Dawnbreaker [Inheritance Cycle]

4. Recollection

The village some distance behind her, Serafyna finally stopped.

Teeth gritted and hands clenched, she kicked away a log and watched it fly in a low arc and collide against a pine tree. The force of it caused several birds to take flight in alarm.

She took a deep breath and let it out, slow and steady, calming herself.

Suddenly, she felt exhausted.

Walking over to a fallen tree a few feet away, she sat on the trunk.

Serafyna was in a small clearing, rimmed by thick undergrowth that shielded from outside, well-secluded.

It wasn't a random place within the woods, but her place, her shelter from the larger world whenever she felt overwhelmed. Something she found a few years ago amid her aimless wanderings.

In the middle was a collection of ashes and burnt firewood, surrounded by rough, uneven stones. Above was a canopy of cloth that worked to disperse the smoke when a fire was burning.

Her eyes closed; head hung, face in her cold hands with long hair that fell past her fingers.

Distantly, a wolf howled mournfully.

Serafyna was tired, in more ways than one.

Since she could remember, she and her brother struggled. Orphans after their mother died shortly after birth, they lived with Uncle Garrow and his family.

They weren't well off, even less so after Garrow's wife, Marian died.

Every trip back from the Spine empty-handed weighed heavily on her because it cost their family.

Though they were the same age, Serafyna, in a way, had taken responsibility for her twin brother and looked after him. She and Roran, their cousin, both did.

Many in Carvahall often expressed their displeasure at Serafyna's wandering nature, believing that her being a hunter, carrying a bow and dagger was unbecoming of a girl, lacking refinement.

She was of average height, a handful of inches shorter than Eragon and quite slender. Physically, she was unremarkable save for her intensely deep auburn hair that bordered on a dark crimson color. It fell a handbreadth past her shoulders and was typically tied with a ribbon when outside.

Currently, it was undone, having ripped the ribbon away on her way to the clearing.

The wilderness was her true home, where she felt the most comfortable. At peace. Away from all troubles.

The confrontation with Sloan had rattled her, even if she'd never admit it. Despite that, she was ready to stand and fight, had Horst not come in at that moment. For the better or worse.

Probably for the worse, if she was being honest.

Her thoughts strayed. She thought about the crimson stone stowed in her pack right now. What was it? What purpose could it serve? Where did it come from, and was magic involved?

Was it dangerous in some way?

The questions troubled her, even though she wasn't particularly superstitious like most others in Carvahall. Something about the stone just felt.. off, in a way she couldn't put into words.

What would they do with it? Probably have it be appraised by traders –once they arrive– for its worth and hopefully sell it, she figured. It was the most sensible idea.

Serafyna remained in her secluded hideout for a long while, until the sunlight began to wane and the temperature started to drop.

She sighed, getting to her feet and hoisting her pack over her shoulder.

Her gaze went upwards, to the sky where some of the brightest stars were starting to appear.

Serafyna felt a familiar ache, a longing to venture forth. To leave this valley and go to lands beyond.

As she turned away and started towards home; the edges of her mouth curled upwards, just slightly.

And one day, she just might yet.