A red sword…flashing in the rain…darkness all around…a hoarse scream…cold laughter…

Eragon woke, drenched in sweat. He sighed. The dream had come to him every night since the battle of the Burning Plains. For five days, he feared sleep almost as much as he feared death.

The rider got out of his tent into the cool night air, and belted on his new sword. He had taken it from a dead captain of the Empire; and though its balance was better than most human made blades, it was a mere toy compared to Zar'roc. Eragon's stomach clenched painfully as he thought of his old sword, taken by one who he thought was a friend. A dead friend. And now…

A brother.

Who would have thought the one that he once pitied, and fought with, was in fact his brother in flesh and blood? Why did the fates play with his emotions so?

Bodies lay strewn across the battlefield, too numerous to be buried. The Varden had already started burning the corpses in some parts of the plains, but most of them were still there, their hollow gazes boring into anyone who looked at them. Blood stained the land crimson.

The rider walked among the rotting remains, trying to quell his revulsion. The half dried blood stuck to his boots, and he tried to pay it no heed; but it was difficult. Hiding his distaste, he noticed that many carrion birds had already gathered on the plains, tearing away at Varden and Empire soldier alike. Eragon closed his eyes and grimaced. It was because of this that he had despaired.

For five days, he had shut himself off from all who he knew, even his dragon, Saphira. He preferred to be alone, to think about what had happened to him, what was happening to him, and what would happen to him. His cousin Roran dared not approach him now, even though his Katrina was at stake. No one dared talk to him now. Even Saphira.

"Eragon!" called a voice behind him.

He slowly turned around, already knowing who the person was without looking. "Arya svit-kona." He replied with a bow, and then waited silently for the elf to speak.

"What has come over you, Shur'tugal? All are worried about you. And yet you answer no one. Tell me what troubles you."

Eragon paced in a small circle before answering. "This…and that…" he said quietly, gesturing to all things around them.

"Answer me, Eragon." Said Arya, just as quietly.

There they stood silently, without moving. After a long while, Eragon shifted slightly and said, " Arya, please tell Roran that we will set out for Helgrind tomorrow morning." And with that, he sped off into the darkness.

What is happening to me?

Why am I like this?

Is it that I fear the future?

Or is it that I fear the past?

On he ran, until he reached a small forest on the fringes of the plains. This was where he hid from the world, left alone to think his dark thoughts. But not now. The elf was right. He needed to pull himself together. With a sigh, he sat down on a rock in a small clearing, and began to meditate.

The presence of the lives around him calmed Eragon immediately. Minds flickered and shone, connecting with him. Here, these creatures lived a life still untouched by battle or war, a life that was just too peaceful for the rider to imagine now. He sighed in contentment. This was the serenity that he had searched for, and he once again felt as if he was part of the world.

But there was a slight discord.

Puzzled, Eragon found that around him, in several parts of the woods, creatures were fleeing from several… things. He could not sense what they were running away from, but he knew that the unknown objects were coming towards… him.

With a sinking feeling, he ducked his head just in time to feel a poisoned dart fly past the space his head had been a second before.