In Eragon as a Mage

The morning sun painted the sky with hues of gold and orange as Carvahall came alive with the hum of activity. Merchants and traders were already setting up their stalls, the smell of freshly baked bread and cured meats wafting through the crisp air. Leo and his father stood by their wagon, neatly arranging the remaining pelts and furs they had to sell. Though most of their stock had been traded, a few prized hides remained, which Leo's father was keen to exchange for goods or coin before they began their journey home.

"This should fetch a good price," his father said, holding up a sleek, jet-black fox pelt. "The tanners will want this one for sure. Keep an eye out for them while I see about finding some supplies for the wagon."

Leo nodded, watching his father disappear into the bustling crowd. Left to mind the stall, Leo leaned back against the wagon and scanned the throng of villagers and merchants. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but his thoughts were elsewhere, lingering on the strange whispers of his necklace and the fiery-haired girl from the tavern.

His musings were interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name. Turning, Leo spotted Eragon weaving through the crowd with a wide grin on his face. Beside him walked a stout boy with sandy-blond hair and an easygoing smile, and trailing behind them was a tall, weathered man with a kind but serious expression.

"Leo!" Eragon called, waving as he approached. "I want you to meet my family."

Leo straightened, his interest piqued. Eragon stopped a few paces away and gestured toward the blond boy.

"This is my cousin, Roran," Eragon said.

Roran extended a hand, his grip firm when Leo took it. "Good to meet you. Eragon's been talking about you all morning. Something about showing him how to actually hit a rabbit."

Leo chuckled. "It wasn't that hard. He just needed a bit of direction."

"And this is my uncle Garrow," Eragon continued, gesturing to the older man.

Garrow nodded politely, his gray eyes sharp and assessing as they met Leo's. "You're one of the Spine folk, aren't you?" he asked.

Leo inclined his head. "I am. My father and I trap and hunt in the Spine. We come to Carvahall once a year to trade."

"I've heard about you," Garrow said, his tone neutral but not unkind. "You're braver than most to live up there. The Spine's no place for the faint of heart."

"It's dangerous," Leo admitted, "but it's home. You learn to respect the wilds, and they'll leave you be—for the most part."

Roran's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Is it true there are monsters up there? Father used to tell us stories about creatures with sharp teeth and claws, but Eragon says you've actually seen them."

Leo hesitated, his hand drifting to the necklace hidden beneath his shirt. The memory of the Roc's red eyes and razor-sharp talons flashed in his mind. "There are creatures," he said carefully. "Some are worse than the stories say. But most of the time, they stay away from people."

Eragon and Roran exchanged a glance, clearly fascinated, but Garrow's expression darkened slightly.

"You'd do well to keep those tales to yourself," Garrow said quietly. "People around here don't take kindly to talk of the Spine's dangers. They prefer their peace, however fragile it might be."

Leo nodded, understanding the wisdom in Garrow's words. "I'll keep that in mind."

Before the conversation could continue, a merchant approached the stall, eyeing the pelts with keen interest. Leo excused himself and turned his attention to the trade, negotiating a fair price for a bundle of fox and deer hides. When the transaction was complete, he turned back to find Eragon, Roran, and Garrow still lingering nearby.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Roran asked suddenly. "Living up there, away from everyone?"

Leo shrugged. "Sometimes. But it's quiet, and there's freedom in the solitude. It's not for everyone, but it suits me and my father."

Roran nodded thoughtfully, while Eragon seemed lost in his own thoughts. Garrow placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder and gave Leo a small nod.

"We should be going," Garrow said. "It was good to meet you, Leo. Take care of yourself—and your father."

"You too," Leo replied.

As they walked away, Leo watched them disappear into the crowd, a strange feeling settling in his chest. There was something about Garrow's words and the way he carried himself that struck Leo as both comforting and cautionary, like a man who had seen too much and still carried the weight of it.

Shaking off the thought, Leo turned his attention back to the stall. His father returned not long after, carrying a small bundle of supplies.

"Good trade?" his father asked, eyeing the coin pouch on the table.

"Decent enough," Leo replied.

"Good. Let's finish up here, then. We've got a long journey ahead of us."

