Eragon casually strolled into Brom’s shop. “I’ll take your best,” he said haughtily.
“Of course, my lord,” Brom replied, hurridly handing him the meat.
“What? I thought you didn’t like me?”
“Yeah, that’s what Paolini said but 20th Century Fox didn’t want to ruin their image so here you go….its free. And by the way, make sure you kill the White Witch.”
“Right,” the boy relpied, shoving the meat in his pack and scurrying out the door. In his quickened pace to see his dragon, he ran into a young boy wearing a thick California jacket. There was a frightened look on his face.
“Sorry lad,” Eragon said, eyeing his peculiar clothing.
“The Signs….” the boy whispered, his eyes flashing red.
“Excuse me? You don’t sound like your from here. Can I help you?”
“The Signs…” was all he replied. “The Rider….”
“Rider….You’re from Middle-Earth!”
“The Signs!” he screamed before being eaten by massive crows.
Schocked, Eragon left and sent his dragon a thought.
“I think we’re in the wrong movie…”