Iganì rumbled deep in her throat. All shall be well in time, Milda.

Aye, that's what you think. Milda, who was flying aimlessly atop the violet dragon, scuffed one hand across the saddle. But me… Life has completely changed for me, Iganì. I feel guilty too, on top of it.

But you are still young, as am I. Iganì rumbled comfortingly once more as her Rider ran a hand down hard scales brighter than the most valuable gem on Alagaësia. Love is a matter where neither of us have much experience, though I do have one bit of advice for you.

"Eh? What's that?" Forgetting to think her statements and instead exclaiming them, Milda perked up, jerking herself into a more comfortable position as her tightened on one of Iganì's purple scales. Remembering herself, she went on mentally, What's your advice?

Apologize. Though Iganì's tone was gentle, there was a hint of smug sarcasm in it. Apologize to Jarsha. You're an adolescent, and you're both feeling things that are strange to a greater extent than ever before, but you should still have the power to control your actions. Your conscience and responsibility should tell you that what you did was wrong.

So, that's it? I go apologize? Milda was dumbstruck; the obviousness of the situation hadn't occurred to her. I apologize to Jarsha for how I acted with him?

Yes. Do this, Milda. Iganìalighted onto the sun-baked earth, bending down onto her clawed feet so that Milda could disembark. Now go, child. I have faith in you.

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

I felt hurt. And guilty. And some other things, like these new feelings that were awakening within my consciousness. They had been faint, very faint, before, yet now they were alive and kickin' me. In the gut. I felt more than just a little guilty, a fact that even I acknowledged was strange. It was Milda who had randomly begun to yell at me, but I was the one who felt guilty. Oh, sure, she felt guilty, too – I knew that, of course – but the estranged thing was that I hadn't done anything to make her explode like that. So, there I was, with those bizarre thoughts and new feelings rampant within me and not knowing what do.

So, in a burst of sudden inspiration, I lifted myself to my feet and exited the house, slamming the door with more force than necessary behind me. Gone was all the boyish excitement that had previously pervaded my thoughts and permeated my mind; in its place there lay guilt and confusion. And now, I knew, anger.

Quickening my pace so that my feet tapped on the ground like the patter of rain on a rooftop, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, as long as I could, as far as I could. Finally I collapsed, some five minutes later, on the Burning Plains. I didn't even know why it was so; I knew I shouldn't be staying there, what with all the noxious orange smoke flowing out of the holes in the ground, but something forced me to lie there, splayed out on the ground that was almost completely devoid of life and movement. In the west, there lay the scattered remains of some of the tents that had previously occupied this very sun-scorched tundra five years earlier, some time after Rider Eragon had begun his training in the elf city of Ellesméra. Yes, the plains were almost completely empty of life, save me, a few insects buzzing stridently above my head and a few scraggly weeds that peeped out from the cracked earth.

Muttering to myself, I rose and, my limbs seemingly on fire, began to scurry away from the burning area. Now, I wasn't thinking; I was just running, running, running to soothe my fears, running to calm myself down, running to put my tormented emotions in order, running because I had nothing else to do, running because nothing else occurred to me, running because it was the only thing I could concentrate on. Just running, ever running, staring ahead with blank eyes to the rhythmic pounding of my feet on the ground – running, ever running…

Eventually, I stopped, chest heaving. True, it had been going crazy with pain before, but I hadn't stopped. And now, when I did finally skid to a halt – it hurt. Red and black flashed before my eyes, and then all was blackness.

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

"Eh, what's happening?" Nanette asked.

She was standing there, a panicked look on her face and a hand on Crimson Flame's back, upon which was perched Alden. Sitting patiently on the ground beside her feet, Tatiana and Merrick were watching the scene that was unraveling in front of them. Nanette stared, transfixed, as well.

For in front of them stood…

A group of random Surdans also stood staring at the side. "W00t! Cliffhanger!" one of them cried, pumping his hands into the air. Instantly, she forgot it, as did everyone else who surrounded her.

For in front of them stood Milda and Jarsha. The two were standing at a distance from each other; they were going to the same place at the same time. Jarsha spread his hands out, surprise and what looked like fear visible in his brown eyes, and Milda's fists were clenched into tight balls. Neither of them looked angry; the feelings that emanated in an aura filled to the brim with emotion was instead clogged with guilt, sadness, confusion, and awkwardness. It didn't take much to know all these; the Surdans who were now beginning to crowd around them could sense the emotions, from the tension that hung in the air to the looks on their faces, from the expressions in their eyes to the stiffness of their movements.

Finally, the tensions snapped like elastic stretched to its limits, with one simple word:

"Milda?"

And the next part was oh-so-predictable:

"Jarsha?"

The two began to stammer in rapid-fire in rapid-fire unison; from what the Surdans and the Varden members could tell, they were apologizing. And, granted, they felt more embarrassed than one would have expected them to; their scarlet faces were proof of that. It was hard to tell what they were saying as individuals until Jarsha cried out, "So now we make up, right?"

Milda nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. And then, my friends, you know what happens next.