Roran almost tripped, catching his foot in time. "Come again?"
"I said," Eragon said with force this time, no longer mumbling. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
Eragon scowled. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" he spat.
"Yes, Eragon. You do."
Eragon continued to scowl.
Eragon had never been good at apologizing. Had never had to apologize. Always whenever he and Roran got into fights, it would be the older who would reconcile between them. But this time it wasn't Roran's fault. Neither were any of the other fights prior, if he were to be truly honest.
Roran was right. He had been arrogant. And conceited. And heartless. Eragon did not, in fact, know what it was like to lose a mother. He never had one of his own. Of course, he wasn't stupid enough to think he wasn't born from one, but all he had was his master. If the bond between Roran and his mother was anything like what was between he and his master, then he should at least know enough what the loss of someone that could no longer be there would be like. Right? What if he was separated from his master? He couldn't picture it.
"I was unthinking. About your mother."
"…oh."
Eragon hoped it would be left at that.