It was late, as it often was after days of travelling to find the Varden. Murgath sat staring at the people whom he was leading to the Varden. His black hair hung over his eyes while the wind whipped angrily at the fire, which crackled back in response as if they were having an unknown argument about something.

Eragon sat close by, still wallowing in his guilt and grief of losing his loved ones and his most recent father figure, which had taught him everything he knew about dragons, Brom. Eragon stared at the scar left by his dragon. Sephira, who sat nearby, preening her wings. She was watching Murtagh. Not trusting him completely, unlike her rider.

It was a silent night other than the wind and the sun setting over the nearby mountains. They were close to the Varden. The smell of smoke wafted in the air, making them all feel uneasy. The smoke could be giving them away to Durza, Ra'Zac, and those orge like creatures. Murgath sat fiddling with his bow and feeling the flames of the fire lick at his boots, Eragon glancing at him every so often while Sephira just stared while cleaning herself. Meanwhile ,you were stalking through the woods and doing your best to keep your footsteps silent as you watched the smoke.