A resounding roar interrupted Eragon's train of concerning thoughts. Grimacing, the Rider covered his sensitive ears and kept them like that even after the sound of flapping wings replaced the painful volume of that lone roar.

Cursed noise, Eragon thought, noticing Saphira's form with the corner of his eye. She can roar softer than that. I know she can.

"Eragon!"

Hearing his name being called, Eragon focused his gaze on Saphira's blurry shape. The voice, although feminine, did not belong to her, but Eragon's senses were not at their sharpest.

"Eragon, we need Saphira's counsel as well. There's no need to send her away."

"You said I could," Eragon curtly replied, watching her shape slowly merging in the darkened sky. "But it doesn't matter. She went hunting and I could not stop her."

After he finished, the Rider turned to his right, where his eyes caught the sight of Arya. The princess was only a short distance away and was convering the remainder of it without too much trouble. Such vigor and alacrity could not be the product of her own body, which –Eragon assumed—lacked as much vitality as his own. And he felt worse than a dried potato.

"The skies are still dark!" Arya said. "Call her back!"

"It's night," Eragon said without a flicker of thought. He almost smiled, both because of the strangeness of the conversations, but more due to the nonsense he just belched.

He then felt it. A cold breeze that sneaked its chilly tendrils under his clothes.

And it suddenly made sense.

In that moment, Eragon did not know hat was worse: the wind, which he ignored until now or the menacing frown on Arya's face.

"This is more serious than witty replies meant to amuse children, Eragon. The storm is still raging above us and we wouldn't know unless—"

"Unless we fly!" Eragon cut in. "So stupid!"

Eragon turned around, an air of urgency present in the sudden movement of his body. Such dire revelation demanded alacrity and quickness, but wounded flesh cared not of such recklessness.

"Arghh!" Eragon dropped on his knees, his legs ckumbling like aged pillars under tremendous strain.

Arya hurried towards him, gripping his still shaking form.

"That way. She went that way, Eragon pointed with a shaky finger.

"Knowing her location would do no good, Eragon. As gifted as we may be, we cannot outrun a dragon."

The calmness present in Arya's voice allured Eragon. He liked it better when she replaced the serious and slightly demanding tone she used most of the time. This way she seemed more softer, almost human…

Leaving most of his weight in Arya's firm grip, Eragon savored the fleeting moment before obliterating it with more concerning affairs.

"Her mind is closed," Eragon said. "I can't speak to her even if I try my hardest."

"This shouldn't happen between Rider and Dragon. I thought that you, of all of his students, would listen to Oromis—"

Arya's voice was dark, but the last comment pressed Eragon in the wrong way.

"Oromis didn't know," Eragon complained. Arya's firm grip on his shoulder tightened.

"I don't know either," Eragon added. "Her behavior became too peculiar even for me to understand."

The lie worked, and it would have even when spoken in the ancient language. Eragon remained puzzled by the behavior of his partner-of-mind-and-soul, but it was not her behavior that had anything to do with her departure. Even so, it was a matter for Rider and Dragon to solve. As close as Arya was to Eragon, she did not need to know everything that transpired between him and Saphira.

"It's still foolish to close your mind from the one you are sharing part of yourself with."

"You wouldn't know how often it happens," Eragon joked, rubbing the shoulder where Arya's hand previously was. Eragon wondered where it disappeared until he felt a painful jolt coming from his thigh.

"What happened here?" Arta asked, her fingers running over the exposed wound.

Eragon groaned, his clenched teeth allowing only a weird hiss to pass. However, he did not stop Arya's actions. He would appear to weak if he did.

"It was sharp and lean, but its shape I couldn't see." Eragon threw in the first excuse that happened to roam through the space usually reserved for things that are thought, but not supposed to be said.

"That may be, but nature's weapons often inflict crude, superficial wounds," Arya said. "Nothing this deep and straight."

It didn't matter though. It was obvious what Arya intended to do when she lifted her palm above the wound.

