Eragon:
Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass. His prey had left a clear trail and he intended to follow it. The herd of deer was already on edge, they'd been attacked twice already but both the times he had missed and this frustrated him greatly. Three days had passed and he hadn't shot a single animal, not even a rabbit and his supplies were running out. If he didn't catch something soon, he'd have to return empty handed and there would be no supples for the rapidly approaching winter. This would bode ill for his family. They could not afford to buy meat in Carvahall.
His target was a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left foot. Eragon was amazed she'd made it this far without a wolf or bear catching her. He got up and trekked further into the valley. The deer had led him deep into the recesses of the spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down Algaeasia.
It was a clear night and the moon was shining brightly. He reached the perfect spot to take his shot and drew 3 arrows from the quiver on his back and knocked one of them into his bow. The deer were down for the night. Completely oblivious of his presence. He held his breath and drew the string taut when he spotted the doe that was his target. It had its leg outstretched awkwardly. This was perfect.
An explosion tore through the ground in front of him and the deer scattered. He cursed under his breath and shot arrows one after another. Three arrows flew rapidly but two missed, the third, however, struck true. The doe fell, an arrow piercing its eye and died before it hit the ground.
Pleased, he turned. The ground in front of him was charred and black. A small crater had formed in it, and there was something spherical inside it. Curious, he moved forward to get a better look. It looked like a blue stone with white veins criss crossing its surface. It glowed slightly and he felt drawn to it. The stone had come here by magic, of that, he was in no doubt and both magic and magic users inspired awe. Carvahall was a small village and he lived ten miles from it. It did have one storyteller, Brom, who rarely ever told a story when he was visiting the village, but when he did, it always had to do with magic and dragons and wicked shades of darkness, or the black king and the treachery of the empire. Everything he knew about magic warned him that what he was about to do could be perilious but the stone looked so beautiful... He cautiously reached forward as if under a trance and touched it, marvelling how its surface was smooth and frictionless like hardened silk before snapping his hand back. The stone had shocked him!
He cradled his hand pressing it against his body and waited for the strange sensation to fade into nothingness but suddenly the stone rocked and a squeak cut through the night. Startled viciously, he dropped his bow and drew his hunting knife from his belt a little uncertain as to what good it would do against magic.
The stone squeaked again and sharp cracks began appearing on its surface to his surprise.
A piece in the center of the stone wobbled and rose as if pushed outward by something inside and to his great disbelief a scaly somewhat triangular head poked out of the stone- no egg!
A few more cracks later, the creature was completely out of its egg. It was about the length of his forearm and a deep sapphire blue, its wings were several times larger than its body.
What bird is this?! He thought to himself.
He moved a little closer so he could see it more clearly but recoiled in shock when he noticed its scales. In front of him, bathed in the moonlight, was a dragon.