INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

BLADES IN THE NIGHT

"What is this?"

Arya lifted a spoonful of brown mush and allowed it to dribble back into her wooden bowl.

"Food," Brom informed between mouthfuls as they sat before a roaring campfire. Eragon reclined on his pack, his newly made shield, bearing his personal coat of arms, a blue dragon flying over azure flames. In addition laid beside him on the ground freshly crafted sword snugly fit into a polished wood sheath. Saphira flew high above in the starry night, while the low hum of conversation straddled the small group.

They were fifteen in total, led by Aerion, a captain from Mhampir's hold. The man was fine and true, a noble, if not average, man.

Eragon ate the same dirt-colored soup, which was filled with chunks of dried meat and left-over seasoning. They were far south, and Aerion said they would reach the human lands that bordered the Dwarf Kingdoms soon. In a way, Eragon was sad. It would mark the end of yet another part of his life, crossing the land with Brom and Saphira, fending for themselves while the world turned to frost around them. Eragon wondered what it was like in the North, wondered how heavily the snows were falling. They had been traveling south for some weeks now, and they had received word that Orrin had left Surda, making his way towards the same destination.

"He is enthralled," One of the scry-mages had told them. "He cannot wait to meet you, Eragon. He plans to name you his new Champion. And he is intrigued by your dragon."

I wonder if I'll like Orrin. Saphira thought absentmindedly, hearing Eragon's musings.

Saphira spoke often, and she even possessed the ability to speak vocally, though she did it sparingly. She preferred to speak to Eragon within his mind, and he didn't mind at all. Their connection had grown stronger as she matured.

Eragon considered her one of his closest companions.

You might. I've never met him, but he seems just Eragon said.

He closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to see what Saphira's pupils gazed upon. They camped in medium-sized grass, yellow in appearance, softer than silk. As Saphira flew above them, Eragon saw bright fire dwindle as she rose higher and higher, her wide wings spreading far. The grass swayed in the night air.
Saphira spotted small foxes as they ran, hounded by the moon.

Just is good, I suppose. You humans have a wide range of emotions. There is no uniform way you act, it seems.

It's only normal. Dragons are most likely the same, from what Brom described.

Saphira didn't respond.
Eragon felt her mind ease away from his. She was like that sometimes, a faraway affection, afraid to delve too deep into actual conversation. Somehow, they had gained the ability to communicate by way of smell, feel, and touch, and in some respects, it was a better means of talking than actually formulating words.

"What did you eat . . . back in your land?" Eragon ventured tentatively as Arya frowned into her bowl.

"It's nearly impossible for Laen Elves to digest meat," She said, sighing as she overturned the food, feeding the ground below them.

"You shouldn't waste a meal like that." Brom growled. He had seemingly recovered from his wounds, and his cough had lessened. He was larger and more robust than ever before, his shoulders wide and his arms large.

Arya ignored him and looked at Eragon. The white-blonde streaks in her hair beamed, rivaling the moon.

"We ate food better than this. Freshly baked breads . . . cheeses . . . greens. And no meat." She said with a tint of sharpness, glaring at Brom.