Too Late. It's Hatched.

She Lowered Her Head Until It Was At His Level. He Stroked The Line Of Her Jaw, And Then Pressed His Forehead Against Her Hard Snout And Held Her As Tightly As He Could, Her Scales Sharp Against His Fingers. Hot Tears Began To Slide Down His Cheeks. 'why Do You Cry?' She Asked. 'because... I'm Lucky Enough To Be Bonded With You.' 'little One.

Root Of A Tree, Fruit Of A Vine, Let Me Pass By This Blood Of Mine.

Eragon Cried Out, And In His Desperation He Reached For Saphira And The Eldunarí... And Without Meaning To, He Drew From Their Stories Of Energy. And With That Energy He Cast A Spell. It Was A Spell Without Words... His Was A Spell Of Instinct And Emotion; Language Could Not Contain It.

I Have A New Name For Pain. What's That? The Obliterator. Because When You're In Pain, Nothing Else Can Exist. Not Thought. Not Emotion. Only The Drive To Escape The Pain. When It's Strong Enough, The Obliterator Strips Us Of Everything That Makes Us Who We Are, Until We're Reduced To Creatures Less Than Animals, Creatures With A Single Desire And Goal: Escape. A Good Name, Then.

See This Pebble?" "yes." "take It." Eragon Did And Stared At The Unremarkable Lump. It Was Dull Black, Smooth, And As Large As The End Of His Thumb. There Were Countless Stones Like It On The Trail. "this Is Your Training." Eragon Looked Back At Him, Confused. "i Don't Understand." "of Course You Don't," Said Brom Impatiently. "that's Why I'm Teaching You And Not The Other Way Around. Now Stop Talking Or We'll Never Get Anywhere.