I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
I am so sorry for my hibernation, but I had to figure out how it would be best to continue from the last chapter. And though I'm not completely certain this is the best way to do it, and while I know I could do this differently, this is how I'm going to continue.
This is Eragon's POV from Chapter 44 and on.

Enjoy,


Tales of Gilead

Eragon and Rose were hidden deep within a hovel in a large growth of brushwood. It reminded Eragon very much of the one he found in Carvahall, where he and Brom had spent their first night of travel, before he had cleaned it out years before. It was cramped and full of prickles, the barbs around him were always threatening to poke into him, leaving his skin to sting for hours.

A sigh in the back of his mind reminded him that this was not Carvahall.

He missed Carvahall with such intensity that it felt now like a physical pain within his chest. There were times his simple missing for his home turned into a carving and when it did, it would leave him breathless. But it was not Carvahall that he missed, what he missed were the simpler times with his cousin and uncle; a time when he did not have to worry about anything more than a hunting trip or where it was best to make a trade.

He frowned and shook his hand, the left one that he had wrapped the briars around, as a wave of nausea shook him.

He felt for once as if he were at home, in the woodland behind Carvahall waiting for game to pass by, that he was one hunting not the one being hunted.

Except, of course, he was not being hunted. There was no real danger; this was just Rose overreacting, looking for dangers where there were none to be found. Or, at least, he hoped.

Eragon didn't know what he would do if there was danger; he had left Zar'roc in his bag along with his best knife. He didn't even want to think of what Brom would say if he knew. Even with him hundreds of leagues away Eragon practicality hear the old man now telling him off for his stupidity, how his brain did indeed work and that it was not filled with rocks, that it was better to be prepared and not to leave a valuable weapon behind…

Eragon looked down at his thorn covered gloves. He did not know for certain why he had wrapped his hands in the briars, just that every time he tossed the strings of undergrowth to the ground they kept catching on his tunic, poking him. His gloves were thick enough to protect the skin underneath and as he thought about the thorns, he began to wonder about the idea of using it for a weapon. It would be good to know if he had something of use on him.

He would rather just use magic but the idea remained with him.

With a sigh he looked out from between the thin wiry branches, searching and listening for any movement. Gradually a blanket of cool blankness slipped over him, and for the first time he felt something familiar- something of the place he was born in. And though He may miss his home dearly but there was nothing left of it and he could not go back, not after all that he had learned and done.

At this moment, he needed to be focused but he found that more he tried that there was little to focus on. His mind felt divided; part of his thoughts were his own but the remaining were Saphira's. He could feel everything she was doing; the wind she was cutting through high above in the clouds, the whistling of air as she sped up, the keenness to come down to the ground and swoop those she cared up and to fly away with them. The only reason she wasn't down here already was because whoever was traveling down the path could now be heard.

Something he now heard also. It the crunching of many feet marching through the undergrowth, not troubling theirselves to be quiet, that now could be heard. Eragon thought that they didn't sound human.

He cast a small charm to allow them to hide from prying eyes, so that as long as he and Rose were quiet no one would be able to find them. And they were, hardly a sound came from either of them.

For a very long time they were silent, neither of them daring to move. Their breaths, and the teetering of birds, were the only things heard other than the marching. And then a large, gray hand came out of the shadows, pulling back a sapling and breaking it as the creature moved into the light. Before Eragon could recognize what the creature was, he heard Rose gasp and then her hand flew over her mouth.

Not a moment later, a dozen or so Urgals came up behind their leader, as ugly as Eragon thought them to be last time he saw them. The Urgals looked around with bright, piggy eyes and their snout-like noses wrinkling as if they were sniffing the air. After the Urgals, poured out humans, sitting edgily on top of steeds, where short red tunics and golden chainmail, a helm on each of their heads.

"Where're they?" the soldier nearest the Urgals sneered.

"Here," one of the Urgals told him. His small eyes were sweeping the small valley. "Somewhere."