"No," Eragon stopped her. "It's my foolishness that has a debt to pay."

Arya elegantly brushed his hand off with a quick but not delicate swish of her hand. "I'll mend it, even if it's self inflicted," she said. "You need every bit of energy if you are to speak with the dwarves."

The tone of Arya's voice sounded convincing, but it was not she that put a chain on Eragon's mouth. It was the compelling duty to do what he, Eragon Shadeslayer and member of Durgrimst Ingeitum was supposed to accomplish.

Saphira suggested that idea, and Arya was most likely thinking about it. It was no longer a choice, but an obligation.

"Arghh!"

Thoughts stole Eragon's attention for a mere moment, allowing Arya to practice her magic without interruption.

"So it's decided then?" Eragon probed with a simple question.

"It…is," Arya said through a pant, having finished the demanding spell. "I may have summoned you earlier so we could speak, but it was decided even before that. As a member of Durgrimst Ingeitum, you possess influence that none of us has."

"I'll take my leave then," Eragon said, getting up in an instant. "Gratitude for healing my leg."

"May the stars… watch over you and light your way," Arya smiled faintly.

Eragon already began his sprint, thus missing Arya's last words. It stung his heart toleave her alone after her invaluable aid. Both Saphira and him had their wounds taken care of by Arya, whereas she had none to cure her of the pains she was experiencing.

She's strong, Eragon thought as he passed by the shape of a gicantic fir tree. She wanted me to finish this as fast as possible, he assured himself.

The pace which Eragon moved at dwindled once his body became one with the cluster of trees shadowing the horizon. Having breached the outer layer of the forest, Eragon was considerably slowed down. Few axes touched the forest's inner parts. The trees grew too large, too strong for the pitiful metal to cut through.

Fueled by roots that dug deeper than any dwarf, the trees grew larger than any beast that dwelled here.

Eragon remembered the writings of the dwarves about forests such as this one, but it were not the trees that concerned him. Big, they were, but not as close as annoying as the vegetation sprouting at their base. There was an astounding variety of spikes that overwhelmed even Eragon. From minuscule spikes that latched onto the skin and remained there to larger ones that scratched and punctured, the plants had their defenses prepared.

Plants were worse, but bushes were the worst. Spiked nets, as Eragon called them, made it impossible for him to pass through, but he had no choice. He could take no detours.

Passing through the bushes was so grueling that Eragon had to use certain spells to prevent his skin from being shredded. Spells made it easier, but they were not the solution that solved the problem. The commodity of this easier way was far outweighted by the energy sapped by magic, forcing Eragon to find his way around.

Hope was the first to desert someone in these conditions, and Eragon was no exception. Braving the woods in search of something was tedious and difficult, but doing it in utter darkness was something only Angela would think of. Such foolishness was only characteristic to her, not to Eragon. There was only black to see in front of his eyes and only the whistling of the wind to hear.

I won't manage to get back, Eragon sighed, stepping forward half-heartedly. I'm nothing without Saphira.

Without a moment of doubt, Eragon extended his mind towards her. She was his guide, his pillar, his half and nothing would be better than hearing her roar in the distance, a roar that told him she was still there, somewhere.

Nothing.

Emptiness.

Saphira's mind was shielded the last time Eragon tried to touch it, but now even that couldn't be accomplished because there was no mind.

Saphira was gone.

Barzul, Eragon trying to keep the bringers of solitude in a short leash. It was his sudden rage that caused this rift between him and Saphira, after all.

Eragon spent a short while collecting himself before proceeding with his search the same way he did before. Saphira could not help locating the camp from the sky, and Eragon's mental prowess let him down ever since he ventured into the forest. Like Saphira, the dwarves were immune to every mental contact.

By the time Eragon was led on the right path by the distant noises, he went beyond the point where he would care. There was no happiness, no relief, not even the feeling of accomplishment. All that passed through Eragon's head were more worries and concerns on how to finish what he started.