"Come to your senses already!"
Eragon thought he heard a voice, though he was not certain if it was real or not. He did not have to ponder on the bizarreness of the situation for too long, however. The slap that followed was real enough to confirm it.
"I am awake!" Eragon snapped.
Angela's face was the first image he glimpsed after he was ripped from the depth of his rejuvenating sleep. Eragon looked at her, then blinked, as if he had doubts of what his eyes were seeing.
"You're as confused as a newly sprouted mushroom, my boy," Angela said. "but not for long. My tea invigorates the intellect and removes any weeds of doubt."
"No! Not the tea—" Eragon vehemently opposed, but, as always, Angela was one step ahead of him and before he managed to say another word, Angela forcefully opened his mouth and poured a torrent of weird, gooey mixture down his throat.
Swallowing the substance that gathered in his throat, Eragon brushed Angela's hands aside and rolled on his belly, coughing and retching due to the nauseous taste and consistency of this solid "tea".
"I would advise against that," Angela interrupted. "That tea will remain inside, no matter how hard you try to expulse it."
"Why," Eragon spoke between coughs. "Why did you…disturb me?"
A visible frown formed on Angela's face, "the answer should not be veiled by any haze, but you are an exception to basically everything."
Mumbling in a silent voice, Angela moved her hands through her basket with alacrity while Eragon remained equally silent, pondering on what he just heard.
Maybe being a Rider allows me to abide by certain rules.
"Was not the last treatment enough to speed my recovery?" Eragon asked.
"If it was, my boy," Angela replied, "I would not have to sacrifice this beauty."
Picking up a small, violet-with-red-dots capped mushroom, Angela sheltered it in her hands for a brief while before offering it to the one in need of its healing properties.
"I do not like the thought of having such a rare mushroom travel down your innards, but it is a necessary sacrifice."
Eragon's eyes analyzed the mushroom that rested in Angela's outstretched palms with reluctance. Was he supposed to eat it? Its cap was covered in tiny translucent dots and the visible roots that had yet to be severed dangled from its base like long, curled worms.
"You're supposed to eat it whole, my dear," Angela said and attempted to shove the mushroom down Eragon's throat.
"Give me a bit of time first," snapped Eragon, grabbing the arms that were inches away from finding a new home for the mushroom.
Eragon was answered with a loud growl of irritation that dwarfed Angela's voice. The herbalist stood her ground against the dragoness, probably arguing with her –Eragon did not know for he was not take part in the conversation—until Saphira forced her to leave through the use of persuasive intimidation, as Eragon liked to call it.
Then, before he knew it, he found himself yet again in Saphira's warm embrace. A dragon's menacing growl seeped the courage from anyone –Rider included—, and, if that proved to be ineffective, a threatening snarl would send them on their way. Fortunately, Eragon received the opposite treatment Angela did as Saphira settled her bulk comfortably to accommodate for Eragon's intrusion.
It is a shame that her knowledge of herbs and cures matches her peculiar behavior, Saphira said. If it did not, I would have made a meal out of her before she could even speak 'mushroom'.
I suppose I should find a way to thank you for your quick intervention, Eragon said as he rested with his back against Saphira's warm belly. I don't know how longer I can endure her miracle tea or marvelous mushrooms or even her voice!
I will keep her away from you if that's what you want, little one. She said that she will care for you, and that is the only reason I allowed her to take shelter under my wing, Saphira replied on a calm, soothing voice.
I realized that, Eragon thought. But I should not bear such ill feelings towards Angela. Disgusting or not, her treatment had worked more effectively than I thought it would. It's primitive, but effective.
Eragon was pleasantly surprise when Saphira brought her snout to his level, nuzzling him with gentle motions of her snout.
Your body does seem to lack any major wounds. It is a bit difficult to detect among the other scents, but I can hardly smell any traces of fresh blood that would leak from your injuries.
Eragon felt a pang in his heart as he was reminded of Saphira's current condition. The wounds that covered her body could not heal by themselves at such speed, so it was most likely that she was still in pain while he could barely feel any—save for the constant tiredness that numbed his senses.
It's good that you reminded me of that, Eragon said after he stroke Saphira's snout a few times. I'm not Angela, but I can heal your wounds through methods of my own.
Don't, Saphira said, pushing her snout further into Eragon's arms. It is best to save your energy as our bodies recover faster than those of the frail two-legs.
Eragon did not argue. For such a large and fierce being, the gentleness of her touch and the calmness of her voice could rival with those of a human. Being bonded partners, Eragon and Saphira could allow their feelings to be felt by the other through their Rider bond quite easily. Neither of them placed any value on the physical contact until the mating season was upon Saphira, bringing changes that altered her behavior. For good or worse, she began to lose the image of the proud, arrogant dragoness, replacing it with a softer one.
Saphira did change – Eragon could not deny that—but what regrets could Eragon harbor when Saphira was treating him almost like if he were her hatchling, conveying her feelings through physical means more often than she did previously.
Although she was irritating in the past, using licks as means of punishment, Eragon learned to appreciate the physical contact Saphira often displayed way more than he did—especially when his bones could catch a chill due to the gloomy weather.
Eragon was roused from his reverie when Saphira began to gently push him with her snout. Without objecting, Eragon allowed her to guide him until he found himself in his favorite sleeping spot. Curling her tail around him protectively, Saphira sheltered Eragon near her belly. A truly privileged position for one that did not belong to the same race as her.
I caught the smell of dwarves and blood before Angela disturbed us both, Saphira said. There is no doubt that they made a kill and settled their camp in the surrounding woods.
Eragon felt much better once he had access to such a convenient source of warmth. Not only that his shivering stopped, but the nauseous sensation also seemed to lessen in intensity.
