In the carnage were several mutilated horses and their armored riders. They must have put up a good fight to spill Ra'zac blood. However, if it touched you it was like arsenic and you died a slow death with no cure.

Just by looking there were no survivors. Bodies were littered in the dirt road and the ones with high class robes were headless. Headless corpses always meant the King made the order. He swallowed the bile that threatened to escape.

A woman was among the headless that seemed too young for her life to be extinguished so soon. And now he knew why. He looked up to the half destroyed carriage to see the ripped flag.

Looks like the daughter of a Lord tried to escape the King's wedding bell. The bile rose again and he forced it down with a hard swallow. Disgust and hatred warmed his bones. It was just like Galbatorix to force young maidens into his bed and wedlock. This was not the first in a long line of unfortunate Ladies. Word has it that the maidens were beheaded if they couldn't sire the King an heir. Now he knew it was true. It's been going on for years. A father could mutilate his daughter to save her from the King's eye but Brom knew the tyrant cared not for appearance.

Brom turned away from the slaughter as the eclipse rose above the trees behind the clouds. Everything was tinged in orange, the magic still a hum in the unmoving air.

There was no reason to stay. There was nothing he could do or salvage. Such things could not be sold as most folk in Alagaesia were superstitious. And touching the corpses with Ra'zac blood spilled was not something he would ever risk. Even if he wanted to give them a respectable burial.

So Brom gave the unfortunate souls a moment of silence instead before going on his way. The eclipse had two more days before the sun returned. 'Three days of darkness' was what the prophets had said, the words spreading from village to village. He needed to get back to his horse.

But before Brom could climb the slope to go the way he came, every hair on his body stood on end and shivered. He halted, breath catching as powerful magic rippled through the air.

And then a harrowing scream pierced the hollow silence so close it made his ears ring. The scream dragged out, the pitch reaching deep into his soul and leaving him unable to breath. It came from behind him...by the lake just past the road.

Time slowed as he turned to witness a blinding flash of flaming light in the middle of thin air above the lake shore. From the light came figures, flying out as if thrown by a powerful force. Brom covered his eyes, half blinded and falling back into the slope. The light vanished just as quickly as it came, leaving a stench of burnt lumber and flesh behind. Silence fell only for a moment before enraged screeches filled it.

Brom was immediately on his feet despite his temporary blindness. Ra'zac. He raised his sword and stumbled over the road to the other side where the earth dipped into the lake meters below. And there in his spotted vision he saw two Ra'zac on the frozen bank below. One was on fire, flailing about as it screeched in agony. The other was desperately crawling away from the lake, its bottom-half slowly melting in the water of the bank. It was screeching in fury, the lapping water slowly boiling it to death. But there was one more.

An unmoving figure lay further up the bank in the snow. The soft white was staining red. Brom groaned as his eyes burned, his body producing too many tears in hopes to soothe the dryness that made them sting. He stumbled away from the edge of the road and past the carnage of the carriage.

Below he could hear the dying gurgles of the Ra'zac as he staggered towards the scene. His instincts screamed for him to return to the cave. But something else beckoned him to investigate, something stronger that made his hand itch.

He left the road into the woods below, sword at the ready. He blinked without control, his eyes burning worse than salt in a wound. He had no clue what had happened or what the light was. Or if the demons were truly dead. But he continued on till the trees thinned and the lake's icy bank greeted him.

He found the first Ra'zac near the tree line by a cluster of large stones. Its body still burned, flames eating at its rotten flesh as it lay dead. Had it been alive, he'd be fighting it now instead of staggering away.

He found the second Ra'zac on the shore of the lake. The fire from the first one cast light far enough for him to see in the shadows of the eclipse. It was dead, the demon's purest weakness having dissolved it entirely. Only a black outline of boiling goop was left behind. It leaked into the lake turning the water on the shore black.

Then there was a soft noise in the silence and Brom spun. It came from the figure in the red snow. He raised Morzan's sword only to catch, with wide eyes, a wave of crimson magic run down the length of the blade like flames. He stilled, his old heart seeming to stop. It's been so many years since the sword had done such a thing. ...since he killed Morzan with it so long ago.

There was another noise from the figure, struggling breath escaping it as it barely breathed. Brom looked up from the sword, heart racing, and cautiously went to the form. His boots crunched in the snow as he neared. The flames of the Ra'zac still burned and cast light over the figure. It was covered in blood, its clothing strange for this side of The Spine. It lay on its side, it's back to him, wheezing.

The first thing that came to mind was 'witch'. It would explain a few things. But he was unsure. Who else could create gateways and portals, bursts of light? Witches. Or worse, dark witches. Or it could be a Shade. He briefly looked around and found no black furred feline or scaly snake. Such pets were highly protective of their masters. Nor did the figure seem to have the traits of a Shade. He took a step.

He came closer, rounding the figure to its other side cautiously. He used the tip of the blunt side of Zar'roc to roll the person over so he could see the face. Though as he did, magic ran along the blade again only to reach the jewel on the hilt. The gem glowed bright, making the ex-Riders' heart stop entirely. It can't be….

There was only one possible explanation for Zar'roc's reaction. It was far-fetched and almost impossible….yet… The distant roars of dragons from his memories filled his ears and the itch on his hand intensified to a burn. Could it be…? Has the time of the Dragonriders finally returned? Or was this a trick of the eclipse and its vile magics?

He tore his wide eyes from the gem to the form that the tip of the blade touched. And the fire of the burning Ra'zac illuminated the features in the orange of the eclipse. His heart almost stilled its racing.

It was a woman. Young. Her bloody, dark hair was short and her jawline soft. Her skin was deathly pale under the bloodstains and her strange clothing was ripped everywhere. He averted his eyes and stepped back. She was practically bare and covered in gashes deep and shallow alike. As if she had been under attack. That would explain the Ra'zac.

