Of Stars and Astrids
The air tastes sweet in his throat. He stands in a field of wheat, he assumes, the yellow stalks touched ever so lightly by the morning's golden rays, but — he contemplates – it's still night, or ... looks like it ...?
It's true. The sky is a shade of pitch-black, and dusted with stars - though the Earth beneath him is clearly illuminated – ... weird? ... he examines, ... and ...kind of impossible
But then ... he thinks to himself, everyone in Berk thought the idea of riding dragons was crazy – taming a Night Fury was impossible ... and the idea, that Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III could do it? Hiccup? - The walking toothpick, and punching bag combination? – Berk's hero? he smirked, puffing out his chest, and tumbling backward into the soft grain ... absurd ...
The boy laughed to himself. The dreamy scenery before him suddenly didn't seem so strange anymore, and even if it were as odd as he had first thought ... who cares?
It was nice – the fresh wheat was like a cloud beneath him, and filled the morning-night air with that tell-tale sweetness. The indigo and ebony skyline, sprayed with stars was unnaturally pretty, as was the sunlight that danced beneath it – like a candle's flame ...
If he weren't so awake, sleep would've taken him under – this place was soothing, peaceful ... almost ... romantic ...
If I ever come back here, I'll have to take Astrid with me, he chuckled even Viking girls know pretty when they see it!
" ... Hiccup?" a soft, sultry voice called out in the distance.
"... Huh? ... What? ... Who's?" suddenly frantic, the Viking boy bolted upright, staring wide-eyed into his surroundings to find the source of the strange voice.
"... Relax ..." she mutters, drawing closer toward him in a position that could only be described as cat-like, hips swaying lightly, hands spread out upon the ground, one in front of the other.
"... Astrid?" he gasped, the mere sight of her knocking all of the air from his lungs.
Her blonde locks spill out toward the sides of his face, and curtain her back like a silken vale, like the goddess, Freya herself – his divine beauty.
"Wh-what? Wh-why? ... How?" he stammers, the air in this utopia becoming uncomfortably thick, heat pounding at his lungs – as she continues this feline-stance towards him, her slow smirk reminding Hiccup starkly of late night festivities ... where mead was served.
"... You're blushing ..." she laughs, as she reaches him, running a slender index finger down the not-so-broad plains of his chest. "... it's cute ..."
"... cute?" he repeated, he had never known the girl to use such ... girl-like terminology before – on any given day, of Astrid had seen him show such a sign of weakness, well ... the punching ... and the bruising ... would've started. But now ...?
"... Mmm ... cute ..." she hums, lazily burring her head of the crock of his neck, and ... purring ...? His "mead theory" was beginning to sound more and more promising.
"... Astrid?" he cried, confusion threatening to drown him. "... Astrid? ... Astrid? Hey? ..." he continued, his voice rising several humiliating octaves – as she began to kiss at the area, the feel of her breath, her lips, painting an undeniably stupid smirk on his lips.
"... Astrid ..." he repeats, the name sounding more like a word of prayer this time.
A few moments later, they tumble – he looming above her, assuming her position, breathing in her scent – the smell of fresh spring blossoms, and competitive edge, and ... Alaskan Cod?
"... Dragon breath!" he bolts upright, shielding his nose, and taking notice of the extra scale-covered pounds of weight resting atop him. " ... Toothless? Odin's beard! Day-old fish, again?"
The reptile flashed him a look of unmistakable humor at his friend's horror, though a feint guilt was also present.
"... a dream ..." Hiccup mutters, dragging his feet along the floor, and washing away the present warmth ... heat ... with a splash of cool water.
This day would be a long one.
