Eragon sad against a protruding root, staring at the topaz light that broke through the canopy.
Fire claws, Saphira called them.
To Eragon, they were mere beams of light that did not resemble fire in any of its many forms. They insulted and mocked him with their pale imitation. But Eragon still looked at them, like he used to. Like he did when he was not alone and cold and sullen.
Like he did when he knew the company of something other than loneliness. But was that true? Was Eragon truly alone? One would give an answer just by looking at him, but the truth was far more deceiving than what eyes revealed. Eragon had another companion, and it was different, but not inexistent.
Eragon was far from being alone.
Arya had warned him about it, but Eragon did not want to listen. She was not a dragon Rider. She did not know how it was.
Eragon heard voices, but he ignored them. Voices were bothersome and demanding; persistent and hard to ignore when it was behind their whispering.
The void was sometimes speaking to him, but Eragon could not always understand. It was not like Arya or Angela, whose descriptions were confusing and more addling that its presence. Eragon knew what it was. He felt it. It was dark, but unclear. Blund, but hazy. Visible, but obscure.
And its company was everlasting.
Eragon shuddered. Something touched him, but the warmth lacked the gentle blaze. Whatever it was, it was not her.
"I've lit a fire," came a gentle voice. It was Arya.
Arms clutched around Eragon's torso, and his back was feeling less frigid than before.
"There was no need," Eragon whispered.
"You are colder than a rock, Eragon," Arya insisted, her grip increasing its strength as her chest pressed against Eragon's back. "Your clothes are not keeping you warm, and the night will—"
"No need," Eragon voiced his thoughts as silently as before and brushed her hand off him.
Eragon looked at the blazing flames with the same casual approach as before. The light of the sun and the flames shred many similarities, with uselessness being the most significant.
The flames were selfish. They did not lend him warmth, like she did with her inner fire. They did not stop the wind, like her wing did. All they were good for were taunts and false promises of warmth. They deceived Eragon just like Arya had done with words, but not with actions. Like before, Arya exposed herself to keep Eragon warm. She was sacrificing for someone who did not even regard her presence.
An intense shudder rippled through Eragon's body. It continued the unbreakable cycle of tremors brought by cold's icy claws and the earth's hunger for anything warmer than its frigid surface. Eragon was not used to this. Saphira had tamed the cold and brought heat in every night when tiredness became too unyielding for Eragon.
Now, without her, Eragon was left at the mercy of what nature intended for its creatures, and he realized something.
He was not adapted. Alone, he was a useless creature that could not even survive one night in the open.
This is only one night, the void whispered, its voice chilling as the wind. One out of countless to follow.
Eragon raked the dirt with his hand. His fingers were so numb that he did not even mind the sharp pebbles that cut open his skin.
Cold like this one? Eragon found himself thinking
Yes, the void responded, fueling Eragon with new reserves of hopelessness. The shivering continued, preying on Eragon's weakness. It was so cold. And why was the fire so insignificant?
"Burn. Consume everything," Eragon commanded in the ancient language and offered his energy as payment.
The flames suddenly flared to life, but the blast engulfed everything around it.
Eragon and Arya disappeared into the flames.
Wards, Eragon thought instinctively.
The hungry blaze charred the lesser forms of life such as plants and insects, but left the two elves intact.
"I will keep you warm, Eragon," Arya said. "Warm as my body allows."
Could she? Her wards prevented the heat of the fire from reaching Eragon's skin. It was because of her that cold chilled Eragon's meat up to his bone.
She was useless, just like the fire that was supposed to banish the cold.
"You try to replace her, but you won't," Eragon said. "You never will."