As the day wore on, the crowd began to thin, and Leo found himself glancing back toward the path Eragon and his family had taken. He couldn't explain why, but he felt as though their meeting had been more than a simple chance encounter. The Spine was full of secrets, and Leo couldn't shake the feeling that fate was quietly weaving its threads, drawing them all together in ways he couldn't yet understand.

The morning drew to a close as a crisp and clear, the sunlight spilling over the rooftops of Carvahall and illuminating the busy marketplace. Leo and his father stood behind their stall, arranging the last of their pelts and furs for display. The crowd was lighter than it had been the previous days, but there were still a few merchants and townsfolk wandering the market, looking to make their final purchases before the trading season ended.

"Not much left now," Leo's father remarked, running a hand over a particularly fine wolf pelt. "We'll make a good bit off these last few. Once we're done here, we'll need to stock up for the journey home."

Leo nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd for potential buyers. His father had taught him the art of negotiation over the years, and while Leo didn't particularly enjoy haggling, he had a knack for it when the need arose.

The morning passed quickly as buyers came and went, examining the pelts and furs on display. A tanner stopped by, admiring the wolf pelt that Leo's father had singled out earlier.

"This is good work," the tanner said, running his calloused fingers over the fur. "Soft, thick—perfect for lining a cloak or coat. I'll give you fifteen coppers for it."

Leo's father raised an eyebrow. "Fifteen? This pelt's worth at least twenty-five, and you know it. Look at the quality—no holes, no imperfections."

The tanner frowned, but Leo stepped in, his tone measured and calm. "Twenty-five is fair, considering the work that went into it. This isn't just any pelt; it's been treated and cleaned perfectly. You won't find another like it."

After a moment of deliberation, the tanner sighed and nodded. "Fine. Twenty-five it is."

Leo accepted the coins with a small smile, handing the pelt over. His father clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done," he said. "You're getting better at this."

By midday, the stall was empty, the last of the furs and pelts sold off to traders, tanners, and townsfolk. With their coin pouch considerably heavier, Leo and his father began to make their way through the market, stopping at various stalls to gather supplies for their journey home.

They started at the grain merchant's stand, where they purchased sacks of oats and barley for their horses. The merchant, an older man with a thick beard and a booming laugh, gave them a fair price, and Leo helped load the sacks onto their wagon.

Next, they visited the apothecary's stall, where Leo's father picked out small jars of salves and remedies for cuts, bruises, and other ailments. "Always good to be prepared," his father said, tucking the jars into a leather satchel.

At the blacksmith's stall, Leo admired the polished blades and tools on display while his father purchased new horseshoes and nails. Horst, the blacksmith, gave Leo a friendly nod as he handed over the supplies.

"You've got a good eye," Horst said, noticing Leo's interest in a set of finely crafted knives. "Planning to pick one up?"

Leo shook his head. "Not today. Maybe next time."

As the afternoon wore on, Leo and his father made their way to a stall selling dried fruits and nuts. They purchased enough provisions to last them the journey home, along with a few small luxuries—a jar of honey and a bundle of dried herbs for seasoning their meals.

Their final stop was at a stall selling bolts of cloth and sturdy leather. Leo's father selected a length of thick wool for making new cloaks and a roll of leather for repairing their gear.

By the time they returned to their wagon, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows across the marketplace. The wagon was now laden with supplies, and Leo felt a sense of satisfaction as he surveyed their purchases.

"Well, that's everything," his father said, wiping his brow. "Let's get this loaded up and ready to go. We'll head out first thing in the morning."

Leo nodded, helping his father secure the supplies in the wagon. As they worked, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the thought of returning to the Spine. Carvahall was lively and bustling, but the wilderness was where he felt most at home.

As the last of the supplies were tied down, Leo's father patted him on the back. "Good work today," he said. "We've done well this trip."

Leo smiled, the weight of the coin pouch at his belt a reminder of their success. "We have," he agreed.

As they headed back toward Morne's tavern for the night, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that this trip to Carvahall had been different somehow. The strange necklace, the whispers, and the people he had met all lingered in his mind, their significance just out of reach.

Tomorrow, they would begin their journey home, but Leo knew that the Spine, with all its secrets and dangers, was waiting for him. And somehow, he felt that this time, his return would mark the beginning of something far greater than he could yet comprehend.