Chapter Two
Pulling a rough tunic over his chest and lacing up his awkward boots, Eragon trotting down the stairs. Being the first to wake, Eragon lazed on the porch, letting the sun's rays warm his face before having to get to work. Leaning against the front of the house, Eragon pleasured in the peaceful solitude. He would have to start on his chores soon enough, but at the moment things were perfect: a warm, pleasant day, pleasurable to the senses, the sweet taste of the slight breeze whispering through the leaves, birds chiding sociably to one another. And yet, the more Eragon reveled, the more fractured things seemed to become, until he knew something was off, but what it was, he could not say.
Inhaling, things became clearer. It was slight, almost unnoticeable, but as it were, Eragon had come to rely on smell and hearing because of his lack of sight, and Eragon did notice. A slightly sharp, bitter scent. The smell of something charred and burnt. Curiosity aroused, Eragon strode forward. He knew his way around the farm, after growing up there, but once he realized the scent came from somewhere beyond the farm, Eragon grew nervous, and his pace slowed, gingerly advancing. He knew what lay beyond. He'd never delved into the Spine, and not many could say they had. After news that Galbatorix had lost half his army in the forest, none ventured very far in. Casting these thoughts aside, Eragon continued into the Spine, and soon discovered he did not have to travel far; he had barely dented the wild foliage of the Spine before reaching the source and coming to a halt.
A fire? was Eragon's first thought, but after further investigation, he decided against the idea. Carefully tracing his hands over the area where burnt foliage began, still heated, Eragon took note of the nature of the spot. Surrounding the burnt area was untouched ground, creating an isolated spot of damage on the forest floor. A fire would have burned from somewhere, Eragon deduced.
Striving into the center for the first time, Eragon continued to feel along the rough, charred ground, until his right hand darted up in surprise at having felt something new. Carefully edging his hand back down, it rested on a small spot, smooth and cool to the touch. Eragon realized most of the object was covered in more charred plant remains, and pushed the debris off, giving his hand an unobstructed "view" of the object. It's glass-like surface was smooth and uninterrupted, cool to the touch, and yet his arm surged with warmth as he touched it. Picking it up, he realized it was something of a stone, and a rather large one at that. Though he marveled at it because all other stones he had felt were rough and uneven, very unlike what he now held. Eragon would think it odd only later that he never considered leaving it behind. He didn't make a conscious decision, because there wasn't one to be made. There was no question.
Eragon did consider wether to show the stone to his uncle and cousin. He felt strangely protective of the stone. But I have to show them! Eragon thought. What good is someone who can't trust their own family?