Author's Note: Just a short piece that hit me like a ton of emotional bricks during work. Please don't kill me.
Disclaimer: I do not own How to Train Your Dragon.
In The End
Warmth.
Through the dark haze that clouded his mind, he felt it: the heat that seeped past his thick skin and warmed his body. He felt it all the way from the tip of his snout to the pits of his belly. His powerful chest heaved with every heavy breath he took, and he barely registered the faint white puffs of vapor (smoke) from his mouth, condensing in the cool dry air around him.
Everything was still during this moment, save for the dying wind parting the misty blur in front of him. There was no sound, no movement, no nothing, except for that heat (fire) which settled deep within him, lying dormant once again. The back of his teeth tingled pleasantly, and some primal part of him reveled in the knowledge of another successful shot (kill).
Something (wet) touched his left foreleg and pooled around it. Whatever it was, it felt warm (thick) too. He craned his neck downwards for a closer look, and his unfocused gaze landed on the scales covering his feet. They glistened red (death) under the winter sun.
Then his hearing began to return to him. He heard muffled shouts ("SON!") in the distance, people screaming and crying ("HICCUP, NO!"). There was a powerful roar somewhere behind him as well, but the sharp piercing (intruding) sensation that spiked up in his mind was swiftly diminished when the smells hit his sensitive nostrils.
First was the ash.
Second came the copper.
He followed his nose towards the source, sniffing curiously. His back legs stepped into the warm (crimson) liquid that leaked towards him, but he dismissed the sticky feeling and kept going. Eventually his snout bumped into a charred (shattered) surface, and amid the foul-smelling combination of scorched leather and boiling blood, he recognized a familiar scent (rider). It was faint, but it was there, and even though he couldn't remember what it (best friend) was, he knew that it was precious (BROTHER) to him.
His slitted eyes began to make out a face (lifeless) on the strange object, and he nuzzled it on instinct. There was a limb (pale, freckled hand) that seemed to reach out to him as well. He nudged it gently, but it didn't respond. Something started to bubble up in his chest then, some urgent feeling. It grew stronger and stronger until he was practically butting his head against the unmoving body (corpse), whining pitifully.
It didn't make any sense. There was warmth (burnt armor), yet it was...
Cold.
(Dead.)
Author's Note: So basically Stoick doesn't make it to Hiccup in time. *runs away*
