The world seems to go silent as the smoke clears; I hear nothing but a loud ringing in my ears caused by Red Death crashing against the ground, exploding into a cloud of fire. We barely made it far enough that we weren't consumed by the fire ourselves. But Hiccup wasn't so lucky. Slowly, the whispers and moans of my fellow Vikings start to fill the air. I hear his name passed around by other voices.
I stood and watched as he fell from the sky into the fiery vortex while Toothless desperately tried to reach him. Yet a small part of me keeps waiting for him to race by on his Night Fury, covered in ash with his eyebrows singed off and a goofy smile on his face, saying 'You didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?' Vikings are moving forward, towards the sound of Stoick's desperate calls, but I can't help but look up at the sky. Fishlegs meets my eyes. He seems to know what I'm thinking because he wipes a tear from his face and shakes his head. "Come on," he whispers gently, taking my arm and pulling my forward.
I follow him without resisting. As I push through the sea of mourning Vikings I see the twins holding hands and even Snotlout choking back a sob. I keep pushing through, though I don't feel like I have the strength to. I think perhaps people are just moving aside for me. They know. They all know that if Hiccup is up ahead, I have a right to see him. When I break through the final row of people, I see Toothless. Stoick found the dragon, but there's no sign of my best friend.
Perhaps best friend is a bit of a stretch. Hiccup and I were never really tight. In fact, his best friend before Toothless was probably Gobber. He was always an outsider. You'd think being the chief's son would get you respect, but not even that seemed to help him. I would never admit it to the others, but I always found Hiccup intriguing. It bothered me that he was always wreaking havoc, but I admired his determination. And then he kidnapped me. He forced me to see things his way. He made me see that we had it all wrong. And now he's gone. I feel the weight of the Red Death on my shoulders. The absence of this boy is devastating, though a few weeks ago I wouldn't have been surprised to learn he'd been killed by a dragon.
Stoick crouches in front of the fallen Night Fury. Besides his wrecked tail fin, he seems to be okay. Dragons are fire-proof; Hicup is not. But then he spreads his leathery wings, and curled against his chest is Hiccup. The dragon releases him from his defensive grip, as Stoick desperately checks his vitals. I want to rush to him and see for myself, but my feet feel like they've been welded to the ground. "He's alive!" cries the Chief, and the entire village roars to life. A couple steps forward provide a better view of my friend… and his leg.
Growing up in Berk toughens you up from a young age. I've been a part of Berk's fire brigade for years now, giving me a prime view of all the dragon fighting. I've seen my fair share of severed limbs, and blood and guts and death, but Hiccup's charred, bloody leg is nauseating. It's not the blood or the burned skin that bothers me, but the nights I've spent at Gothi's hut trying to save men and women from similar wounds. I push those thoughts aside and wipe away my tears; happy tears, I think they are. Somehow, Hiccup survived the fiery vortex of death and brought down a dragon the size of a mountain, on the back of a Night Fury. There's something I never thought I'd say.