6th post for Brisingr

"A piece of shale cracked under Saphira's weight as she settled into a low crouch and, in a single giddy bound, leaped up to the rim of the gulch, where she balanced for a moment before unfolding her massive wings. The thin membranes thrummed as Saphira raised them toward the sky. Vertical, they looked like two translucent blue sails.
'Not so tight,' grunted Eragon.
'Sorry,' said Roran. He loosened his embrace.
Further speech became impossible as Saphira jumped again. When she reached the pinnacle, she brought her wings down with a mighty whoosh, driving the three of them even higher. With each subsequent flap, they climbed closer to the flat, narrow clouds.
As Saphira angled toward Helgrind, Eragon glanced to his left and discovered that he could see a broad swath of Leona Lake some miles distant. A thick layer of mist, gray and ghostly in the predawn glow, emanated from the water, as if witchfire burned upon the surface of the liquid. Eragon tried, but even with his hawklike vision, he could not make out the far shore, nor the southern reaches of the Spine beyond, which he regretted. It had been too long since he had laid eyes upon the mountain range of his childhood.
To the north stood Dras-Leona, a huge, rambling mass that appeared as a blocky silhouette against the wall of mist that edged its western flank. The one building Eragon could identify was the cathedral where the Ra'zac had attacked him; its flanged spire loomed above the rest of the city, like a barbed spearhead.
And somewhere in the landscape that rushed past below, Eragon knew, were the remnants of the campsite where the Ra'zac had mortally wounded Brom. He allowed all of his anger and grief over the events of that day- as well as Garrow's murder and the destruction of their farm- to surge forth and give him the courage, nay, the desire, to face the Ra'zac in combat.
Eragon, said Saphira. Today we need not guard our minds and keep our thoughts secret from one another, do we?
Not unless another magician should appear.
A fan of golden light flared into existence as the top of the sun crested the horizon. In an instant, the full spectrum of colors enlivened the previously drab world: the mist glowed white, the water became a rich blue, the daubed-mud wall that encircled the center of Dras-Leona revealed its dingy yellow sides, the trees cloaked themselves in every shade of green, and the soil blushed red and orange. Helgrind, however, remained as it always was- black.
The mountain of stone rapidly grew larger as they approached. Even from the air, it was intimidating.
Diving toward the base of Helgrind, Saphira tilted so far to her left, Eragon and Roran would have fallen if they had not already strapped their legs to the saddle. Then she whipped around the apron of scree and over the altar where the priests of Helgrind observed their ceremonies. The lip of Eragon's helm caught the wind from her passage and produced a howl that almost deafened him.
'Well?' shouted Roran. He could not see in front of them.
'The slaves are gone!'
A great weight seemed to press Eragon into his seat as Saphira pulled out of her dive and spiraled up around Helgrind, searching for an entrance to the Ra'zac's hideout.
Not even a hole big enough for a woodrat, she declared. She slowed and hung in place before a ridge that connected the third lowest of the four peaks to the prominence above. The jagged buttress magnified the boom produced by each stroke of her wings until it was as loud as a thunderclap. Eragon's eyes watered as the air pulsed against his skin.
A web of white veins adorned the backside of the crags and pillars, where hoarfrost had collected in the cracks that furrowed the rock. Nothing else disturbed the gloom of Helgrind's inky, windswept ramparts. No trees grew among the slanting stones, nor shrubs, grass, or lichen, nor did eagles dare nest upon the tower's broken ledges. True to its name, Helgrind was a place of death, and stood cloaked in the razor-sharp, sawtooth folds of its scarps and clefts like a bony specter risen to haunt the earth (Paolini 37-39)."

If I had to decide where the spookiest/creepiest passage in Paolini's Brisingr is, I would probably say this is it. Either that or when Eragon faces off with the last of the Ra'zac by himself- you pick. I think this passage is definitely setting, at the same time Paolini is setting the mood for the scene to come. It's scary and terrifying what could happen to Eragon, Roran and Saphira but at the same time they have hope that they will succeed in rescuing Katrina from the depths of Helgrind. In this passage, Paolini is preparing the reader for the battle that's about to ensue between creatures of the day and creatures of the night- almost quite literally a battle between good and evil. The reader would hope that the hero/main character of the story would win the battle and survive, but then again who's to know until you've read the book. Personally, it's very real, very creepy the extent that Paolini takes to describe Helgrind and the surrounding area. I wonder why he uses so much description for this place? Why does he spend so much time describing Helgrind and the area around it? There must be some sort of intention... I also love this scene though, because unlike other sections of this book, Paolini describes more what Eragon sees as he's flying on Saphira and what that must feel like. Paolini's descriptions become very real and humanistic- "the soil blushed red and orange" or "the trees cloaked themselves in every shade of green". Why does Paolini make a connection with the earth being like a human (blushing, cloaking)? Is he trying to drive another point home to the reader?
-katthegreat08