In Eragon as a Mage

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon, casting warm golden light over the market, Leo stood beside his father, helping to pack up their stall. The crowd had thinned considerably, and the once-bustling marketplace now felt quieter, though the occasional burst of laughter or haggling still echoed through the streets.

"Hand me that bundle of fox pelts," Arlen said, gesturing toward a neatly tied stack.

Leo nodded and hefted the bundle, placing it carefully into the wooden crate that sat on their cart. The wagon, now half-filled with empty crates and a few unsold furs, creaked slightly as Leo adjusted the load.

"Not a bad haul today," Arlen remarked, counting the coins he'd earned throughout the day. "If tomorrow's even half as good, we'll have plenty to see us through the season."

Leo smiled faintly, tying a loose strap on one of the crates. "We always seem to make do, no matter what."

"That's because we work hard," Arlen said, clapping Leo on the shoulder. "And because I've got a son who knows how to hunt better than most men twice his age."

Leo chuckled, but his mind wandered to the talons from the Roc hunt. He hadn't shared the full story with his father yet, only hinting at the danger he'd faced. Part of him didn't want to worry Arlen, especially when they were so far from home.

"Now," Arlen continued, brushing his hands together. "That's the last of it. Why don't you take some time for yourself? I'll head back to Morne's and make sure everything's in order."

"You sure?" Leo asked, wiping his hands on his tunic.

Arlen nodded. "Go. You've earned it."

Leo smiled and slung his satchel over his shoulder. "Thanks, Father. I'll be back before nightfall."

With that, he set off through the winding streets, the cool evening air brushing against his face. The marketplace, though quieter now, still had a charm to it—lamps being lit, merchants chatting as they packed their wares, and the faint aroma of roasted meats wafting from nearby stalls.

It didn't take long for Leo to spot Eragon. The boy was perched on a low stone wall near the edge of the square, his crude bow resting across his knees. Eragon looked up as Leo approached, a grin spreading across his face.

"There you are," Eragon said, hopping down from the wall. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"Had to help my father pack up the stall," Leo explained. "But I'm here now. Ready for a little lesson?"

Eragon's eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly. "Definitely!"

Leo glanced around, spotting an open patch of ground at the edge of the market square. "Come on. Let's see what you've got."

The two made their way over, Eragon holding his bow tightly as they walked. Once they reached the spot, Leo turned to face him, crossing his arms.

"All right," Leo said, gesturing to a nearby tree. "Take a shot at that. Let's see how good you are."

Eragon squinted, nocking an arrow and pulling the string back. The bow creaked slightly under the strain, and when he released, the arrow sailed… only to miss the tree entirely and land in the dirt several paces to the right.

Leo couldn't help but chuckle. "Not bad for a first try. But you're gripping the bow too tightly, and your aim's off. Here, let me show you."

He stepped behind Eragon, gently adjusting the boy's stance and grip on the bow. "Loosen your fingers here," Leo instructed, moving Eragon's hand. "And when you draw the string, focus on a single point on the target. Don't just aim for the tree—aim for a specific spot on it."

Eragon nodded, following Leo's guidance. He drew the string again, this time holding his breath as he aimed. When he released, the arrow struck the tree's bark, albeit off-center.

"Better," Leo said with an approving nod. "With some practice, you'll be hitting the mark every time."

Eragon beamed, clearly pleased with the improvement. "Thanks, Leo. I've never had anyone teach me like this before."

"Just keep at it," Leo said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And remember, it's not just about the bow—it's about patience and focus. Hunting's as much about the mind as it is about skill."

The two spent the next while practicing, the sun dipping lower with each passing moment. By the time they finished, Eragon's aim had noticeably improved, and his confidence had grown.

"You're not half-bad," Leo said with a smirk as they packed up.

"And you're not as grumpy as you look," Eragon shot back with a grin.

Leo laughed, shaking his head. "Come on, let's head back before we both get in trouble for staying out too late."

As they walked back toward the center of town, Leo felt a strange sense of camaraderie with Eragon. Despite their differences, there was something about the boy's determination that reminded Leo of himself.

Maybe, just maybe, this trip to Carvahall would be more interesting than he'd expected.

The streets of Carvahall were quiet now, with only the occasional flicker of light from the taverns and homes illuminating the darkened village. Leo made his way back to Morne's Tavern, the day's events still fresh in his mind. He felt the weight of the necklace around his neck, its cold surface pressing lightly against his chest, as if reminding him of its presence.

