*I am singing something from Nightmare Before Christmas because I'm bored*

Ophelia hadn't been this free in a long time. Sure, Farthen Dûr was big, but there were people everywhere. Flying through the mountain range itself was something different: she had a real wind under her wings, the sweet scents of the forest on her tongue, and the sun on her scales. Using a technique that Brom had taught her on their travels, she mentally swept the area, searching for scouts or patrols that would see and report her if they could. Finding none, she gladly let her scales change and shift as they wished, becoming a sudden starburst of color as she wheeled and corkscrewed in the air.

Her consciousness brushed against something around the corner of the nearest mountain. In an instant, her scales became the muted grays, browns and greens of the treetops as she smoothly fell into a glide, suddenly alert. There seemed to be a guard post of some sort on one of the mountain's many ridges. Ophelia only caught sight of it after a long, careful inspection: a little tower, hidden by branches and bushes. Camouflaged, just like she was. She couldn't see the dwarf at his post within, but she had no doubt that he was there.

Cautious now, Ophelia wheeled and flew back the way she came for about a minute, and then dropped into a forest clearing, silent as the shadows cast by leaves above her. Light on her feet, she slid through the undergrowth, little more than a formless shape amongst a host of formless shapes.

Soon, she caught the scent of a stag. It was drinking from a tiny trickle of a stream a few tail-lengths to her left; it was completely unaware of her approach as she stalked it, silent.

But then another scent made itself known, stronger than the stag—and the stag caught it as well. Its head snapped up, it tensed, and then it leapt—

—only to be brought down halfway across the stream as an enormous wolf, larger than a horse, bounded out of the undergrowth, snarling, landing with the broken, dead hart beneath its paws in the water, quickly staining the stream red. Irritated now, Ophelia slid out of the bushes herself, growling and hissing, wings spread to make herself seem larger, scales roiling in a menacing combination of black and red, smoke rising in thin ribbons from her mouth and nose. The wolf snapped and snarled at her, hackles rising, but its tail was between legs that were taking hesitant steps backward.

Ophelia finally lunged, teeth snapping, catching the tip of the wolf's ear as it turned tail and fled, abandoning its kill. Pleased with herself, albeit spitting wolf fur out of her teeth, she dragged the hart out of the stream, enjoying a quick meal. Once finished, she buried the bones and took to the air once more, winging back to Tarnag and her Rider.

That evening, coiled under Saphira's wing, Ophelia thought back on the previous few days' events. Not two weeks ago, they were on the road, fleeing the Urgals. One week ago, they were forming plans to make for Ellesméra with a party of seven. They were six, now, a member of their party kidnapped and definitely not dead.

And in the past five days alone, Nasuada had taken leadership, Eragon had been adopted into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum and then threatened for it this morning, and Tania wore a dress to dinner.

Ophelia was sorely disappointed to have not seen the last event for herself.

Are the words 'forget about it' in a foreign language to you, Ophelia? her Rider grumbled, picking up on the dragon's thoughts.

Yes. Just like 'Murtagh is dead' is a sentence you cannot hear.

What sentence? Tania replied sarcastically.

My thoughts exactly, said Ophelia. Did I tell you about the wolf I met today?

You met a Shrrg?

I did not meet a shirt, I met a giant wolf.

Shrrg is the name that the dwarves have given the giant wolves, Tania told her.

Ah. Then yes, I met a shirt.

Shrrg.

That one. Tell me, then, are there other giant beasts roaming these mountains that I should watch out for?

Tania chuckled over their connection before saying, There are five species unique to the mountains, according to Orik. There's a clan named after each of them: the giant wolves like you met today, or Shrrg; the giant mountain goat that dwarves ride, the Feldûnost; delicious giant boar called Nagra; enormous cave-bears dubbed the Urzhad; and your cousins, the Fanghur.

…I have cousins?

Cousins to your species, really. They're similar to dragons, but… not dragons.

Then they have no relation to me if they are not dragons.

They have wings and claws.

So do birds.

Are you calling yourself a bird?

No! Birds do not have teeth!

Some do, actually.

…bah.

Ophelia heard her Rider laughing through their connection and smiled. Goodnight, Ophelia, said Tania.

Rest well, Tania, Ophelia replied.

Sorry it's short. But the next chapter's kind of a time-jumper, so I figured this would be the best place to end it.

Thanks in advance for reading and reviewing!

Fate