Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

Around The Campfire

Nightmare hummed softly, the sound often interrupted by Dream as he responded in kind, the two playing their own sort of tune between themselves. A low thrumming and high chirping, branches creaking in tandem as the leaves rustled as well.

The wild music was interrupted by an abrupt screech, the treeskeleton shooting Roran a look that went unseen as he shifted on his tree stump, every movement producing the same painful shriek each time he shifted. Even Eragon winced from his place leaning on Saphira, the dragon flicking her ears irritably.

As it was for the time being, Eragon had just finished recounting the day to Saphira. This was typically unnecessary, but due to him having to shield his mind, they were unable to share their experiences internally.
After a few minutes of silence, Saphira yawned enormously and responded.
Cruel and evil they may be, but I am impressed that the Ra'zac can bewitch their prey into wanting to be eaten. They are great hunters to do that…. Perhaps I shall attempt it someday.

There was a pause, Eragon mentioning something to the dragon before she replied, amusement in her voice. People, sheep: what difference is there to a dragon? She laughed, a low staccato rumble like thunder.

Shaking his head, Eragon leaned forward to pick up the hawthorn staff beside him. Roran had given it to him, saying it was made by Fisk. The name had amused the treeskeleton, as it was only a single letter away from a much more widely known name that every Sans or equivalent knew.

They shifted in place as they peered at Eragon, the human suddenly raging with confused emotions- many negative. Something had whipped his mind to a frenzy, and what they could glean from it was that the source of it stemmed from Murtagh.
Eragon. Saphira quietly intervened.
He peered at her gratefully before the camp fell to silence once more.

Just as everyone had relaxed again, the faint sound of something like a sword scraping against it's sheath as it was drawn jolted them all, humans lunging as they yanked out their weapons and faced the invisible enemy.
The god stared at them blankly as the dragon sniffed inquisitively.
I smell nothing. Saphira told them, settling down somewhat.
"We sense nothing." Cicállaé added, branches swaying.

After about a minute, Eragon let down his guard just enough to state a spell, forming a red werelight as he searched the area.
He followed Roran as they hunted through the brush.
There was a pause, Roran bending down before the noise was repeated.
They returned to the hollow they camped in, somewhat disappointed.

"Well? What was it?" The god asked.
"Shale. It fell and made the sound that disturbed us." Eragon muttered, his cousin bobbing his head along.
It was a moment before Roran spoke up.

"Do you see them?"
"Who?"
"The men you've killed. Do you see them in your dreams?"
Cicállaé blinked, Eragon responding quietly.
"Sometimes."

Roran gazed off a little emptily, the vivid remains of the dying flame illuminating his face from below, leaving his eyes and forehead in shadow.
"I never wanted to be a warrior. I dreamed of blood and glory when I was younger, as every boy does, but the land was what was important to me. That and our family…. And now I have killed…. I have killed and killed, and you have killed even more." He stared off into the distance.
"There were these two men in Narda…. Did I tell you this before?"!

Nightmare was about to say that yes, he had mentioned this to them, when Dream insisted he stay quiet, Eragon shaking his head.
Roran continued distantly.
"They were guards at the main gate…. Two of them, you know, and the man on the right had pure white hair. I remember because he couldn't have been more than 24, 25. They wore Galbatorix's sigil but spoke as if they were from Narda. They weren't professional soldiers. They were probably just men who had decided to help protect their homes from Urgals, pirates, brigands…. We weren't going to lift a finger against them. I swear to you, Eragon, Lord, that was never part of our plan. I had no choice, though. They recognized me. I stabbed his chin…. It was like when Father cut the throat of a pig. And then the other, I smashed open his skull. I can still feel the bones giving way…. I remember every blow I've landed, from the soldiers in Carvahall to the ones on the Burning Plains…. You know, when I close my eyes, sometimes I can't sleep because the light from the fire we set in the docks of Teirm is so bright in my mind. I think I'm going mad then."