Drunk On Love.
"Saphira," Eragon said, as he and the gigantic lumbering form of a dragon strolled through the main camp of the Varden. The sun, as a sun does, was burning brightly in the sky, billions of miles away, yet its extreme rays of harsh heat where making the day slow and dusty. A frail wind made the extreme conditions slightly more bearable, yet not enough for the lowly township to pick up a rake and do their allotted amount of handy work needed to keep the stronghold steady.
"What are you complaining for? I barely feel the heat." The boy had a slight skip in his step and a twinkle in his eye. His counterpart thought it oddly amusing.
"You don't feel the heat, little one? A gnat would think it hot!" she said, exasperatedly.
"Don't be silly." He scolded lightly. "Gnats don't feel heat."
"How did you establish that?" Saphira stepped over yet another lazing body that did not even have the emotional strength to scramble out of the way of the huge beast. "Have you ever had a conversation with a gnat?"
"No…" he said airily. "But I should one day. Do you know of any?"
Saphira rolled her eyes. "I have a close personal friend on my lower right back. We talk often. His name is Jacob, and his favourite colour is green." She nodded.
"Interesting…" The boy kept walking.
"I have a giant fluffy bunny on my head and he is doing a dance."
Eragon didn't notice the ridiculous statement. "That's nice…" he reached to the ground and picked a flower from amongst the brown dirt.
"Eragon watch out! Galbatorix is attacking the camp with zombie deer!" Saphira added a bit of enthusiasm to the statement.
"I should do something." He sniffed the flower and put it in his hair, still completely unawares of his surrounding. Saphira new what would gain his attention.
"Arya is changing under a nearby tree."
Eragon stopped abruptly. "huh… WHAT!? WHERE!?" Eragon looked around frantically, eyes dodging from place to place, and back again.
Saphira chuckled. "Snap out of it, Eragon. You're setting a bad example for the Varden!" she motioned to the few who had enough interest to lift their heads from makeshift pillows.
"Sorry…" he sighed. "I guess I'm just drunk on love." They resumed their slow walk.
Saphira, in all her wisdom and experience, couldn't help but teas her rider, yet again.
"Drunk on love?" she queried.
She gazed at him thoughtfully. "And this means…?"
"It's just an expression…" Eragon could see what this would lead to. He had been in this situation recently, he realised.
"Meaning that love is a kind of ale?"
The boy sighed, and rubbed his temples. "No, it simply means that I'm happy, because I'm in love."
Saphira displayed a look of puzzlement on her serpentine features. "So, the expression should be happy on love?"
"No… Drunk on love." He seemed set on it.
"But you're not intoxicated?"
Eragon tried to form a plan of explanation in the short time he had to convince the dragon that English expressions didn't always have a literal meaning.
"It's trying to tell us that the feeling you get when you're in love gives you the happy feeling you get when you're drunk!" he crossed his arms happily.
"But love isn't ale, or wine."
"I know, Saphira. It's better than any of them put together." He started to drift off again into his own little world.
They settled the argument there. The pair reached their small, yet luxurious tent and flopped to the dusty road with obvious exhaustion. They where both about to drift off to sleep, until:
"Eragon, I know Arya is bubbly, but calling her wine is a bit much!"