"I don't think I liked any of Sir's stories as much!" he squealed eagerly to nine year-old Nanette and four year-old Alden. "My favourite!"

"Only a chapter," said Alden, looking dazed. "Is it gonna be really, really long, Nanette?"

The eldest nodded wisely. "Of course," she said sagaciously. "Jarsha is the best storyteller I've ever heard. And, Merrick, you know, he does have a name."

"Plus there were all sorts of cool things that Sir talked about!" Merrick jumped around happily, apparently not having heard her. "Like a dragon, and one of those ex…" He struggled with the heard word. "Extint…"

"Extinct," Nanette corrected gently.

"And one of those extinct Ra'zac! Yay!" After his session of bouncing around was over, he looked them both deep in the eye. "An' I think it'll be longer than fifteen days!"

"I don't wanna get bored," said Alden, watching, entranced by Merrick's springy antics as they quickly resumed. "I hope it's fun! And interesting!"

"It should be." Nanette grinned, bent down, and gathered her two friends in her arms. "Listen, guys, could you stop jumping around? Please? For me?"

Merrick looked up at her, then slowly nodded. Alden, however, wanted to keep jumping; this he did, as Nanette slapped herself in the forehead and left him to his devices.

"What do you think's gonna happen, Nan?" Merrick asked as Alden's jumping faded after about a minute. "What do you think Sir's gonna tell us tomorrow?"

Nanette tossed him a smile, dropped to her knees, grabbed Alden, and began to tickle him. It was something she had often done to Merrick when he had been younger. "I don't know," she said, retaining a calm face as Alden's shrieks of laughter resonated like vibrations in a cave. "I think Jarsha's inventing it as he goes on."

"Y'could be right," Merrick mused thoughtfully – he was pretty philosophic for a five year-old. "But me, I don't think so."

"Why? Whaddaya think's gonna happen?" Alden's laughter petered out; Nanette, now absorbed in the conversation, had merely let her fingers trail over his ribcage.

"I think Romena's gonna become a Dragon Rider." Merrick gave an evil smile, his mist-blue eyes lighting up as he excitedly plunged onward. "But only at the end. I think that's what Sir's gonna decide."

"Aye, it seems like the sort of thing Jarsha would do." Aiming her eyes skyward, Nanette imagined the calm storyteller talking with his best friend, Milda, even as she spoke. "Or maybe something like that'll happen to him." She shrugged. "I have this weird feeling, at least."

"Anythin's possible," noted Alden, squirming impatiently on the ground. He was trying to quote the aforementioned Rider's words of a few days past; 'That's pure Milda for you,' as Jarsha would easily have said. 'She's unpredictable and yet predictable, that one.'

"I think Sir'll write books some day!" Merrick said excitedly, feeling like a little wriggling would be a great thing to do right now. (Merely sitting down would suffice for now, however.) "Then he'll be famous!"

Nanette, however, was strangely silent. Alden made an anguished sound, ignoring Merrick, and went over to her. "Why are you so qui't, Nan?" he asked, a tear dripping from his eye. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," Nanette said, and smiled at the little guy. "I'm just thinking, that's all."

"About what?" Merrick wanted to know.

Nanette merely shrugged, a smile playing about her lips. "Well, I was thinking about a long time ago. I was born in Teirm, right?"

The little ones nodded furiously.

"But there're other cities and villages too. Like, for example, Rider Eragon talked about the village near his home, Carvahall, once."

More eager nodding.

"He said that, when Carvahall still existed, the people who lived around it didn't get a very advanced education. Mostly they learned how to farm from their parents." She wrinkled her snub, freckled nose and went on. "So, I was thinking; if I'd been born around Carvahall, and if Eragon hadn't found that dragon's egg, I might not even know how to write."

"You mean if you want to write books?" Alden looked sleepy; he was fading in and out of unconsciousness even as he spoke.

"No, but it's a good thing to learn. I could read books, more like."

