A/N:For now, this is a mammoth one shot. I've left it as "in progress", because this is a newish writing style and perspective for me, so if I get some interest I might continue it, but for now I'm happy with it as is. Just a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone, and a gratuitous excuse for bby!Hiccup. :D Please read and review, reviews are love!

I am hungry.

My stomach growls and cramps painfully, a consistent reminder of the gnawing emptiness. I can't remember my last meal and I don't try too hard; thinking of food is painful. The sun shines bright and painful directly into my sensitive eyes and I slit them against the glare. The wind whips at my face, wafts the tantalising smells of salt and fish into my nose. It is warm today, in a way it hasn't been for many moons. I feel the warmth in my scales and in the rocky outcrop I am stretched upon. It is an odd comfort against the hunger pangs in my stomach and the uncomfortable jab of my rock bed. Normally, food would be a simply matter of going hunting, but I dare not leave my resting place. This island is populated by those bulky Skinchangers and they don't mix well with Dragonkind. For an adult Dragon, the risk from Skinchangers is usually negligible, so long as they do not encounter a group. For a young Dragon like myself, barely older than a Hatchling? Well, even one Skinchangers could be fatal, or so Mother says.

Skinchangers are dangerous, hatchling. Do not approach them on your own. I remember her warning well, and even though I have seen many suncycles since she left, I remain here. Young Dragons live with their parents until they shed their first scales and have their Naming; I am only a few mooncycles away from receiving mine, and I am not ashamed to say I am counting the time.

"Little Dragon all alone, sitting on your slab of stone!" The mocking cry jerks me from my contemplation of the ocean, and I look up to see a gull wheeling lazily above my head. I really hate birds, in almost every variety; they are pests of the sky, mocking little creatures who believe themselves witty for being able to rhyme. I climb gracefully to my feet, stretch long and slow, making sure my talons scrape noisily against the rock. I smile up at the gull, extending my teeth just so the idiot bird doesn't miss my point. I am dangerous.
"I will allow your insult this once. Fly away, little bird, for I will not tolerate another." I don't know why I am surprised that this bird is completely lacking in self preservation; the insolent creature drops down to hover lower, almost level with my eyes.
"This one thinks you're left behind -" I do not allow the bird to finish, but let loose a single small burst of my fire. Aside from a few singed feathers, the gull survives the hit and flies away screeching. I am alone once more, and it is somehow worse than it was before.

As a rule, young Dragons and especially Hatchlings are not left alone. My mother and I were tired, however, after a long flight across the ocean. I was to rest while she scouted the next leg of our journey, but she is yet to return. If she does not come by tonight, I will have to leave and go hunting. Dragons can last a remarkable amount of time on very little food, but once that time has passed our bodies deteriorate rapidly. I am just beginning to sink back into the stupor I have existed in for the past suncycles when the acrid smell of smoke assaults my nostrils. I haven't smelled it so strongly since I accidentally blew up that abandoned Skinchanger dwelling some three islands ago. I lift my face to the wind, inhaling deeply, curious in spite of myself. More faintly, I can smell death mixed in with other things I would rather not name.

I am not interested. I don't want to know. It's probably dangerous.

I firmly tell myself, shifting on my ledge because I am going to lie down and -
Okay, I lied. I intended to lie back down, but I slipped off of the edge, accidentally of course. Being born to the sky as I am, I only fell a few winglengths before I caught a wind thermal and spiralled upwards. Now that I am in the sky, I may as well go and investigate the source of the smell; I mean, it's not as though I've had any exercise recently. Mother would be furious, but a part of me I'm currently ignoring is beginning to think she isn't coming back. It's up to me, now, to look after myself. I can't wait on that ledge any longer.

Let me tell you, there are some wonderful benefits to flying, more so when you're a Voidsinger. I don't like to brag, but we're one of the fastest breeds of Dragon. My point? It took a ridiculously small amount of time to find the source of the smell; I just followed my nose. Okay, so the giant plume of black smoke might have helped a little, but only a little. The trees abruptly give way to the burning ruins of a tiny farm. The house is half standing, but the fire rapidly consuming the building promises a quick end to that; dead cattle lie scattered beyond the building, slaughtered in the fields they had likely been grazing. I hover above the destruction, observing it dispassionately. This is what my Mother warned me about. This is a Skinchanger settlement, likely destroyed by others of their kind.

I am about to turn away, my curiosity sated if not my hunger, when my gaze drifts back to the dead beasts. They are no use to the Skinchangers who's still forms I can see lying discarded in the dirt, and it would be a shame to waste them…
I don't spend too much time debating the issue. There is no one around, and my stomach is aching with hunger. I dive on the first carcass I come across, and this is going to be so good and I'm just this side of drooling -

Ping!

