My first effort here, and my first fiction since school. That's a good while ago now. I wanted to write a Toothless-with-flaws. Candid reviews, please.

Impatience

I could hardly believe the changes since the despair of my first lonely days trapped in the cove, flightless and doomed to starvation and madness.

I looked forward to each sunrise now. We had started to hit our stride with the tethered flights, Hiccup finally beginning to see what he needed to do to control my tail fin properly. He was improving steadily, though I knew it would be some time before he could sense it as instinctively as a dragon would. For my own part, my injuries were healing. With each session I could feel the muscle tone returning to my wings; they ached, but in a good way. I could spread my wings to their full span easily now.

Training. Repetition, repetition. A tweak of the fin here to induce a stall, finer control to bank or to help me climb. Unfortunately, the only way for Hiccup to pick it up was by trial and error. It all seemed so basic and slow, but I fought back my impatience, trying to focus instead on Hiccup's learning. Little by little, our crashes became rarer; occasionally Hiccup would even return to his father's house unbruised. In moments of distraction I would dream of our first free flight. The expectation of getting back into the air filled me with joy and trepidation in equal measure, but I knew that when the moment came I would not hesitate. This Night Fury had been grounded for too long.

We were in the cove now, just back from another trek to the village for tools and yet more leather - our intense training schedule was consuming materials at an alarming rate. As before we left it until well after dark, and together we slipped through the shadows undetected. Bags full, we retreated to our makeshift home, tired but contented. I quickly got the fire going with the smallest pulse of plasma, and we settled down to a late meal. Hiccup always brought me the very best fresh cod - I tried to show my appreciation by nuzzling him, but he just laughed good-humouredly and made as if to push my face away. Then, with a contented sigh, he leaned back against my shoulder and proceeded to ruin his own lovely fish, as he always did, by subjecting it to the flames in the process he calls 'cooking'. Only after removing most of the goodness did he begin to feed. No wonder he's so skinny.

Hiccup pulled out his notebook and, by the firelight, started to draw the latest modifications that he would make to our gear. I knew he wouldn't stop until it was perfect. Saddle chafing a little here, sir? We can fix that. Leg ring a bit loose? Just give me an hour at the forge.

We have been on a strange journey, this unlikely human and I. Over and again I recall that first day. Why didn't I kill him when I had the chance? It would have been just; after all, he had robbed me of my flight, the very essence of every dragon. To have it removed was the fate each of us most feared. Dragons diminished in this way don't normally live for very long. Insanity is inevitable; ones end depends simply upon the quickness of the madness. Some wander in body and mind almost immediately, drifting away to a lonely death, deprived of all companionship. Others retain their wits for long enough to beg a quick end by fellow dragons. These lucky ones at least get to say their last goodbyes, surrounded by those whom they love. Little wonder then that, as often as not, the nightmares our kittens conjure in their young imaginings involve hurt to their wings. That, or something with humans in the mix. In the present war, of course, they often amount to the same thing.

But I had not killed Hiccup. He had brought me to the ground, only to cut my bonds. In a moment of lunacy I had let him live, and afterwards he had offered me his trust, his food, and amazingly, a chance to regain my flight. The strangest union was building between us, and I was completely unprepared for the strength of its hold over me. While the nature of the motivation that stayed my flame and my bite still puzzled me, I knew that I was grateful for my restraint. This feeble biped had gotten under my skin and somehow, deep down, I already knew that I'd never dig him out.

I tried to think it through, tried to convince my own foolish self that to have killed him would have been a wasted opportunity to learn about his species. But dragons are not so gullible. Despite the long enmity between our kinds, a connection had sparked between us that day. Though it hurt my pride to admit it, I knew that killing Hiccup had never really been an option for me at all.

Amazingly, it seems he feels the same way about me.

I know this because, if there's one thing my human likes more than making contraptions, it's talking. Often, to a fault. Oh my belly scales, the babble. Anything and everything that's on his mind. Just as well I'm a good listener, or I really would have eaten him by now.

Ironically, these days, it was mostly communication that was on Hiccup's mind.

"My dad? Please, let's just not go there. But if I killed a dragon, everything would be OK."

"I can talk to you, but how can I talk with her? I really want to, but the words just seem to get stuck. And the whole axe thing really doesn't help at all."

And on it went. I stared at him, crooning but confounded.

::Talk with me, then. I want to. Can't you?::

But instead he just looked back at me blankly, unblinking, not understanding, and then stared at his boots. His mood swung further to dejection.

"Toothless… I think you can hear me. Something tells me you can understand me. Why can't I..."

I decided to stop him right there with a definitive lick right up the side of his face.

"Yeeeaaach! Fish breath! You... useless reptile!"

His grin was back, and I returned it, teeth retracted and extra cute. But the truth was, as frustrating as our one-way banter was for Hiccup, I was more worried for myself.

Our learning curve was too gradual. My return to the air was taking too long.

Already I could feel the first tendrils of madness probing my mind, searching for weak spots, seeking out crevices where they might settle and grow. I couldn't concentrate; my memories were becoming just a bit hazy around the edges. I had seen the signs in too many of my fellows for there to be any mistake: my time was running out, and fast. Though I took care to disguise it from Hiccup, I was becoming desperate.

This evening then, as I fretted and my human talked and sketched, we both lost track of time. At last the embers faded, and as I glanced up at the sky there it was: the dark loom of an approaching storm. But at that moment a crazy idea starting to push its way through, and I hesitated. Suddenly, Hiccup startled.

"Toothless, I must get back!"

However, at this moment the gods decided to break open the sky. As the hail pelted us and the lightning flashed, we dashed back to our shelter.

Loafing safely under cover, I quietly digested my meal. In my mind, however, possibilities and repercussions roiled round and around. What was I thinking? What was I risking? The course of action I was considering had never, to my knowledge, been attempted before. If successful, it could save me. If it failed, Hiccup and I could both wind up damaged. Or dead.

If I went ahead, I would do so knowing and accepting the risks. But I had no way of offering Hiccup the choice. To act alone would be the worst abuse of the trust that he had placed in me. Even if we survived, our friendship could be shattered.

It gave me no consolation to think that Hiccup might actually say yes, if I could ask him. He seemed to value my company as much as I liked his. Would he risk all to save our bond? He had made it clear that he had no human companionship. In many ways, the village had ceased to be his home a long time ago.

The boy in question, sitting close by, picked up on none of this.

"Toothless, I must go. What if I'm missed?"

I looked at him askance. We both knew that this was unlikely. Being ignored in Berk was one of Hiccup's specialties. Besides, the ferocity of the storm ruled out any trek, at least for now. Despite his agitation, Hiccup couldn't quite fight back a yawn. It had been a very long day, and he was exhausted.

Quickly, then, I made my decision. I glanced meaningfully at the bruised sky, now such a dark blue-black that it was barely visible at the entrance of the shelter. Then I looked back to him. I snaked my tail around him, slow and deliberate.

::Stay now.::

I suppose my meaning must have been plain enough. His eyes grew wide.

"Here? Stay... sleep... here?"

There really was nowhere else for him to go.