But Alden didn't hear her. The little guy was already asleep.

---------------------

"So, you really think this is the best thing you ever told?"

Jarsha nodded eagerly at Milda, his eyes lighting up. He was, in essence, the childish picture of boyishness that he always was – gone were, for the moment, those complex matters of adolescence. Now, he looked the kid he was, and always would be. "Aye, I think so. I even heard Merrick say it's my best story!"

The two best friends were sitting calmly on the floor in Milda's house, a small structure made out of wood and decorated with homey, pleasant sculptures made out of dry Surdan vegetation. Her father, Tamir, liked to go foraging for this foliage necessaries, and her mother, Edlyn, crafted them to sell to the thriving Surdan merchants who travelled all over Alagaësia.

"I can see why, too. You know, Jarsha, maybe next time I should come. To listen to my best friend, you know. I mean, it'd be a great experience – educationally and in everything else." She laughed. "But, of course, I'm gonna have enough education as it is, what with the Rider training and all."

"Where are you going, anyway?" queried Jarsha. "For your training, I mean. Ellesméra?"

"I don't think so," said Milda brightly. "Maybe some other elven city, like Osilon or Ceris. Actually, I think most of the Riders went to train in Ellesméra before the Fall, but by now it must be crowded."

"If you ask me, Mil," Jarsha replied, raising an eyebrow, "there were much more than sixteen Riders at a time. So, as you can see, Ellesméra would be a lot less than 'crowded,' to use your word, right now." He paused to look dreamily up at the sky. "Still, though…"

There he goes with one of those – what are they called? – mood swings again, Milda thought, amused, a slight smile on her lips."I wouldn't want to, anyway," she mulled, also dreamily. She had a hazy, foggy look in her eye; it was obvious that she – in the same way Jarsha did – was imagining. "Aye, true, many of the Dragon Riders did go to train there. But you know me, eh; sure, even Eragon himself went there, and so it's not novel." She grinned and moved her finger across the hard-packed earthen floor of her small abode. "It's not original. Y'know what I'm talking about, Jarsha."

Jarsha didn't know what to say in response to that. "Well..." he said after some hesitation, I'd still want to go with you, anywhere they take you." He paused, then looked down at the floor. "Even though I'm not brave enough."

"This again?" Milda sighed and turned away from him, aiming her gaze at the ceiling above them. She shook her head, suddenly realizing the brightness of the situation. "Well, I guess, the good thing," she began, perking him up and staring him deep in the eyes, "is that you'll never be get too cocky or too arrogant for anything."

They both burst out laughing, laughter which lasted a few seconds at best. "Do you really think so?" inquired Jarsha when the hilarity session had finished. "Maybe, suppose something really unexpected happens to me – then maybe I'd get cocky."

More laughter. Eventually, once both Jarsha and Milda had resumed conscious control of their bodies, he shook his hair and hesitated before speaking. "But… But when you go to Ellesméra or wherever they send you to, I want to go with you." He fidgeted, looking down at the woven reed carpet under his body. "Would that be all right?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" asked Milda, though she couldn't help but feel a drop of sweat course behind her reddening left ear. "Shade's blood, Jarsha – we're best friends, you know."

"Yes…" Jarsha was looking at the floor again, troubled.

His cheeks, Milda noted, seemed faintly pink. Then again, maybe it's just me. Aye?

"It's not that," he said, still averting the keen gaze of those deep gray eyes. "It's because… Well, you know, how many people were allowed to accompany the Dragon Riders for their training? I'm not a Rider, nor an elf."

Milda could sense that – predictably enough, as Iganì would have observed – he had an ulterior motive for asking the question. But, feeling uncomfortable enough, she decided to fake naïveté. "If they decide to let you become a messenger again, maybe. But if not – because I doubt it you know – then there are other ways." She looked quickly around herself, as if making sure that someone wasn't listening, then leaned herself against his ear and whispered, "we could sneak you in."

Jarsha's mouth dropped open.