In Eragon as a Mage

The morning light filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting long shadows on the forest floor. Leo stood in front of the cabin, his hands moving with practiced ease as he gathered the tools he would need for the hunt. His father had taught him the importance of preparation, of making sure every tool was sharp, every piece of equipment in its place. Today, there would be no exceptions.

He crouched beside the large wooden chest by the cabin's door, lifting the lid with a creak. Inside, a collection of hunting tools lay in neat rows. Leo's fingers brushed over the well-worn leather of the quiver, checking its contents. The arrows inside were each meticulously crafted, the feathers fletched perfectly to ensure smooth flight. He gave them a quick inspection before slipping the quiver over his shoulder and securing it firmly against his back.

Next, Leo reached for the bow—a simple, sturdy weapon made from the ash wood his father had carved years ago. It was slightly curved, the string taut and ready. The weight of it was familiar in his hands, like an extension of his own body. His father had passed down the secrets of archery to him, teaching him to draw the bow with steady hands, to focus, and to release with precision. Every time he pulled the string, it felt like a natural part of him, like he was becoming one with the wilderness itself.

The bow was secured across his back, and then Leo moved to the knives. A long, sharp blade for skinning and field dressing lay beside a smaller one, used for cleaning and gutting the game. He slipped both into his belt, the weight of them comforting. A hunter without his knives was like a fisherman without a rod, a trapper without his snares. It was a lifeline.

He stood up and surveyed the area around him. The sun was rising higher, the forest slowly coming alive with the sounds of morning. The birds had begun their chorus again, the rustle of leaves signaling the movement of smaller creatures in the underbrush. It was a good sign. The forest was waking, and so was the hunt.

His father's quiet presence lingered behind him, a steady force that reminded Leo of his responsibilities. Leo turned to find the older man watching him from the doorway of the cabin, arms crossed over his chest. The man's face was weathered by years of life in the mountains, his hands calloused from hard work. He didn't speak, but his gaze held a quiet approval.

"You're prepared," his father said, his voice low and even. "Just remember, the mountains don't care how well you prepare. They'll test you no matter what."

Leo nodded. He'd heard those words before, and they had never lost their weight. The Spine was unforgiving, and no amount of skill or preparation could change that. The mountains could be merciless, and it was only through respect and caution that a hunter survived.

"I know," Leo said, his voice steady. He glanced back at his father, then turned toward the dense forest. "I'll be back before sundown."

Without waiting for a response, Leo began to make his way down the path leading into the woods, his thoughts already focused on the hunt ahead. The forest was waiting for him, and there was work to be done.

As he moved deeper into the trees, the sounds of the world around him became more pronounced. The chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot all painted a vivid picture of the wilderness. Leo's eyes scanned the area, his mind alert to every detail. He was used to this; it was second nature to him now. The forest had its rhythms, and he knew how to follow them.

His first task was to find signs of game. Leo paused at a small clearing, kneeling down to inspect the ground. There were tracks—fresh ones, the prints of a deer that had passed through earlier in the morning. He studied the tracks closely, noting the depth of the print, the angle of the stride. It was a doe, likely looking for food after a long night of resting.

Leo followed the trail, moving silently between the trees, keeping to the shadows as he tracked the animal. He had learned the art of patience from his father; hunting wasn't about speed, but about understanding the forest and its creatures. Every step was measured, every movement deliberate.

As he walked, he reached into his pack and pulled out a small pouch of dried herbs. He sprinkled them on the ground, allowing the scent to blend with the natural smells of the forest. The herbs would act as a mask, dulling his scent and allowing him to approach his prey more easily. His father had taught him that little tricks like this were often the difference between success and failure.

Hours passed as Leo tracked the doe deeper into the forest. The sun was high now, casting dappled light through the canopy above. Leo's steps were slow, his senses alert to every sound and movement around him. The hunt required focus and patience, and Leo had learned over the years that sometimes, the best way to catch a deer was to simply wait.

At last, he found her—a young doe grazing in a small clearing, her head low as she fed on the fresh shoots of grass. Leo knelt behind a cluster of bushes, taking a moment to steady his breath. His fingers wrapped around the bowstring, pulling it back with practiced ease. The quiver at his waist was ready, the arrow nocked, aimed, and steady.

He took a deep breath, his heart beating in rhythm with the forest. The world around him seemed to fall away as he focused solely on the doe, on the task at hand. He had done this countless times before, but there was always that moment of perfect stillness, that split-second of connection between the hunter and the hunted.

The arrow flew true, the sound of its release swallowed by the forest. The doe barely had time to react before the arrow struck, and she fell silently to the ground.

Leo stood slowly, the weight of the hunt settling over him. He had succeeded—once again. But even in victory, he felt the pull of something deeper, something more. The Compendium, hidden safely in his pack, called to him. Its whispers were ever-present, urging him to delve further into its mysteries.