Had she been another of Galbatorix's mistresses who could not give an heir? A court witch, perhaps, who misread a prophecy or events the tyrant did not approve of? Could Galbatorix have experienced what he had a moment ago with Zar'roc and given the order? Or was she simply an innocent child caught in the middle of it all.

Either way, she was alive and he couldn't just leave her here. Even when his instinct told him otherwise. He will have to hide her if the King wanted her head. This won't make his life any easier. He cursed and dropped the sword to the side. He then shrugged off his thick coat and draped it over the mystery woman's form.

This was not how he'd expected this foolhardy hunting trip to go. It was cursed from the start. And he definitely did not expect THIS. He should've stayed clear of the Spine and hunted by the Anora river instead. Great omens and bad luck always were in these forsaken mountains and everything that came from it. THIS was no exception. He regretted every bit of this trip but another smaller part of him saw it differently. It was almost as if he was in the right place at the right time….

Brom huffed bitterly. Still, he couldn't leave the woman to die or risk moving her if he wanted her to survive. There could be other injuries he couldn't see. He didn't know who she was or truly why Zar'roc reacted like it did. He wanted answers yet at the same time he wanted nothing to do with this. He knew better than to meddle in the King's affairs. He did not want to die.

But, unlike most in Alagaesia, he was not heartless like so many were in this age. He will have to return to the cave with her after he'd made a stretcher and will have to treat her wounds there. Then keep her out of sight until the King deems her dead or not worth the effort.

So the ex-rider left the unconscious woman for the carnage on the road, sword in hand. He took what was left of the carriage apart and the fancy cushioning from the seats inside. Within a broken trunk, untouched by ra'zac blood, he found women's clothing that would be needed to cloth her. In another spot he found rope, leathers and several things from the horse saddles he could use.

He then returned to the woman and made the stretcher with the above items. When it was done he positioned it beside her and carefully rolled her back onto her side. As he did he could hear the crunch of broken ribs and her arm seemed to bend after the elbow, broken. That was not good. This meant she needed a doctor. He swore with a grumble. Curse this eclipse and The Spine!

He then carefully and slowly rolled her backward into the stretcher. When she was in he used the leftover rope to tie her to it. Once she was secure he made sure her arm would not fall off the stretcher and damage further. He then lifted one end of the makeshift carrier and began to pull it carefully.

Brom made his way back to the road with it, the snow helping to make it easier to pull it along. This woman was surprisingly heavy for her size.

Once he was on the road he made the grueling and long trip back to the cave…..uphill. On the way it began to snow and the temperature dropped. It was going to be a horribly frozen day. He will have to build a long term fire in the cave to keep her warm while he road to Teirm for a doctor.

When he arrived at the cave he was extra careful. It was much harder to pull over rock and it made a rough noise that made his horse nervous. He could hear her anxious snorts and whinnies. He managed to reach his camp in the back of the cave without bumping the stretcher against the walls.

Snowfire was where he'd left her, against the back wall with her ears flat. Though when she saw him they perked up and she snorted rudely. He ignored her and pulled the stretcher up to the embers of the fire, out of breath. He wasn't as young as he used to be. He then lowered it to the stone floor and fell into his bedroll.

Brom cursed, exhausted. The old wound in his side ached and his back pained. He was not meant for this. He should definitely stick to storytelling and remain in Carvahall.

Snowfire huffed at him from her corner then joined him after a moment. She reached down with her neck and lipped the greying hair on his head in concern.
Brom sighed. He lifted an aching hand up and softly stroked her nose. He'll be fine in a bit. He lay like that for a long moment before getting up. He then got the fire going, placing small and large logs into the embers. He needed it to last for a good hour or two.

When the fire had caught onto the logs he proceeded to make sure the woman was comfortable on the makeshift stretcher. He undid the ropes binding her to it and briefly did a catalog of injuries without compromising her dignity. This way the doctor could bring exactly what was needed.

Before he straightened he noticed a strap that he hadn't seen before. It crossed the top of her chest and disappeared beneath her. It was then he realized that it wasn't quite her that had been heavy.

He carefully fished it out from beneath her and used a knife to cut the straps. He didn't want to risk moving her too much. He found the object to a fabric satchel of a make he hadn't seen before. It was heavy though he did not know what the contents were. But he put it aside and stood. Time was of the essence.

Brom hastily saddled Snowfire and led her past the fire a moment later. Before he left the cave he took a rolled up bundle of cloth he used for a pillow and very carefully slid it beneath the girl's head for support. He didn't want her to suffocate while he went for the doctor.

When it was properly in place he left the cave, leading his horse out with him. He then mounted, gripping the reins to make ready for a long gallop and hoped luck was with him. He lightly tapped her sides with his heels.

"Go Snowfire, we cannot waste. Go." Brom urged.

Snowfire obeyed with a snort and quickly made her way through the snow. Her steps were cautious in the dim light of the orange eclipse until they made it to the road leading to Teirm. Her hooves clopped on the snowy dirt, Brom turning her away from the carnage of carriage.

He could see the towers of the walled city in the far, far distance. He shuffled on the saddle to ready himself for a bumpy ride. Then he dug his heels into her sides with a yell.

"Haaa!"

And off they went, galloping away to find a doctor willing to help a wounded woman. He hoped there was one who cared more for another's survival than coin.

And there is chapter 2!

Phew….that was quite a write. What do you think will happen in the next chapter?

Will Brom find a doctor in time? Will Erick, the professor, find out what happened to Isla? How long will it take for everyone in her world to notice she's missing?

Hmmmmm…

I dont own Inheritance Cycle