"Yes, yes," said the same soldier as before, "you said that before. Where is somewhere, though?"

Eragon scuffled closer, trying to get a better look, and hit Rose in the back with his elbow. She jolted and fell forward. As Eragon reached out to seize her, she grabbed ahold of a thick barbed branch in front of her, trying to steady herself, but the branch broke with rebounding snap! She fell forward, and then regained her balance before going very still.

Eragon cursed as all the Urgals and all the men looked in their direction. One of the Urgals pointed its stubby finger at the brush they were hiding in and said, "There."

He could feel his heart beating wildly against this chest, but a wall seemed to form between what he felt and what he needed to do. Taking ahold of Rose's arm, he pulled her, willing her to move, but she did not, completely frozen as the Urgals advanced. "Come on, Rose," he hissed at her. "Come on, move! Move now!" She did not move, nor did she seem to hear him. He cursed and continued, "They're coming. We don't have much time. We won't have time at all if you don't move!"

Rose stood up suddenly and shook his arm off, before she began to forcibly push him out of the brushwood. The reedy branches under their feet snapped as they hurried from the brushwood. At the hole Eragon had made in the back, he pulled the branches aside and pushed Rose through, letting her get ahead of him.

The Urgals grunted as they got closer, their footfalls were like distant thunder. When they reached the brushwood, Eragon and Rose had been in, they simply plowed through it, entangling theirselves in the thorns and prickles.

Burn them, said Saphira from somewhere above. It will be much simpler than blasting them into nothing, or have you forgotten your lesson? Be sensible, Eragon. Burn them.

It would not feel right to burn the Urgals. Yet as Eragon heard them snarl, he thought of the people lying dead in Yazuac, the years of childhood fearing them, the threats before he had tried to blast the Urgals away from Brom, and lastly Brom's anger when Eragon had put forth so much energy to blast them away.

I cannot save you this time, I'm too high up. Do it now!

He wheeled around on his heel, facing the Urgals in the brushwood, and raised his hand. "Brisingr!" he shouted and, as the dry wood caught ablaze with blue fire, he turned away.

Thorn is not far, said Saphira. Go to him. I will keep the two-leggeds busy.

By doing what? he said sharply, notching his arrow. I'm not running like a coward! Not when you're going off to get yourself killed!

Saphira snorted. I'm not going to be killed by those creatures, Eragon. I'm much smarter than they are, she said blatantly. Go to Thorn. I will see you before long.

And if I refuse? he challenged, turning around to see where the Urgals were. Some were burning in the fire trying to get out, he only one escaped, while others, the ones that stayed away from the brushwood, were running toward him and Rose. They weren't far behind.

Then I will have Thorn carry you away in his claws.

He frowned and looked ahead before turning around. He did not need to look to see that Saphira had already begun her attack on the Urgals, he could hear their shouts as she roared and snapped her massive teeth at them.

"Run!" Eragon shouted out to Rose. "Keep going. Thorn's not far." He stopped briefly and turned to let an arrow loose and then another, one of them hit an Urgal that was charging at them in the knee. It fell over, and pulled the arrow out before slowly rising. It limped forward, much slower than before.

Eragon turned away and sped up to Rose, before he turned again and let more arrows loose. He would follow her to Thorn, he did not want to waste the time looking for the dragon himself, and slow down a small unit of Urgals as much as he could as they came charging. Sometimes one of them would vanish and reappear with a loud thud as it fell collided with the ground- it was Saphira's work, Eragon knew it.

Eragon reached back in search of his arrow but is quiver was empty. He cursed, spinning around and caught up with Rose. She looked up him and sped up, racing him to Thorn who was shielded from view by a large blossoming bush, watching them as they sped forth.

Eragon glanced behind him, worriedly looking for Saphira but only saw a blue glint as she dived towards the ground. Why couldn't it have been Thorn who was fighting with the Urgals and soldiers instead of her?

