The Return and Departure

The village was quiet that evening, the kind of quiet that made every creak of wood and whisper of wind feel louder than it should. Leo sat on the steps of Gertrude's house, watching the sun dip below the mountains. Shadows stretched long across the snowy ground, and the Spine loomed dark and foreboding in the distance.

Eragon hadn't returned yet. It had been hours since he'd stormed off, disappearing into the woods with nothing but his grief. Leo couldn't help but worry. He knew the wilderness well, knew how unforgiving it could be—especially at night.

But Eragon was stubborn. He needed time, just as Gertrude had said.

Leo sighed and rubbed his hands together, trying to chase away the chill creeping into his fingers. He had been restless all day, unable to focus on anything for long. The heaviness of Garrow's death hung over the village, and the people seemed to move slower, speak softer, as though afraid to disturb the fragile silence.

Finally, as the last traces of daylight faded and the stars began to appear, Leo spotted a figure emerging from the edge of the woods. Eragon's silhouette was unmistakable, though his steps were slow and heavy, as if the weight of the world pressed down on him.

Leo stood, unsure whether to approach or give him space. But Eragon didn't look his way. He trudged past without a word, his head down, his shoulders hunched against the cold.

"Eragon," Leo called softly.

Eragon stopped for a moment, but he didn't turn around. "Not now," he said, his voice hoarse and barely audible. Then he kept walking, heading toward Horst's home.

Leo watched him go, his chest tightening. He wanted to say something, to offer comfort, but the words wouldn't come. What could he say that wouldn't feel hollow?

At Horst's house, the blacksmith met Eragon at the door. Horst was a mountain of a man, his presence steady and solid, like the forge he worked every day. He said nothing at first, simply stepping aside to let Eragon in.

"Come in, lad," Horst said gently. "You'll stay here tonight."

Eragon nodded, his eyes downcast. He mumbled something that might have been "Thank you," but his voice was so quiet it was hard to tell.

Albriech and Baldor, Horst's sons, appeared in the doorway to the main room, their faces etched with concern. They exchanged a glance but didn't say anything, retreating back inside to give Eragon space.

Leo watched from a distance, his breath clouding in the cold air. When Horst caught sight of him, the blacksmith gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment. It was enough to let Leo know that Eragon would be cared for tonight.

The night deepened, and Leo found himself wandering through the village again. The weight of everything—Garrow's death, Eragon's grief, the strangers—pressed heavily on his mind.

He paused near the edge of the village, looking out toward the Spine. The faint sound of wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it a sense of unease.

Leo clenched his fists, determination hardening his expression. Whatever was coming, he had to be ready. For now, though, he would wait. Eragon needed time, and when the moment came, Leo would be there.

With a final glance at Horst's home, where the faint glow of a fire flickered through the windows, Leo turned and headed back toward the quiet stillness of the tavern.

The village of Carvahall was unusually quiet in the early morning light. A pale mist clung to the ground, curling around the boots of Horst and Leo as they strode through the still streets. The blacksmith had an edge of worry etched into his features, his heavy steps crunching the frosted grass beneath him.

"I can't believe the boy's gone missing," Horst muttered, his voice gruff with irritation and concern. "He didn't even come to the forge yesterday."

Leo walked a step behind him, his own unease mirrored in his furrowed brow. "He seemed... distracted the last time I saw him," he admitted. "But I didn't think he'd just disappear."

"Distracted or not, you don't just vanish without a word," Horst grumbled. "Especially not with everything going on."

The two men reached Horst's home, its sturdy frame silent and unwelcoming in the faint morning light. Horst pushed the door open with a creak, his eyes scanning the dark interior.

"Eragon?" Horst called, his deep voice echoing through the empty house.

No response. The silence was deafening.

Leo stepped inside, his gaze flicking around the room. The hearth was cold, and the faint smell of ash lingered in the air. Something about the stillness felt wrong, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

"Check upstairs," Horst said, moving toward the kitchen.

Leo nodded, heading for the narrow staircase. The small upstairs bedrooms were empty, the beds undisturbed. He returned to the main room to find Horst standing by the table, his broad shoulders hunched as he stared at a single piece of parchment.

"What is it?" Leo asked, stepping closer.

Horst didn't answer right away. He picked up the note, his rough fingers creasing the edges as he read it aloud.

Roran,

I have to leave. I can't explain, but Brom and I have important things to do. Take care of the farm. I'll come back when I can.

Eragon.

Horst's jaw tightened, and he let out a frustrated sigh. "The boy's run off. Brom, too, by the sound of it."

Leo frowned, his mind racing. "Brom? What could he possibly have to do with this?"

Horst shook his head, placing the note back on the table with deliberate care. "I don't know, but it's bad timing. Roran's not even here to see this. He's going to be furious when he finds out."

Leo crossed his arms, staring at the note as though it might reveal more if he looked hard enough. "They didn't leave much behind. Do you think they're in trouble?"

"I don't like it, that's for sure," Horst muttered. He turned and leaned against the table, his expression grim. "Eragon's been through enough already. And now this..."

The two men stood in heavy silence, the weight of Eragon's departure settling over them like a storm cloud. Whatever had driven the boy to leave, it wasn't something they could fix by staying here.

Horst sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. "We'll deal with this when Roran gets back. For now, we wait."

Leo nodded, but the unease in his chest didn't fade. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—and that whatever Eragon and Brom had left to do, it was something far bigger than either of them could imagine.