A sharp pain in my shoulder diverts my attention and I roar in surprise, spinning to face the threat with teeth and wings extended. A tiny Skinchanger faces off against me, a small stone in its hand, likely the sister to the one that had hit my shoulder. The tiny creature shouts at me in its funny, lilting language, gesturing between myself and my lunch. I can't understand what it says, but I understand it is trying to scare me away from my food. This is the weirdest, smallest Skinchanger I have ever seen; filthy and apparently malformed, with hide that hangs loosely from its skinny frame and brushes the ground, and I wonder how it manages to walk. Fur the same shade as those oddly tasty chestnut things flops into its face, getting in the way of eyes eerily close in colour to my own. Trails of moisture make a path through the grime on its face, and I am confused because they smell of salt. It has definitely not been bathing in the ocean, I can tell by the smell.

We are in a stalemate, the Skinchanger and I. It would be a simple matter to flame it out of existence and go back to my meal, but I find I am oddly reluctant to do so. I blame the shaking in the small thing's limbs, the way it faces me despite the fact it is akin to a field mouse to my goshawk. Surely such a little thing can pose no danger to me, and I've never been this close to a Skinchanger before. Cautiously, I take a step closer, watching carefully in case it should suddenly produce a weapon of some kind. It flinches violently, but does not retreat. It is a male, I decide upon closer inspection, thinking of the rounded frames of other Skinchangers. Mother says the one's with the funny chest bumps are the females, and though this one is built delicately like the females, there are no bumps. It, no he, watches warily as I approach, eyes wide in his dirty face. I am impressed with his gall; I have seen much larger Skinchangers run at the sight of another Dragonkind. My heart thumps double time and though I would admit it to no one, I am nervous and excited, like the first time I ever flew. This is the most daring thing I have ever done; I am breaking every rule of Dragonkind, this is forbidden, what would Mother say -

My nose brushes his fur, the startled snort I let loose ruffling the surprisingly soft strands. They tickle my muzzle and the smell of fire and death overwhelms my senses. Beneath that, I smell something fresh and sweet; though it makes no sense it brings to mind a crisp Spring breeze, bright with the promise of new life. He stands rigidly still for my inspection, although I can sense the fine tremor in his limbs being this close. I move my inspection to his droopy hide and oh! It is not attached at all! This close, I can see that it covers his body, and is not a part of it at all. Curious, I carefully grip the edge that dangles from his front legs and give it a gentle tug. He makes a surprised sound, but the action seems to cause him no pain. I tug it a little harder, and then I am the one who is surprised when the tiny creature falls into me. He bounces off of my much harder frame and thumps to the ground on his rear.

Moisture wells in his eyes and begins to trail down his face and the salt smell strengthens. So it comes from his eyes, how curious. Perhaps he is injured? I lower my face to smell for any injuries and I am shocked for a second time when the Skinchanger throws his skinny front legs around my neck. He is too small to reach all the way around and tiny, blunt claws dig at my scales in a manner that is surprisingly pleasant. I attempt to move back, but he clings to me and is dragged along, and he is making a high pitched whining sound.

Well, now what? I wonder, tilting my head so that I might stare down at my unexpected passenger. At least he has dropped the rock, I suppose. I sigh, and for reasons I am unwilling even to explain to myself, I allow the small creature to remain in contact with me. I take a few waddling steps, careful not to step on the limbs hanging awkwardly from my neck and trailing on the ground. The third step dislodges the Skinchaner and it thumps back to the ground; with a mental shrug, I step past it and carry on my way. It may keep the cow, and I will go fishing. I spread my wings, ready to fly away when a high pitched wail stops me. I look back, and the tiny thing is looking at me with those eyes and for some reason I feel like a terrible Dragon. He looks at me and then he looks at the bigger Skinchangers I had seen before and suddenly it clicks with embarrassing slowness.

He is a Hatchling. Wide eyed, I look at the corpses of its parents and suddenly realised what I have found. An orphaned Hatchling, defenseless and likely very soon to be dead if I leave it now. I am not quite an adult myself, still a Fledgeling by Dragon standards and very probably an orphan myself. I have no business taking on the care of another, let alone a Skinchanger. But, perhaps two orphans will stand a better chance than one. If not, I'm sure I can just drop him on a boat or something; one Skinchanger is as good as any other, is it not?

He seems to realise I have come to a decision, and with a speed I am almost impressed by, he scrambles onto his hind claws and totters after me. I dare not fly with my new tiny burden and my feet ache at what I now face. It is going to be a very long walk.