Turning back, he saw that Rose had already climbed onto Thorn's back, and was waiting for him to do the same. He hesitated, looking back at direction Saphira was in and then rushed forward and climbed on, grabbing ahold of Rose for balance.

When he looked back towards Saphira, shouting for Thorn to go, a stabbing pain shoot through him. He looked over himself and released that it was not his pain. He wheeled back on Thorn's saddle, almost falling from the dragon's back, as his head began to spin.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear it.

Feeling Thorn dragon crouched down, with wings spread wide, to jump into the sky, Eragon looked back towards Saphira. He then swung his legs over Thorn's back and dropped to the ground. Something grazed him as he landed in a roll, and looking up into a mouthful of large dagger-sharp white teeth.

Eragon rolled away from Thorn and dived into a bush, before taking off towards Saphira in a run. She was hurt, something had happened to her, he was sure of it. His body tangled and stung with pain that was not his own, his steps were wobbly as if he were drunk.

He had to help her. Somehow, someway.

He saw Saphira rush toward him, her flight labored and swaying. Fool! She roared at him. I told you to go with Thorn!

Her anger cleared his head. He saw that she was hurt, there was scarlet droplets of blood arcing behind her as she flew. I can't leave you, he said. You're hurt.

The burning anger he felt from her softened but only a little. Little one, she said in a forgiving but hard voice, like brittle metal. I was just leaving.

Eragon frowned at her, and looked around at the advancing Urgals. I didn't know, he told her. You said you were going to try to hold them off so I thought you would keep trying.

There wouldn't have been a reason to if you were safe, she said and landed between him and the Urgals. It was a foolish thing to do. You should have listened to me.

Nodding, Eragon looked for the wound, and found it on the joint of her wing. He ignored Saphira's protects, telling him not to worry about it now, and healed her anyway. She looked at him with darkened eyes. If you're done wasting our time, she said, let's go.

Eragon grabbed the strap on her saddle and started to pull himself up. Out of nowhere something rammed into him knocking him to the ground. There was a noise like a gust of wind and then one like a screech of stone, so loud that Eragon thought his ears were burst.

Louder and louder it grew.

Until quite suddenly it was gone.

Now Eragon felt that he was on the ground but he saw nothing, and he felt as if he emptied of everything. Slowly his vision returned to him but it was strangely warped around the edges. He could not think of why that was; all of his thoughts were still.

There was something was caught in his throat. He tried to cough it up but found that there was no air to do so. When he tried to breath he found that he could not do this either. Every time he tried to breath he gasped painfully, feeling like an icy splinter was stuck inside of him, but could not stop himself from trying. He needed to breathe.

There was a roaring above him.

He could hear her thumping footfalls coming closer and closer but could not see her. He turned his head, his vision blurry, his breath caught in his throat. Something colored in red and gold was on top of him. It was holding him down.

He blinked, and gasped but no air came.

The soldier turned his head and shouted something. Eragon could not make out the words, they sounded strange to his ears as if the soldier were speaking another language.

He gasped again.

Suddenly the soldier was whipped off of him by a flash of blue scales and Saphira moved closer, her head hovering protectively over Eragon.

He gasped loudly but no air went into him. He couldn't speak to her, the words wouldn't form. His head was swimming. He felt as if were about to be ill.

There was another roar, and a flash of something long and dark as Saphira's head disappeared.

And then there was a pain along his head. Sharp and stabbing. It over took everything else.

Blackness enveloped him.

It was a swaying, swinging blackness.

There was nothing except it; that blackness that had become everything.

.

When Eragon came to his senses, he found that he was laying on flat panels of splintered wood, in a mess of deafening noise that made his head ache with stabbing pain. Something was moving beneath him. The movements were jutting and jiggery, and made loud screeches every so often. The lunging, bumping feeling was one he recognized but he hadn't felt it in sometime, and though the sounds were different, he knew he was on a cart.

Why would he be on a cart?

