" he asked. He agreed with her, then, feeling impish, asked, She remained silently aloof, but he caught a brief flash of sensations: a medley of images--trees, grass, sunshine, the mountains of the Spine--as well as the cloying scent of red orchids and a sudden painful, pinching sensation, as if a door had slammed shut on her tail. Eragon chuckled quietly to himself, then concentrated on composing the spells he thought he would need to heal the girl. It took quite a while, almost a half hour. He and Saphira spent most of that time going over the arcane sentences again and again, examining and debating every word and phrase--and even his pronunciation--in an attempt to ensure that the spells would do what he intended and nothing more. In the midst of their silent conversation, Gertrude shifted in her seat and said, "She looks the same as ever. The work goes badly, doesn't it? There is no need to hide the truth from me, Eragon; I have dealt with far worse in my day." Eragon raised his eyebrows and, in a mild voice, said, "The work has not yet begun." And Gertrude sank back, subdued."