• Eragon

    The boy stood motionless, rebellion surged through his veins like a tidal wave. His blue eyes glanced to the side; he was expecting something, anything. Bang! The door behind him shut. The once calming blue of his eyes turned to cat-like slits. He swung his head around, successful maneuvering the “Pantene flick” with his rugged, blonde tendrils. His hands held firmly his sword Zarroc. If he wasn’t too careful he would chock the life out of it. It had only been the wind. The calming blue flushed into his eyes again, demolishing the frightened look that had once possessed his face.

    He wasn’t from this world just by the way he dressed. He wore, as you’d describe it, a leather suit. His pants were made of leather and so was the vest that enclosed his torso. Underneath the vest was a long sleeve top, it appeared to be made of a light, weaved cotton material. He meandered to the centre of the classroom. His mouth twitched as he attempted a smile at the unfamiliar faces gazing at him, a few even sat mouths open like caves gawking at this odd sight. Yet again, the door swung open but this time its hinges creaked. He stood there, the look washed over his face again. Familiar forehead creases of concern floated onto his defined face. Unlike before he spun slowly. His heart raced. Pools of sweat filled his hands.

    “And who may you be?” Ms Paabo’s voice broke the silence.