Chapter Three: Wyrda
The next few weeks rolled by smoothly. While Eragon and his family finished harvesting, pickling, and canning, Miranda was occupied drying the game she'd hunted and giving the skins to Gedric, the tanner, readying them to be sewn into extra clothing. Eragon often visited her, talking, laughing, and hunting together. When the traders finally arrived, she eagerly purchased fruit, vegetables, and tools she needed for life in the woods. Later it was time for the troubadours to perform, as did Brom, but all too soon, it was time to return to home.
A strange rocking woke Miranda in the dead of night. She sat up. The stone had rolled off the table. Squeak!
What's going on? Eragon gripped his hunting knife. Now the stone wouldn't let him sleep? He cursed and began dressing. The stone was going to trouble him no more. He was going to take it far away and bury it, no matter its value.
Miranda moved cautiously toward the beautiful rock. A long crack appeared, and a small piece wobbled as though balanced on something. A little head poked out, and the body soon followed. There, in a tree house in the middle of the Spine, was a dragon.
The creature was no longer than Eragon's forearm, yet it was dignified and noble. It fanned its wings; they were what had made it appear so contorted. It had a roughly triangular head, with two diminutive white fangs curving out of its maw. Its ivory talons were slightly serrated on the inside. It was the clearest, hardest blue Eragon had ever seen; the same blue as the stone. But not a stone, he realized, an egg!
Miranda tentatively petted the creature's head. A blast of pure ice blazed up her right arm. Fire seared her veins as the pain reached the rest of her body. After what seemed like hours, but was truly only a few minutes, the pain subsided. She sat up, panting, and looked on in growing alarm as her palm shimmered for a moment, then turned milky white.
The dragon brushed against Eragon's leg. He flinched. Puzzled, he rubbed the dragon's head. Something brushed his consciousness, a breath of wind over his mind. He felt it again, only this time it solidified into a tendril of thought from which he could feel a growing curiosity. It was as if an invisible barrier had been torn away, and he was free to reach out with his mind. He was afraid that without anything to hold him back, he would float out of his body, unable to return, and become a spirit of the ether. Frightened, he retreated from the contact, and the new sense vanished, as though he'd closed his eyes. Again the dragon's mind brushed against his, but now he felt a ravenous hunger. He sighed and got up, returning with a handful of meat, which the dragon disposed of neatly. Eragon yawned, put the dragon on his pillow, and went to sleep. The last sound he heard was the hatchling's contented humming.
Miranda awoke to see the hatchling watching the sunrise, a sentinel welcoming the new day. The beautiful creature was the purest white, shaming the clouds' brilliance. I live alone, she thought, but the dragon needs to learn to care for itself. I'll build it a shelter in the woods, she decided. She scooped up the dragon, some leather thongs, dried meat, and rags, and then set out. She wandered around for a time, searching for a suitable place.
Miranda stopped dead in her tracks. "Eragon?" she exclaimed. At the exact same moment, Eragon cried, "Miranda?"
"What are you doing here?" she tried, but he said it at the same time. At another time it would have been funny, but it was deadly serious at the moment. "Just on a walk," she blurted.
"With a dragon?" Eragon said skeptically.
"I could say the same to you," Miranda countered. "Look, Eragon, I think that we need to drop our pretenses and explain to each other." Eragon reluctantly acquiesced. "We need to build a shelter," he said when they'd both finished. Miranda nodded curtly and began gathering supplies. Eragon efficiently built the shelter. They stashed the meat, lined the hut with rags, and Eragon made makeshift harnesses for the dragons. Amid the goings-on, the hatchlings had sniffed each other, and then began enthusiastically playing. Miranda smiled at the sight. They spent a bit more time with the dragons, then lifted them into their hut and departed.
The next day, the two went to see the dragons. When they looked inside the eyrie, they found that the food was gone and there were tufts of feathers littering the floor. Eragon stuffed in the food he'd brought. The foursome walked about, the two Riders showing their dragons everything they knew of the forest. It didn't matter if the dragons understood; it was the simple act of sharing that mattered.
A smooth routine was quickly established. Eragon would rush through his chores, then meet Miranda in the woods. They would walk and talk until they reached the dragons. Occasionally, they went into the forest alone with their companions.
The dragons' growth was explosive. In the first week, they doubled in size. By the time they were a month old, they stood as tall as Eragon, and soon they would be taller.
As the Dragons grew, Miranda grew increasingly worried that they would be discovered. It was hard to disguise the giant footprints in the snow, and nigh impossible to hide the logs and trees that they sharpened their claws and rubbed against, the bark stripped away by their hard scales. She refused to even consider moving the giant dung heaps that were becoming far too common.