In Eragon as a Mage

The passing years had been kind to Leo. By the time he reached sixteen, the boy who had once been unsure of himself had grown into a skilled and confident young man. The Spine, wild and unrelenting, had become his home in every sense of the word. Its dangers and secrets, once daunting, now felt like familiar companions.

Over the years, the Roc's bow had become an extension of Leo himself. The weapon's power and precision allowed him to triple the amount of furs and pelts he could harvest, turning every hunting trip into a profitable endeavor. His father often remarked on the abundance they brought back from the forest, a quiet pride in his voice as they worked together to prepare the hides for trade.

Leo's skills had grown sharper with each passing season. The bow, despite its strength, required a level of finesse that he had honed over countless hunts. He had learned to account for its immense power, adjusting his aim and timing to ensure clean kills. Rabbits, foxes, and even larger prey like elk and boar fell swiftly under the bow's silent, deadly precision.

The Spine itself seemed to have taken a step back, its usual array of predators and dangers giving Leo a wide berth. He hadn't encountered another creature like the Roc since that fateful day, though he remained ever watchful. The whispers of the compendium had grown quieter over time, only occasionally murmuring cryptic phrases or offering vague insights.

On a crisp autumn morning, Leo stood at the edge of a clearing, surveying the golden hues of the forest. His quiver was full, and his pack was already heavy with the morning's haul—a fox, two rabbits, and a plump grouse. The bow rested lightly in his hand, its talons gleaming faintly in the dappled sunlight.

He knelt beside a fallen tree, adjusting the straps on his pack to ensure the furs wouldn't shift during the walk back. As he worked, his thoughts drifted to the years that had passed. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, his muscles hardened from the labor of hunting and trapping. His hair, once a tangle of blond locks, now fell in neat waves, often tied back to keep it out of his face.

His father, though still quiet and reserved, had grown to rely on Leo more with each passing year. They worked together seamlessly, their bond strengthened by the shared rhythms of their life in the Spine. The hunts, the tanning of hides, the long trips to Carvahall to trade—each task was a thread that wove their lives together.

As he stood to leave the clearing, Leo's eyes lingered on the distant peaks of the Spine. He felt a pull, a quiet yearning for something beyond the familiar forests and mountains. The compendium, tucked safely in his pack, seemed to hum faintly, as if echoing his thoughts.

The bow, too, felt alive in his hands, its power a constant reminder of the extraordinary events that had shaped his path. Though the Spine had been quiet, Leo couldn't shake the feeling that it was merely the calm before the storm.

As the sun climbed higher, Leo adjusted his pack and began the trek back to the cabin. The leaves crunched beneath his boots, the scent of pine and earth filling the air. The forest, as always, seemed to watch him, its ancient presence a silent companion.

When he reached the cabin, his father was outside, working on a new batch of arrow shafts. He glanced up as Leo approached, his sharp eyes taking in the full pack and the confident way Leo carried himself.

"Good haul," his father said simply, setting aside his work.

Leo nodded, unloading the pack and laying the furs out for inspection. "The bow makes all the difference," he said, glancing at the weapon with a mix of pride and reverence.

His father grunted in agreement, running a hand over one of the pelts. "We'll have plenty to trade when the next trip to Carvahall comes around."

Leo smiled faintly, but his mind was elsewhere. The pull he had felt earlier lingered, a quiet nagging at the edge of his thoughts. The Spine had been good to him, but it was clear that his journey wasn't over.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, Leo sat outside, the bow resting across his lap. The whispers of the compendium were silent, the forest still and peaceful.

The morning sun filtered through the thick canopy of the Spine, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the clearing where the cabin stood. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and the promise of the changing season. It was time for their yearly trip to Carvahall, a tradition that marked the end of the hunting season and the beginning of their preparations for the colder months ahead.

Leo stood outside the cabin, his sleeves rolled up as he hauled a bundle of furs onto his shoulder. His father was already at the wagon, inspecting its sturdy wooden frame and checking the iron-bound wheels for any signs of wear. The wagon had served them well over the years, a dependable companion on their treks to the village.

"We'll need to grease the axles before we leave," his father said, his voice calm and measured as he ran a hand along the edge of the cart. "Can't have the wheels seizing up halfway there."

Leo nodded, setting the bundle of furs down beside the wagon. "I'll take care of it," he replied, grabbing a pot of grease and a rag from the tool chest by the cabin.

As Leo worked, his father began organizing the supplies that would accompany them on the journey. Several stacks of neatly folded furs and pelts were already arranged near the wagon, their quality a testament to Leo's skill as a hunter. Fox, rabbit, deer, and even a few wolf hides gleamed in the morning light, their rich colors and textures sure to fetch a good price in Carvahall.

"We'll bring some of the cured meats, too," his father said, glancing toward the smokehouse. "The merchants in Carvahall always pay well for extra provisions."

"I'll grab them," Leo offered, wiping his hands clean before heading to the smokehouse. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of smoked venison and boar. He selected several bundles of meat, wrapping them tightly in cloth before carrying them back to the wagon.

As they loaded the cart, the quiet rhythm of their work filled the clearing. Leo handed up the bundles of furs and meat while his father secured them with ropes, ensuring they wouldn't shift during the journey.

"This should be enough to trade for what we need," his father said, stepping back to survey the loaded wagon. "Arrowheads, tools, salt… maybe even a little extra this year."

Leo glanced at the pile of goods with a sense of satisfaction. The hunts had been good to them, and the Roc's bow had played no small part in their success. Though he rarely spoke of the creature, the weapon it had given him was a constant reminder of the dangers that lurked in the Spine—and the strength he had gained in overcoming them.

As they worked, Leo couldn't help but notice the faint lines of wear on his father's face, the silver creeping into his dark hair. The years had been harder on him than they had on Leo, but he carried himself with the same quiet determination that had always defined him.

"Do you think we'll be able to trade for a new set of tools this year?" Leo asked as he handed up another bundle.

His father nodded. "If the furs fetch a good price, we'll get what we need. And maybe," he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "we'll have enough left over for something extra."

"Something extra?" Leo raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Maybe a proper pair of boots for you," his father said, gesturing to the worn leather ones Leo was wearing. "Those won't last another season."

Leo laughed, glancing down at the scuffed and patched boots. "I wouldn't mind that."

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, their preparations neared completion. The wagon was loaded, the supplies secured, and the tools inspected and packed.

"We'll leave at first light tomorrow," his father said, dusting his hands off as he stepped back from the wagon. "Get some rest tonight—we'll have a long day ahead of us."

Leo nodded, glancing toward the Spine as the wind rustled through the trees. Though the journey to Carvahall was familiar, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was on the horizon, a change waiting just beyond the edge of his awareness.

But for now, there was work to be done, and the promise of a successful trip to Carvahall to look forward to.