He tried to move his arms but found that they were bound tightly behind his back. He frowned in confusion; what was going on?

Slowly he opened his eyes to see where he was, and was instantly blinded by a glaring white light. He jammed them shut with a groan.

"Is he awake?" a heavy voice asked from somewhere around him. He didn't recognize the voice.

Something hard and pointed poked him in the side. He fought the urge to move, and focused instead on staying still.

"Nah," said another voice.

"Good," said the same voice as before. "Grevist wouldn't be happy if he were. He'd want us to him to get the Iron Tower, at least, before he awoke."

"He'd be much happier if brought him the right one," said a different voice.

"It's a Rider," said yet another man's voice. "Grevist will be pleased enough with that."

There was the sound of someone scoffing, and then, "It don't matter what we bring Grevist, he won't be pleased with what we have to tell him."

There was a round of agreement from several other men and then they all fell silent.

Eragon didn't dare open his eyes now, nonetheless move. He had a fair idea of what was going on; that he had been knocked unconscious and taken by the soldiers to Gil'ead, or at least he thought he was in Gil'ead.

He gathered that he had been attacked when he was getting ready to climb onto Saphira- Saphira! he thought suddenly. But where was she?

Eragon cast out his mind for Saphira but did not feel her. Nothing of her, not even her calmer sleeping mind. He could feel the soldiers' minds and the people around him but little more. His head fought against him as he tried to continue and he withdrew into himself, his heart pounding behind his eyelids. His mind felt as if it were trying to split in two at the effort.

For now he would just have to wait and see if Saphira was behind him- he thought, and hoped, that she wasn't- and try to come up with some plan.

With a great amount of effort he forced himself to remain still. He was only able to do so because of the amount of times he pretended to be asleep over the last weeks, when he was truly just listening to the sounds of night, avoiding sleep because of the dreams that might come. There were times during those nights where Eragon had felt Selena pressing the palms of her hands against his forehead as if checking for fever and cluck her tongue when she felt one, or Brom walk loudly around his head and bend down for a moment just lingering there as if he were waiting for something.

He wiggled his legs and found that were unbound. That was strange. Why would they only bind his arm and not his legs? Eragon was not question it too much though, in his mind it was a blessing. Despite the fact that it was a small one.

The cart gave a great heave, probably hitting a stone, pitching Eragon into air some. His head came down onto the wood so hard that he thought he was going to be knocked out again. He wasn't but a great lurch of stabbing pain hurtled through his head stunning him for a moment.

He groaned again but this time the men didn't seem to notice.

Eragon felt a brief moment of encouragement; maybe he would be able to find a way out this mess without having to fight. He couldn't be that lucky could he? No, it was likely he was not but he had to try.

He listened to the sounds for a moment, they seemed to overtake everything else in harsh blaring beats of sound. He slowly summoned the willpower, and his mind swirled as he concentrated as he search for the strange, intangible world of feeling where his magery held its power. Bracing himself he pulled some of that power forward and focusing it, he said, "Jierda!"

Immediately the cart lurched, slamming Eragon forward, and loudly buckled. Before the soldiers could think to take action Eragon and a knocked one of the guards to the ground as he jumped off the cart. Two of the soldiers, taken completely off guard, stood with their mouths open. Eragon charged between these two and ducked under the flinging arms of another, braking through their ranks and onto open street.

A man shouted behind him, harshly giving out orders but Eragon did not dare to look back. He kept his eyes on the road as he bolted blindly through the crowd, only snatching a look as he sped around a corner: two soldiers were in pursuit. Eragon had a good lead, but his head was pulsing with black pain and more than once he nearly lost his balance. He knew he didn't have long before the pain became too much.

He gritted his teeth, pushing the feeling aside. All he knew was that he had to keep going. It was unbearably bright. Although Eragon stood in the shadows of the city, his vison blurred and swam. He was so disoriented he almost retreated into a dark alley to sit down.

