Kippur Critiques

*whistles innocently*

Orik's Bow (a Meat Story)


Much to Eragon's surprise, Orik had given him meat. In fact he gave meat for the entire camp of dwarves. Everyone got it. Except Arya, because she wouldn't partake in meat. (Except rarely. Eragon hoped that he would be the one to give her that meat. To make her discover the wonders and joy of having meat often.) Orik had used his bow to get the meat. When Eragon had seen Orik's bow, jealously had risen up in him like a one eyed snake. Oh sure, it was thick and tough, but it was small. Though it did look strong, which made Eragon feel inadequate with his bow, which was slim and bendy.

Orik was very proud of his bow and told him all about it, especially the decorations on it, which were fascinating. He had never thought about decorating his bow before. Another reason why he felt lacking with his bow. Vaguely he thought about decorating his bow, wondering what it would feel like with decoration. Would it be better?

He wanted to try Orik's bow. He wanted to handle it. See what it felt like in his hands. Run his fingers across the decorations. Caress the horny length.

But he didn't know how to ask Orik. He was afraid to ask to handle the bow. That he wouldn't be able to handle it correctly.

Then, Orik let him handle it! Offered it to him!

He hefted it carefully. Running his fingers over the decorations, feeling its horniness. It felt amazing, like nothing he had held before.

He then shot off Orik's bow, watching as the arrow flew away. Amazing! He had never managed to shoot off so far. Orik's bow was truly an amazing weapon. He was sad when Orik put it back in it's jeweled case, watching enviously as it was put away.

The next day he watched the sunrise with Ayra and Saphira and something strange happened to him.

Arya had looked at him, with her perfect face and deep emerald orbs that seemed pierce into his soul, peeling him apart like an onion, her raven hair fluttering lightly in the breeze like a loose cloak, and it stirred something deep inside of him.

Something that he had never felt before... except when he was with Saphira. That same sort of connection. The same sort of desires. It frightened him. He never thought he could feel that way about another person... a woman at that.

He was unprepared for such stirrings with in him. Garrow, who had taught him how to use meat, who had taught him so much, never told him about this. Even the few times he had wrestled with Roran or Murtagh, didn't compare to this unknown strange feeling.

It was as if she had touched him somewhere deep inside. Somewhere where he had never been touched before. (Except by Saphira). She knew him. Knew him, his thoughts, his wants and desires. He felt ashamed at such a thought. The idea that this woman could know him better than Roran, better than Garrow, Brom or Murtagh. Better than Orik, better than anyone he had shared meat with.

She was so aloof, with her ideas that he shouldn't eat meat. He scoffed at her, mentally. She didn't know him at all.

No, not like Saphira did.

Or Garrow, Murtagh, Brom, Roran, Orik.

They had shared with him meat. They had been with him, let him touch their weapons. Brought him into themselves, their families.

She never allowed him close. Never allowed him to touch her fine weapons. And she had two very fine weapons. Weapons that he would have liked to have handled. Caressed. Seen what they could do.

No, he would go with her. He would meet this Cripple Who is Whole. He would see these bows made from trees that did not grow, see how they were used and if they could bring the same pleasure of a real bow.

But he would not give up his meat.

No matter what she thought.