Murtagh (The Inheritance Cycle #5)

by Christopher Paolini

If you didn’t take care of the little tasks, how could you be trusted to take care of the important responsibilities in life?

He rubbed his brow. It felt as if he’d been branded. The memory of Silna’s eyes lingered in his mind, and he felt as if she had seen to his very center, every flaw laid bare before her guileless gaze. It was an intimacy he was only used to sharing with Thorn, and it left him with an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability. And yet, to be seen as he was, and accepted…was there any greater grace?

“I still wish we could fly back through the years and help Vrael.” Then everyone everywhere would do the same with their own regrets, and the world would be unmade.

There was a monotony to pain. Every hurt brought fresh discomfort—immediate and insistent and demanding of Murtagh’s attention—and yet the pain possessed a deadly sameness that blurred into a single smear of agony. The repetitiveness was nearly as unbearable as the injuries themselves. The process was all so miserably predictable.

And as much as he yearned to belong, the question of to whom mattered.