The warm glow of Morne's lanterns spilled out onto the cobbled path as he approached. He could hear the low hum of voices and laughter within, a stark contrast to the chill that hung in the air outside. Pushing the heavy wooden door open, Leo was greeted by the familiar scent of roasted meat and ale.

His father sat at a corner table, nursing a mug of mead and talking quietly with a few of the local merchants. Leo gave him a small nod before heading to the bar to grab something to eat. Morne himself was behind the counter, a burly man with a thick mustache and a booming laugh that could put anyone at ease.

"Back already, eh, Leo?" Morne said, wiping down the counter. "You're not causing any trouble, are you?"

"Not yet," Leo replied with a grin. "I'll take whatever stew's left."

As Morne filled a bowl with steaming stew, Leo noticed a girl sitting at one of the tables near the hearth. She had fiery red hair that caught the flickering light and a sharp gaze that seemed to take in everything around her. She was fiddling with a silver bracelet on her wrist, her expression somewhere between bored and annoyed.

"That's Katrina," Morne said, noticing Leo's glance as he set the bowl in front of him. "Slown's daughter. You know Slown, don't you? The butcher?"

Leo nodded, though he'd never spoken much to the man. Slown was infamous for his sour attitude, especially toward anything or anyone connected to the Spine. He'd made it clear more than once that he had no love for the hunters or trappers who ventured into the wilderness.

"Poor girl doesn't take after her father," Morne added in a quieter tone. "She's a sweet one, though you'd never guess it with how Slown keeps her on such a short leash."

Leo picked up his bowl and moved to sit at a table near Katrina, his curiosity piqued. As he set the bowl down, she looked up, her green eyes locking onto his.

"You're one of the Spine folk, aren't you?" she asked, her tone sharp but not unfriendly.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "I am. Why?"

Katrina shrugged, leaning back in her chair. "Just curious. My father can't stop ranting about you lot. Says you bring nothing but trouble."

Leo chuckled, taking a bite of stew. "Sounds about right. Does he always have such a sunny outlook?"

Katrina smiled faintly, the corners of her lips twitching upward. "Only when he's awake. He's probably complaining about something right now."

The two lapsed into silence for a moment, the crackling of the hearth filling the space between them. Then Katrina leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.

"What's it really like up there?" she asked. "The Spine, I mean. Father always says it's a cursed place, full of monsters and death. But it can't be that bad if you're here, alive and well."

Leo paused, considering his answer. "It's dangerous," he admitted. "But it's beautiful, too. There's a kind of… stillness up there that you can't find anywhere else. The air's fresher, the trees taller. It's wild, but it's home."

Katrina listened intently, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And the monsters? Are the stories true?"

"Some of them," Leo said, his hand unconsciously drifting to the necklace hidden beneath his shirt. "There are creatures up there that you wouldn't believe. But they don't come looking for trouble unless you give them a reason."

Katrina tilted her head, studying him. "You're different from the other hunters I've met. They don't usually talk about the Spine like it's something to admire."

Leo shrugged. "I guess I see things differently."

Before Katrina could respond, the door to the tavern slammed open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man stormed in. His face was ruddy from the cold, and his scowl was as fierce as a thunderstorm.

"Speak of the devil," Morne muttered under his breath.

It was Slown, and his eyes immediately landed on Katrina. "There you are," he barked, striding over to her. "I told you to stay away from here."

Katrina rolled her eyes but stood without argument. "I was just talking, Father."

"You don't need to be talking to his kind," Slown said, jerking his head toward Leo. "Come on. We're leaving."

Leo didn't respond, though his jaw tightened. He watched as Katrina followed her father out the door, her head held high despite the reprimand.

"Don't take it personally," Morne said as he passed by, refilling mugs. "Slown's been that way since his wife passed. Doesn't know how to handle much else besides his knives and his temper."

Leo nodded, though his thoughts lingered on Katrina. Something about her had struck a chord with him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that their paths would cross again.

As the tavern settled back into its usual rhythm, Leo finished his meal and made his way over to his father's table, ready to plan the next day's work. But even as he sat down, his mind kept wandering back to the fiery-haired girl with the sharp gaze and the weight of the Spine's reputation on her shoulders.