I'm thinking about changing the chapter structure... longer chapters, fewer updates. What do you think?
Eragon gave a loud gasp of surprise which woke up the lady on the other side of the curtain and brought her head poking through the wall.
Another crack appeared on the shell's surface as though from nowhere, and both of them remained still as stone as they watched, transfixed by the event. Cracks began running here and there at a swift speed, so fast that it was only a second since the second crack that the whole shell fell apart in hundreds of pieces upon a small, white body.
This time they both gasped.
If this was a movie, the egg would have blasted apart, chiseling the walls of the igloo and miraculously missing the casual observers. Fortunately, the written word doesn't need to lie to the audience about an event as common as this one.
The dragon lifted its neck and squeaked, a shiver running down its spine and dropping off all of the egg shards. It lifted its wings, which stretched from one wall to another and flapped them, as though to make sure they worked. Its head swiveled to face Eragon, one white eye meeting his.
Eragon paled, closing his mouth and clenching his fists. The dragon was as white as the snow around it, and if you didn't know it was there or what it was you might just have mistaken it for a hare that had snuck in to stay warm, peeping out to see if the coast was clear.
The dragon squeaked again, and padded over to Eragon, nosing his hand and sniffing his clothes. Smoke trickled out of its nostrils, alarming Eragon greatly. His breath came faster, and his hands shook gently.
"I don't care what you think," Eliana whispered gently. "We have got to find a better name for him than Squeaky."
The dragon turned his gaze to Eliana now. Eragon couldn't stop shaking, not even after the dragon had folded his wings and padded across to Eliana. She held out her hand, palm up, enthralled by the creature.
Eragon thanked the stars for his companion, had he been alone he probably would've killed the poor beast. She already seemed to know just what to do: the dragon laid its head on her hand and began rumbling. Eragon knew that meant it was content, or close to the dragon version of happy; he had spent enough time observing the creatures to know that.
"We can always think of a better name as it matures," he replied, putting his hands on his knees and slowly leaning towards the door so he could make a quick getaway if necessary.
"If you're going to use Squeaky's name at all," Eliana retorted, stroking the dragon's frills. He snapped up, narrowly missing her hand. "No! Bad! Bad dragon!" She shook her finger at him, and his tail whipped back and forth on the ground, like a cat. His head snapped up, missing her finger again.
"Squeaky understands fingers are food, and doesn't speak elf. He's not a mutt," Eragon offered, leaning back into the center of the room. He couldn't desert a lady to the teeth of a dragon. "Try squeaking at him."
Eliana and Squeaky turned their gazes to Eragon with a sorrowful look in their eye.
"Look," Eliana said, as Squeaky squeaked. "He can't speak elf, but do dragons squeak? No. They don't. They rumble, or they roar. Or growl. Honestly, have you ever heard a dragon squeak?"
"Squeaky is a dragon. And what do we call him? Squeaky," Eragon threw his hands in the air, but quickly returned them to his knees when he saw the dragon lift its head in anticipation. "So dragons do squeak. How do you think the little dragons communicate? By squeaking, most likely."
"Do I look like a little dragon, Eragon?" Eliana asked him, sitting in the doorway that connected their rooms. "No. We're elves. And we should talk like elves, act like elves, do everything we would do if Squeaky weren't here."
"No. If we do that, Squeaky will grow up thinking he's an elf. Does he look like an elf? No! And sorry, but I might put my hands up if Squeaky wasn't here, but since he is there is no way I'm going to let him eat me."
Squeaky looked up at the two elves and rumbled some more, curling up around himself next to the fire, snorting smoke out as he nestled his head underneath his wings.
"Whoa, what's he doing?" Eragon asked, watching the dragon intently, expecting it to leap upon him and try to bite his nose off.
"Look at him! It looks as though he's going to sleep," Eliana answered, smiling at the little bag of scales in the middle of the room.
Eragon let out a huff of frustration at himself. Duh. That's exactly what it looked like.
"Well, if he's sleeping, so should we—uh—you should get some sleep while I make sure he doesn't go around eating us while we're helpless," Eragon stuttered, anxiety ringing through his voice.
"You know, I'm thinking it's a good thing I came along, or you'd leave him outside to freeze for fear of him snuggling up to you while you slept," Eliana said amusedly, looking at Eragon's determined expression. "We can trade rooms if you're uncomfortable with sleeping in the same room as him."
"No. We could trade rooms, but we're still keeping watch over him. The last thing we need is to lose our limbs to some starving hatchling," Eragon tried to shove his nervousness away, but failed miserably.
"Speaking of starving," Eliana sighed, grasping at her stomach, "He's not the only one who could use a bite. Perhaps someone should go about providing food? We're not invincible, we have to eat eventually."
Eragon grinned, glad to have a reason to leave.
"Here's the deal then, I'll go kill some poor innocent mammal, roast it over the fire and then Squeaky will be able to have breakfast and we can survive another day without keeling over tomorrow. You stay and make sure you don't lose anything to the starving trap of that lizard. Sound like a plan?" Eragon was halfway out the door at this point, bow in hand.
"Sounds like a plan that will have to do," Eliana smiled and waved goodbye to the hunter.
"I guess it had to come to this eventually," Eragon thought to himself. "Meat." To be honest, the trees had started to look mighty scrumptious that afternoon as the ran through them. They had made it about seven days without a bite, just a sip of faelnirv every morning. Eliana was right, Squeaky would be hungry, and they wouldn't be able to last much longer on his near-empty bottle.
He strung his bow quickly and jumped into a tree, nocking an arrow to the string and walking on the branches, eyes alert for any sign of movement. The moon was bright, and though he knew nothing of hunting, he figured his prospects were quite hopeful.
A twig snapped several meters away and suddenly the bow was taut, the arrow loosed, and as more noise came from below Eragon dashed through the tree branches.