He felt as if he were moving through syrup, his movements were slow and his mind felt vague but he forced himself to keep moving. As Eragon walked through the streets he found that it was not easy to keep his sense of direction. He did not know how far he had gotten, nor when he lost the pursuing soldiers. He was looking for a wider road, one of the few that he had gone through days before, but with each turn he found nothing of familiarity.

Quite often he completely lost sight of the Iron Tower, something that he hadn't believed to be possible, and felt as if he were wandering in circles. The backstreets of Gil'ead were unsettlingly empty; no more than twice did he pass a group of soldiers, and when he did he did his best to hide rather it was behind a stack of crates or pile of rubbish, and when they moved on so did he. Eventually Eragon found himself mindlessly picking his way through the alleyways that were little more than black, filthy crevices between long barracks, only to come to a dead end or worse a busy street filled with searching soldiers.

The only he truly knew was that he was past tired, past thought; that he was simply moving on nothing more than determination to leave. To leave and find Saphira. He needed to find Saphira, to make certain that she was alright. He didn't know if she had gotten away from the Empire and was safe somewhere with Rose and Thorn, or if she was being held as prison within Gil'ead. More than once, out of a cold fury of worry, he tried to reach out to her with his mind but when he did he could never force his mind out far; his head felt as it were pulsing beneath his skull and whenever he tried to push the blinding pain away he could not. In those moments the world seemed to distort and whirl until eventually he gave up.

As night fell over Gil'ead, a deep blackness relieved only by occasional lamplights glowing in sheeted over windows, Eragon began to despair that he would never leave Gil'ead, and sank down in a shadowed part of an alley. He closed his eyes as he fought away cold wave of exhaustion. Eragon was far too weary to continue; his head felt as if it were lost long ago in a fog.

The building in front of him swayed and darkened. Eragon closed his eyes, trying to still it.

As soon as the sun had disappeared completely from the sky, it began to get very dark. He sat for a long time with his head bowed, stuck in the twisting, swaying world, listening to the night. There were few sounds to listen as most people were hidden from the darkness of night within their candle lit homes. There were very few people on the streets; expect for perhaps a sway drunkard or an occasional soldier, and Eragon and hidden deep enough within the shadows of the alleyway that they did not notice him. Still Eragon felt himself tense whenever he heard the slightest of noises, feeling unsafe. He thought lightly of Saphira and reached out his mind again to contact her. She was not within Gil'ead, he thought but the thought gave him no comfort.

Eragon was alone.

.

When Eragon awoke, he found himself shrouded by a warm golden light. He didn't want to open his eyes, the light was blinding enough without looking into it. He had a bad enough headache without having to look into the light that would make it worse. He was laying on something soft, and the air around him was warm.

He lay very still, listening to the sounds of something moving round, and a faint metallic cling, and the gentle pop of a burning fire. Eragon knew he was not in the street anymore, but he could not seem to force himself to be worried about this fact. Instead he gingerly reached his hand to touch what was covering him, it was some kind of rough wool but it was warm. He heard some moving toward him and tensed as a hand stroked his forehead. Involuntarily he opened his eyes and saw the lined face of a woman hovering above him.

"Oh good, you're awake," said the woman. "I had thought for certain that you might not wake up."

Eragon blinked and ran his hand over his forehead. It was damp and felt raw. "Who are you?" he asked in a gush. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

The woman frowned and blinked. "My son found you outside," she said. "He brought you in and I cleaned you up. You had taken quite a beating to your head, why don't you rest, yeh? There is stew if you like to try something to eat."

Eragon shook his head and denied her offer for food. The smell coming from the pot made him feel slightly nauseous. He turned over, too tired to push for his questions to be answered, and fell back to sleep.

.

When Eragon awoke, he didn't know where he was. He blinked, looking disbelievingly around the small hut. It had plain wood walls that were now striped with dusty bars of light that slanted in through shutters, by the bed he lay on was a chest, on which was placed a bowl of stew and two slices of bread. Seeing the food made his stomach rumbled and he picked up the soup and dipped in the bread.

