In Eragon as a Mage

The journey back toward their respective homes began in companionable silence, the sound of their boots crunching over fallen leaves the only noise breaking the stillness of the Spine. The air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of pine and earth, but an underlying tension lingered between Leo and Eragon. Both were lost in their own thoughts—Eragon occasionally brushing his hand over the bulge in his satchel where the blue-and-white gemstone rested, and Leo scanning the forest with sharp eyes, ever watchful.

As they neared the fork in the trail that would separate them, Eragon finally broke the silence.

"Thank you," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "For helping me back there. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't shown up."

Leo gave a small nod, his expression thoughtful. "You'll get better at handling yourself. You're smart enough to learn, and strong enough to survive. Just... don't come this far into the Spine alone again. It's not forgiving."

Eragon's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You sound like Garrow. He says the same thing."

"Maybe he's right," Leo replied. He adjusted the pack slung over his shoulder, heavy with wolf pelts and meat. "The Spine doesn't give second chances."

They reached the fork in the trail, and Eragon stopped, turning to face Leo. For a moment, he hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "You're different, you know," he said finally. "Not like the others in Carvahall. You understand things... about this place, about the forest. It's like you belong here."

Leo tilted his head, studying the younger boy. "The Spine's been my home my whole life. I've learned to live with it, not against it. That's the only way to survive out here."

Eragon nodded, clutching the strap of his satchel. "Still, I'm glad I ran into you. Maybe I'll see you again someday."

"Maybe," Leo said with a faint smirk. "Just don't get yourself killed before then."

Eragon laughed softly, the sound lightening the mood. "I'll try." He hesitated for a moment longer, then turned and began walking down the path toward Carvahall, his figure gradually disappearing into the dense trees.

Leo watched him go, a strange sense of finality settling over him. He adjusted his pack and turned toward the opposite trail, heading back toward his cabin deep in the Spine.

The walk home was uneventful at first, the forest quiet save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the trees in hues of gold and amber, a familiar presence made the hair on the back of Leo's neck stand on end.

He stopped in his tracks, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding woods. "Luna," he said aloud, his voice steady despite the eerie stillness.

From behind a nearby tree, she stepped into view, her movements as fluid and silent as a shadow. Luna Heartreach stood barefoot on the forest floor, her ethereal presence making the world around her seem muted and distant. Her pale, blind eyes didn't see Leo in the conventional sense, yet they seemed to pierce through him as if gazing directly into his soul.

"You return, but the weight on your shoulders is heavier than when you left," she said, her voice soft and melodic, carrying a hint of sadness. She tilted her head, her golden hair catching the fading light like a halo. "Did you find what you sought?"

Leo frowned, unsure how to respond. "I wasn't looking for anything," he said cautiously.

"Yet something found you," she replied cryptically, her lips curving into a faint smile. "The stone of sky and frost, cradled in hands too young to understand its burden. You walk with one who carries a spark of destiny, and the forest whispers his name."

"You mean Eragon," Leo said, his brow furrowing. "What do you know about him?"

Luna's smile widened, but she didn't answer directly. Instead, she stepped closer, her bare feet making no sound on the forest floor. "Be wary, child of the Spine. The paths before you twist and turn, and the choices you make will echo far beyond these woods."

Leo's frown deepened. "You always speak in riddles," he muttered. "If you have something to say, just say it."

Luna laughed softly, a sound like wind rustling through leaves. "Would you listen if I did? No, the answers must be found, not given. But take heart, Leo of the forest. You are not alone, even when the shadows stretch long and the nights grow cold."

Before he could respond, she stepped back, her form blending seamlessly with the trees until she was gone, as if she had never been there.

Leo stood still for a moment, the weight of her words settling over him. He didn't know what to make of her cryptic warnings, but one thing was clear—whatever path lay ahead, it would be far from ordinary.

With a sigh, he adjusted his pack and continued toward home, the fading light casting long shadows across the trail. Luna's words echoed in his mind, a riddle he couldn't yet solve.

The air had taken on a sharper edge over the past few days, biting at Leo's face as he stepped outside. The first hint of frost clung to the blades of grass and coated the wooden railing of the porch in delicate crystals. The Spine was preparing itself for the long winter ahead, and so was Leo.

He stood on the porch of the cabin, looking out over the forest. The trees were nearly bare now, their branches reaching toward the gray sky like skeletal fingers. In the distance, faint wisps of snow could be seen clinging to the mountaintops—a warning that the first true snowfall was not far off.

Leo pulled his fur-lined cloak tighter around his shoulders and descended the steps, his boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. He had much to do before the snow made the trails impassable.

The morning was spent chopping wood. The rhythmic sound of his axe splitting logs echoed through the clearing as he worked, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill in the air. He stacked the split logs neatly against the side of the cabin, ensuring there would be enough to last through the cold months. The pile grew steadily, a tangible assurance that he wouldn't be caught unprepared.

After finishing with the wood, he moved to the storage shed behind the cabin. Inside, he checked the racks where meat was curing. Strips of venison, rabbit, and wolf hung in neat rows, their smoky scent filling the air. The hunt had been fruitful this year, and he was confident the supplies would last.

Next, he examined the clay jars of dried herbs and roots his father had painstakingly collected over the years. He ran his fingers over the labels, checking their contents. Mint for stomach aches, willow bark for pain, and yarrow for wounds. He whispered a quiet thanks to his father's memory for teaching him how to use them.

By midday, Leo ventured deeper into the forest to check the traps he'd set earlier in the season. The first snows would drive more game into the lower elevations, but for now, the traps yielded little—a pair of rabbits and a curious squirrel. He reset the snares with precision, his mind drifting to thoughts of what the winter would bring.

On the way back to the cabin, he stopped at the creek. The water was ice-cold, its surface rippling as it flowed over rocks and fallen branches. He filled a pair of clay jars he'd brought with him, knowing the creek would freeze over soon.

Back at the cabin, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Leo began to insulate the windows. He stretched strips of hide over the frames, nailing them into place to block out the drafts. It was tedious work, but he'd learned from his father that even small efforts could make a difference in surviving the harsh winters.

Once the windows were sealed, he turned his attention to the fireplace. He swept the ashes from the hearth and built a fresh fire, feeding it with smaller branches until the flames roared to life. The warmth filled the cabin, chasing away the creeping chill that had begun to settle in.

As night fell, Leo sat at the small wooden table with a bowl of venison stew. The meal was simple but hearty, the warmth spreading through him as he ate. He glanced toward the bookshelf, where the compendium sat in its usual place, silent for now.

He wondered briefly about Luna's cryptic words and Eragon's strange stone, but the weight of the day's work pressed down on him, leaving little room for contemplation. The winter would bring time for such thoughts—long nights by the fire with nothing but the forest's whispers and the compendium's occasional murmurs to keep him company.

For now, he allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. The preparations were nearly complete. The cabin was stocked, the traps were set, and the fire burned bright. Whatever the winter brought, Leo felt ready to face it.