INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

THE BURDENS OF SURVIVAL

Roran's eyes ached as Katrina's chest softly rose underneath a thin blanket. It was early morning, and it already seemed warmer than it had been the previous days when hard rain had fallen upon them without break.

They were muddy and damp. Roran spent the previous night shivering as his wet clothing clung to him like a second layer of icy skin. They were in the high reaches of the north, far away from Carvahall, far away from home.

His heart ached for Garrow, for Eragon. It was only a moment, however, until he set his feelings to stone. He didn't have time to mourn, not yet.
He had to get Katrina to safety. Only then would he allow his tears to fall for his family. But not now. He heard steps behind him, heavy boots sinking in the drying mud, sloppy wet sucking sounds that came from footprints that half filled with water when the boot left them.

"Roran, we need to go. Tyle says he saw riders going north last night when he was on watch." Roran turned, and Glann drew in his breath, taking in the severity of Roran's appearance.

They all looked beat with dirty clothing and gaunt faces. The group slept in the dirt and had nothing but a few scraps of dried meat.

Some days they didn't eat at all, attempting to save their meager stores. Glann had been able to gather what he could from Sloan's old shop in the carnage, but the bag that was filled with food was now depressed and nearly empty, and the dried meat was hard and cold.

"They headed north. We are still in the north, but we are going the opposite direction." Roran turned his attention back to Katrina.

"Roran . . ." Glann started, causing Roran to whip his head around and glare at the young man.

"She needs her rest." He said sternly, but Glann refused to back down.

"Everyone needs rest. But rest is not something we can afford. We are only a group of eight. You saw what they did to Carvahall. If we are spotted. . ." Glann didn't need to finish for Roran to understand what he was saying.

Imperial riders would likely run them down without even bothering to question who they were.
Each passing day, they saw more and more of them.
"Ten more minutes." Roran compromised. Glann frowned, but nodded, turning away and walking off with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The rest of their group slowly began to rise as Glann waked them, Groaning and stretching, wiping the mud off of their faces and finding their swords. Aside from Glann there was Tyl, Roran, and Katrina. Also among them was a man named Holde, a dark stocky youth who was strong, but rather short. Kenly; who had light brown hair and severe blue eyes, Frantis, an older man of about thirty who was skilled with the bow. Last came Yoslan, who had been their Regional Commander. All of them belonged to Carvahall's imperial militia, a local force tasked by some northern lord to protect the remote town. They had been Imprrial soldiers to a sense, and were proud of the colors they wore. But not anymore. Their friends, within the militia and the town were dead, killed by their own allies. If it hadn't been for Yoslan, Roran doubted any of them would be alive.

The man had been the first to react to the attack. He roused the militia, and they put up a great fight, but in the end, it was fruitless. The Imperial troops had better arms and shielding, and a number of them were mounted. Yoslan was the one who harried them to safety, Roran at that point dragging Katrina, who had fainted at the carnage. Roran was glad- She didn't see them stab her father. He had no love for the man, but he didn't wish Sloan dead.

Now he was, just like the rest of the village. He hadn't seen Garrow or Eragon during the attack, but he knew the chances were slim. They were dead- It was better to acknowledge that fact than cling on a desperate piece of childish hope.

Roran was nearly a man grown, and now he had someone to take care of.

Almost as if she could feel his thoughts, Katrina stirred, moaning softly. Her eyes opened, and the whites of them were as red as blood. Her face was a sickly white, and her lips were colored faintly blue. She was dreadfully sick, and Roran wasn't sure she would survive another week in this weather. It was warmer today, but that meant nothing. It could very easily begin pouring again the next day.

Summer was ending, and Roran could feel the cold of the coming dread months.

"I slept unwell.." Katrina rasped as she lifted herself. Her hair was in disarray, packed with dirt and hubris. Roran ran a hand through her locks. It gave way to his hand grudgingly, unwilling to untangle. She smiled weakly up to him.

"Katrina. . . I promise you, you will feel well soon. You will sleep on a soft feather bed, and eat warm food. But now we have to keep moving." He spoke softly to her, and she grabbed his arm as she tried to rise. He rose to his full height, carrying her upwards as he did so.
They were in an empty forest, riddled with trees much smaller than the ones that were back home. Sometimes they would walk for dozens of feet without coming across a swathe of timber, as if someone had cleared an area for a small estate and then never built it.

There was no sound in these woods, no birds, but dozens of insects. Even at this early hour bugs bombed around Roran's eyes, forcing him to swat them away with grimy hands.

"Everyone ready? We're about to move out." Yoslan's gruff voice informed. Roran helped Katrina to walk over to the group, where the rest of the former soldiers stood. The morning sun was high in the sky as they left the cover of the forest. A brown land of high hills stretched before them, And Roran held Katrina's hand as they walked. She looked weaker and weaker every day, and Roran knew if they didn't find solace soon, she would die.