As he ate, memory flickered back; he was in Gil'ead in the home of a woman he had never before met. The events afore his arrival at the hut was a strange twisting blur that he could not sort out. He puzzled over this for a while, disturbed. He still felt as he were living in a world of haze.

And then he realized that he did not know how long he had been asleep; if it was merely a few hours or one day and one night or many. Eragon was so stiff and sore he could barely move, and his arms and legs were covered in grazes and bruises.

Eragon set down the bowl and looked at his wrists. They had been carefully wrapped with thin clothe, hiding, as he could feel, the very raw skin beneath. He cautiously unrolled his sleeves, and then slowly stood up. After testing his balance, he walked slowly to the table in the center of the room where there was wine and ale set out.

He looked around for someone, and waited for a moment, but seeing that no person was around he helped himself to a goblet filled with the ale. He sat down at the bench and took a long, slow drink. It burned his dry throat and mouth.

Setting down the goblet, Eragon thought of Saphira, and Rose, and Thorn. He was certain that Rose and Thorn were somewhere safe; he had seen Thorn fly safely away. He hoped that Saphira was with them, though he knew that if she had gotten away from the soldiers she would go looking for him. Maybe she was already over the city. Eragon looked at the shuttered windows, thinking that he would look out of them for her but he couldn't seem to force himself to stand. He thought of reaching his mind out towards her but the memory of the crippling pain he felt before halted him. What if it came back?

Just as he thought this, the door open and the glow of the sun flickered into the room. Eragon stiffened and looked as the woman he had seen before walked into the hut. She was carrying an iron bucket, and her dark hair was gathered up into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her dark eyes looked at him for a moment and then she put the bucket down next to the door.

"You feel better, yeh?" the woman asked.

Eragon nodded. "Who are you?" he blurted out. "What's your name? I mean…" He frowned and looked away.

"You may call me Margery," the woman said. "I however do not need to know what to call you, I've heard enough from the rumors within the town. If they question me I want to able to say that I haven't an idea who you are nor why you are here." She turned her back to Eragon, and began to unlace her boots. "For now you should simply rest," she said softly, "regain your strength, and when you are ready you will leave, yeh?"

Eragon frowned. "Do you want me to leave now?"

Margery looked up at him. "Do you have a way to leave now?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Without the soldiers seeing you?"

"No."

"Then you stay," she said. "You can rest here without worry of them soldiers."

"Why are you helping me?" Eragon asked after a moment. "If the Empire catches you, you could be executed."

Margery looked at him and frowned deeply. "I only do, what I would hope you would do for me," she said, and then turned away to the bucket and took out a hand-full of dried leaves. She was silent for a long while as she moved around the room.

"Did you sleep well?" said Margery as she sat beside him. She began to ground the leaves into a bowl with a rounded stone. "You look rested."

"Yes," he said, feeling slightly tongue-tied. Her earlier words had shocked him.

"I am glad," she said, and fell again into silence.

Eragon watched her work. When he was younger he had often watched Gertrude do the same thing, that is whenever he the misfortune of having to visit her. After a time, Margery seemed to grow tired of his staring and set him to work pounding the herbs and occasionally had him stir the stew. Eragon did not complain, it was something to do and he knew he couldn't leave yet.

He found out from talking to Margery that he had slept through a whole day and most of the night. She told that he woke often but it was never for long, and he would go quickly back to sleep. "Sometimes head injuries do that," she told him. "Sometimes it can be worse. You are very lucky."

"I just wish I remember what exactly happened," Eragon said lowly.

Margery set the knife in her hand aside. "It could be worse," she said, looking directly at him. "You could remember nothing at all." She looked away. "Would you like some mint tea? It helps settle the stomach."

