I'm baaaaaaaaaack. Lie and say you missed me.

Eragon couldn't sleep that night. This was probably due to the fact that his winged lizard - his dragon - was continuously knawing on his toes, constantly drawing blood and ripping off his pinky toenail. But it was also due to his whirling thoughts.

Eragon had a dragon. The Dragon Men were all gone, now, seeing as the Forsworn were bound forever in Shayol Ghul . . . er, they were dead. But with his dragon ("OWWIE! Fuck, don't you have a bone or something? STOP BITING MY TOES THAT HURTS!"), Eragon could become a Dragon Man. He could lead a new army of Dragon Men against Galby, the evil and tyrannical ruler. Exactly what Galby did that was so bad escaped Eragon's memory, but hey, the guy collected taxes. Surely anyone who collected taxes deserved to be overthrown. Then Eragon could be king.

Lost in his fantasies, Eragon finally sank into a deep and blood-riddled sleep.

The next day, Eragon and Ronan were lucky enough to buy lollipops from a trader just before the whole lot of them left. Eragon also managed to bargain for a litter box (in gold, not Broom's . . . fun). But as they watched, the traders gathered up their tents and wares and all crowded around a broken wagon wheel which no one had bothered to pick up. In an instant, they were gone.

"Hey, Eragon, mind if I ask you something?" Ronan said. He was being especially polite, as Eragon had agreed, for some reason unknown to both of them, to do all the chores when they got back.

"Yes, I do mind. But ask away."

"What's that claw mark on your hand?"

"Uh . . . what?" Eragon muttered. He looked at one hand, then the other. Yes, yes, that had to be what Ronan was talking about. The dragon had given him a rather nasty bite when he shoved it off his bed. "Ah, you mean this? This is nothing."

"Where'd you get it?" Ronan pressed. "Why didn't I hear you crying?"

"I find that offensive," Eragon snapped. "I don't cry every time I get hurt . . ."

"No, just every other. No offense, of course. Do continue. How'd you get bitten?"

"Well . . ." Eragon fumbled for a reply. He couldn't show Ronan his dragon. If he did, Ronan might want to become a Dragon Man himself, and everyone knows centaurs don't ride dragons. All Eragon's instincts told him to run before this questioning went too far. He had to create a diversion.

Waving his hand in front of Ronan's face, Eragon announced "This isn't a dog bite, Ronan. It's a - GETAWAY OPER . . . . AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" He turned and ran, but he hadn't taken into account that horses are faster than people, and Eragon wasn't a very fast person in the first place. Ronan tripped him before he ran ten feet.

"Nice, Eri," Ronan smirked, placing a hoof atop Eragon's back. "Look, I don't really care about your dog bite. But . . ."

"My Getaway Op - ug, nasty . . . uh," Eragon muttered as Ronan pressed his face into the ground. Or he tried to. It came out more like "Gedway ignasia."

"Your what?" Ronan asked, confused. He raised his hoof slightly - Eragon still couldn't get up, but at least he could speak without getting a mouthful of dirt.

"Ronan, if you don't care, could you get off of me now?"

"Sure," Ronan said, but he hesitated. "You're still doing all the chores, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Great. Hey, want a ride?"

Eragon spent many hours that day in the hot, sweaty, boiling, winter sun, worrying about his dragon. Well, he was actually worrying about his own well-being (he could die of heat exhaustion in this fifty-degree heat!), but if he died, so would his dragon. He didn't expect Amycus or Ronan to clean out his room and find it. And if they did . . . suffice to say horses don't like snakes.

Eragon spent the rest of the day with his dragon. As it was six, and he always went to bed at eight, this wasn't a whole lot, but still. It was something. He stroked the dragon. He gave it lettuce and carrots and milk and everything else a dragon could want. But the dragon still wouldn't eat, and then it hit Eragon . . .

He didn't know how to raise a dragon.

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