As he approached the fallen doe, Leo paused for a moment. He didn't speak, didn't utter a word of thanks or celebration. In the mountains, such things were unnecessary. The hunt was part of life, and he simply did what was required.

Leo worked with quiet precision, his knife a steady extension of his hand as he cleaned the doe. The air around him was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. The forest seemed to hold its breath, allowing him to complete his task undisturbed. It was a process he had done countless times before, each movement practiced and honed to perfection.

First, he made a careful incision along the belly, his knife sharp and steady as it split the hide. The rich scent of the doe's blood filled the air, a reminder of the cycle of life and death in the forest. Leo worked quickly, his hands deftly removing the internal organs, placing them in a separate pile to use later for traps or bait. He didn't waste anything.

The fur came next. Leo skillfully worked his knife along the edges of the hide, loosening it from the body in long strips. He took care not to damage the fur, knowing that it would serve as valuable material when it came time to tan the hide back at the cabin. His father had always emphasized the importance of making use of everything—the meat, the fur, the bones. There was no room for waste in the mountains.

As he worked, his mind wandered. The Compendium's whispers still echoed in his thoughts, urging him to explore its mysteries further, to push the boundaries of magic. But Leo kept those thoughts at bay, knowing that there was a time and place for such things. Magic, for now, had to remain a secret, buried deep within him.

When he had finished cleaning the doe, he began the process of breaking down the meat into manageable pieces. He was nearly done when something caught his attention—a slight disturbance in the dirt around the edge of the clearing. It was faint at first, easily overlooked, but Leo had learned long ago to trust his instincts. His eyes narrowed, and he stood, wiping his hands on the rough cloth he carried.

At first, he thought it was just a trick of the wind, perhaps the movement of a smaller animal. But as he looked more closely, his heart began to race. There, just beyond the edge of the clearing, were a series of footprints—large, deep imprints in the soft earth. They were unmistakable. The prints were not from a deer, nor from any other creature Leo had ever encountered in the forest.

These were the tracks of something much larger.

He knelt down, studying the footprints carefully. They were fresh, still soft from the morning's dew, and the shape of them was unlike anything Leo had seen before. The toes were elongated, the edges sharp, almost clawed. There was a heaviness to them that suggested whatever had made them was large and powerful. Not a bear, nor an elk. This was something different.

His heart quickened, and his fingers instinctively brushed the handle of his hunting knife. He knew the forest well, and he knew that there were dangers in the Spine that few people ever saw. Some animals were more than just predators—they were hunters in their own right, creatures that stalked the forest with a purpose.

The tracks led deeper into the Spine, away from the usual hunting grounds. Leo glanced back at the doe, a fleeting thought about leaving the carcass behind flashing through his mind. But the curiosity burning in him, the call of something unknown, overpowered any hesitation.

He picked up his bow and quiver, securing them to his back, and grabbed the pack with the rest of his tools. With one last glance at the doe, Leo followed the tracks, his steps careful and quiet. The path ahead seemed to grow darker as the trees thickened, the canopy overhead blocking out the sunlight. The forest was changing—becoming more ancient, more untamed.

The air grew colder, and the scent of damp earth mixed with something else—something unfamiliar, something that sent a shiver down Leo's spine. It was a smell that wasn't quite animal, but something older, something that stirred unease deep within him. His heart pounded in his chest, but he pushed forward, his eyes scanning the ground ahead.

The further he went, the more the forest seemed to change. The trees grew taller, their trunks wider and gnarled. The underbrush thickened, and the air became dense with the scent of moss and decay. It felt as though he were stepping into a place untouched by time, a place where the world itself had forgotten the passage of years.

The tracks led him deeper still, twisting and winding through the dense forest. Leo didn't look back. He trusted his instincts, and they told him to keep going. Whatever had left these tracks, whatever had walked this path, was something he needed to understand. Something unknown, yet strangely familiar.

After what felt like hours, the path came to an abrupt end at the base of a jagged cliff, its steep face rising into the sky like the walls of some ancient fortress. The tracks disappeared into the rocks, leading Leo to believe that whatever creature had made them had either scaled the cliff or disappeared into a hidden cave.

Leo knelt at the base of the cliff, his fingers brushing the stone, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement. The forest around him was silent, too silent. He felt the weight of it pressing in on him, a quiet danger lurking just beyond the edges of his perception.

His fingers brushed over something sharp—a jagged rock protruding from the base of the cliff, half-hidden by the undergrowth. He frowned, kneeling down to examine it. It didn't look like part of the natural landscape. There was a strange, almost deliberate pattern to the way the rock jutted from the earth. His instincts flared. There was something here, something more than just a cliff.

Suddenly, a noise echoed through the forest—a low, guttural growl that sent a chill down Leo's spine. His heart raced as the growl grew louder, closer. His hand shot to his bow, nocking an arrow as he turned to face the sound.

From the shadows of the forest, something moved. Something large. And it was coming straight for him.