It was the middle of the night and a chill was setting in. The fire had burned out hours ago and I still had at least half my watch left. I shivered and curled up tighter around my saddle pillow. Then, I felt something warm draped around my shoulders. I looked up. Eragon was walking back to his spot around the logs.
"Wait! Aren't you cold? I mean, unless you have special abilities against cold weather too…"
He tuned slowly. "What do you think, Aurora?" He forced a smile. "Here then," I tossed the blanket to him, "you take it. Why do you have it anyway?"
Eragon caught it in one hand. "Because Saphira has a tendency to wander off at night now." And he tossed it back. He stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. Oh, I knew perfectly well what he wanted. I had gotten that look from a kitchen boy once. And NO way was he getting it. I have to pity the poor boy. Him losing his family and all. Not that my childhood was much different. My mother, whoever she was, died at birth or so I hear. Then Galbatorix was all "You have to stay hidden for the good of Alagaesia." So I grew up with a handful of tutors and most of the servants. And Shruikan of course. I was practically never in the presence of father. He had never addressed me by name. Always you or child. Never Aurora. I doubt he even knew my name.
In the end we just left the blanket there. In the middle. I seriously question my judgement at the time. What was I trying to prove? Why didn't I take it? I knew his reason. But I don't know mine. It was THE worst night of my life. And I've had a lot of bad nights. From then on we kept at least one dragon there. It worked until they got hungry or something. Then we just relit the fire. Or, we pounded rocks until Eragon got frustrated and used magic. He gets frustrated very easily.