"Sure," Eragon accepted with a frown. He hadn't said anything about the queasiness in his belly. In fact until she had said something he almost forgotten about it completely. "How did you know my stomach was upset?"

"I just know," said Margery as she stood up and made her way to the cauldron in the hearth. "It matters not whether one is my child or another, I can always tell."

Eragon looked over his shoulder at her. He vaguely remembered that she had said something about her son but he did not for certain what. "You have a son, right?"

"Yes. My son is not much older than you," said Margery slowly, as she handed him a cup. She smiled at him wearily. "He's the one who found you the other night. If Harman were still here I would introduce you to him. He works for a trader and is away quite a bit. He likes it though or at least I assume he does, he hasn't told me otherwise. I miss him, It gets lonely here." She turned away then and began study the leafy plant hung on strings above the table. "Here," she said, untying a pebbly looking spout, "gird this up nice and fine."

Something about her seemed to forbid further chatter, and Eragon was silent as he pounded the plant. When he was done, he drank the rest of his though now it was stone cold, and ate very little of the stew Margery gave him. He found then to his shock that it was dark outside, and that he was very tired.

He stood up and stretched lightly, and then looked at Margery. "You're going to sleep, yeh?" she said before he could say anything. "Go on and rest. When morn comes we'll speak of how to smuggle you out of here, yeh?"

"Alright." Eragon nodded. "Thank you."

Margery smiled and began to clean the dusty mess from the table. "And the same to you," she said.

Eragon made his way to the bed and lay down. Curling onto his side, he closed his eyes but could not sleep. Each time he came close to it, it slipped away from him. After a long while of just lying there, he sat up and blinked. The hut was completely dark; Margery must have gone to bed as well, though Eragon hadn't seen another bed besides the one he lay in now.

He frowned and pushed the thought away. Pushing the blanket off of him, he found that his stomach no longer bothered him. If his stomach felt better, would it hurt to reach out to Saphira?

Eragon didn't think so, and very gingerly he reached out his mind. A wave of nausea swept over him, but his head remained still. Encouraged he touched Margery's mind first, very lightly like what Brom told him to do to test one's motives. He saw nothing in her that worried him.

Then Eragon reached his mind out further, past the limits of the small hut he was in and into the night. He found what he looking for almost right away, a glowing figure in the darkness, very small, very bright, glowing with an unknowable power. Reached out for it, he called, Saphira?

He felt her astonishment. Eragon? Is that you?

Yes.

There was a pause, and then he felt her mend with his. I am coming, she said. Stay put.

Immediately, Eragon stood up and fumbled through the darkness of the cabin to the door. He unlatched the hooks and walked outside, looking towards the sky. The alleyway is too small, you'll get stuck, he said.

I told you to stay! Saphira growled.

And have you get stuck between two buildings? We'll have to find a wider road, he said. Then he went back into the hut and grabbed his boots by the door, thankful that he had looked for them earlier.

The night was not as cold as the ones before it, and Eragon was able to wonder about the streets easier. Without the pounding pressure in his head or he heavy fogginess he had before he was able to find a wider street with Saphira's help.

When he reached the street, Eragon did not stop, he ran to Saphira, who landed loudly on the ground in front of him. He wrapped his arms around the great blue dragon's muzzle, pressing his cheek against Saphira's scales. There were no words for what he felt. Humming, Saphira pressed against him and then shook her head demanding to be let go. Eragon released her and touched his head where it began to ache again.

I missed you too, but we must move or we will die.

Eragon frowned and climbed onto her back, looking around for Thorn and perhaps Rose. Where are they? he asked.

You will not like it, she said. But perhaps it will force you to listen to me next time. Be ready.

For what?

Thorn, Saphira said taking into the skies. He is not happy about it but I could not leave you there.

Eragon frowned. What happened?

I'll tell you later, she said turning to the great tower overshadowing the Saphira growled suddenly. You're an idiot, and if you ever do something like that again I swear I'll kill you myself.

Love you too, Saphira.