To reward her for her treatmenet, Eragon began to scratch the scales on Saphira's snout, something which she greatly enjoyed.
Why should those dwarves concern us, Saphira? Eragon asked. I don't have the energy nor the will to search aimlessly for a group of dwarves that could kill me when I approach them.
Don't be silly, little one. Not all the dwarves wish your demise, and chances are that this group can provide useful information, Saphira hummed in delight. It was Angela's idea that we should bargain with them and obtain as much information as we could before venturing into their city to steal their tome.
Eragon thought for a moment. That is indeed better than going around asking questions once we arrive there. But what if they don't know anything of importance?
Saphira released a low growl, they should. They live in tight communities, and their lengthy lives allow them to constantly store knowledge.
Hmm, that might be true, Eragon said, laying his body on the ground so all he could see was the velvety membrane and the bones which made up Saphira's wing. But will it be Angela the one who will speak to them?
Saphira lowered her snout for another round of scratching and petting until something disturbed her. Quick as she always was, she turned her head to the right and emitted a low growl.
Eragon did the same—minus the growling part and turned his head to see the lithe form of Arya crouching low enough to pass under Saphira's slightly lifted wing.
"I apologize for the disturbance, but there is a matter we should decide upon," Arya said.
She quickly exchanged glances between Eragon and Saphira, her emerald eyes seeming undecided until they settled on Eragon. Then, she opened her mouth to speak again.
"It is not necessary for Saphira to take part in the discussion if she does not wish to, but you should join us outside as soon as possible, Eragon."
Eragon was about to reply, but Arya already left. He had long passed the moment when words appeared to develop a will of their own and trap his mouth shut every time Arya would address him directly. Instead, what robbed him of the opportunity to speak were the visible wounds that marred Arya's beauty and the stains of red that dirtied her tunic and leggings. Her body was in a worse state than even Saphira's as some of the wounds were particularly ugly and had yet to fully close.
The sight of Arya struck Eragon like arrows coming from different directions. He was but a confused, helpless target that had neither the means nor the power to do anything about the predicament he was in. Only emotions such as regret, pity, but mostly anger came to his aid, but their help was a sword with no dull edges, a sword that could be blocked only by making a sacrifice; a sacrifice that implied pain.
What happened before I reached you and Arya? Eragon asked. For how long did you bear the pain and the discomfort these wounds brought you?
Maintaining her stoic composure, Saphira tried to contain Eragon's rising emotions by surrounding them within walls of calmness and serenity.
I should bear the blame and the regret for what happened, little one, for it was I who failed. I openly faced winds I should have cowered from because I valued my skills higher than my own capabilities.
That is how you see it, Saphira. You can be blamed for many things, but not from falling from one of the safest places on the saddle. I don't even know how that happened until I found myself dragged down by… something!
Speaking about this will do little to improve your predicament, little one. Let us focus on the present a bit more than we do on the past.
There are few times when you are wrong, Eragon admitted without much conviction. I won't speak about this any further, he added before crawling out from under Saphira's wing.
At least she didn't argue, he thought bitterly as he pushed the warm membrane of the wing aside with one hand.
The coldness of the night gripped Eragon's exposed body in its frigid embrace as soon as was halfway out. Placing an arm on the ground for extra support, Eragon immediately took notice of the hearty campfire that burned warm and bright only a short distance away from him.
I can provide you with a more comfortable source of warmth, Saphira suddenly intervened.
Eragon looked back, but Saphira acted much quicker than he expected. With only a push from her strong hind legs, she had Eragon between her front paws before he was able to react.
Saphira, I already said that-
It's not about that, Saphira said, reinforcing her words with a push of her snout that united Eragon with the surface of the soil.
While it was invaluable for the plants that drew their nutrients from it, the soil offered nothing for Eragon except dirt and debris made of fallen leaves and other plants that endured the cold temperatures.
Rolling onto his back, Eragon was met by the warm onrush of air expelled constantly from Saphira's nostrils, which dominated his entire field of vision. They flared and twitched, taking in and exhaling the air in short gusts.
I prefer an answer rather than a quick sniff, Eragon said, slightly angry at the sudden interruption.
Releasing a quick snort, Saphira retracted her snout slightly and fixed Eragon with her intense stare.
I want you to rest, little one, she said. Your body may not be marred by cuts and scrapes, but I can still see that you are in a worse state than I am.
I'm not that weak, Saphira, Eragon retorted. If your eyes are as keen as your mind is, then you should realize that both Angela and Arya want me to go and speak to the dwarves.
Then they should learn that relying on us for such trivial matters is not always the best of choices, Saphira said smugly.
Is that your pride or your reproduction obsession speaking? It has to be one of those, as you clearly forgot that they came with me to help us find the Rock of Kuthian! I wouldn't have Arya make her way across the forest in her current condition just because you want me to rest under your wing like a hatchling would!
Having vented out this way, Eragon got up and prepared to dash towards the campfire, but was again stopped by Saphira, who lashed with one of her paws at Eragon's feet.
"Gaah!" Eragon grunted as he tripped and fell on the ground. "Blasted oversized claws!"
Little one, I wouldn't force you to do anything against your will.
The pain in Eragon's left thigh dulled the importance of the words said by Saphira. There was only so much that could go on in his tired mind, and the pain was much more prominent – and annoying—than Saphira's suggestions.
Your suggestions bear little relevance to me. It's best to keep them locked in your mind along with your other thoughts, Eragon snapped angrily, pouring part of his rage into Saphira's mind, across the Rider bond. Why did she always have to interfere in such inopportune moments? Her intentions were not bad, and Eragon knew that, but it was the selfish thought that he would sacrifice Arya's well being for her and his stake that infuriated him.
There was no other way. He had to do something, and he did. Right or wrong, he did it on his own.