Disclaimer: I don't own How to Train Your Dragon, be it the book series, movie, game, or any other product. I do plan to own a copy of the DVD when it comes out though. And a Toothless plush toy in the near future.
AN: Well, here goes my first HTTYD fic. Hope you all enjoy!
"Talking"
Thought
Time Passage
It was ancient. Born too many lifetimes before to count in a clutch of several thousand others and fated by nature to kill or be killed at the instinct driven desire of its siblings to slaughter until only one remained. Thousands of infantile beasts ripping, tearing, and burning their way to the seat of power that only one could attain, unrestricted by the loving kindness of the matriarch that inevitably died after ensuring that her eggs were safe from all but themselves. Nor were they restricted by the firm hand of a patriarch, for all of their kind were female. The process would normally take several lifetimes for lesser creatures. Possibly even several generations of even the more determined species that held on to life as long as possible.
Her coming of age had lasted less than a single human lifetime. She had relished in the destruction of her weaker, less clever kin. Most deaths were not by her hand, of course. No matter how powerful she may have been, a single child of the entire brood wouldn't have been able to destroy several thousand others. Yet almost all were a direct result of the hand she played. Most of them were simple creatures, relying solely on instinct. She, however, was a bit more creative. Her fellow hatchlings had been simple to manipulate, trick into attacking seemingly more worthwhile targets and sparing a "weak" one until the end, just long enough for her to ensure that she would be the stronger when the time came.
Then she had been alone. There had been prey, of course. Her predecessor wouldn't have left her eggs in a place completely devoid of life. Yet things had become dull quickly when there was nothing left to kill capable of fighting back. So she left. Searched. Hunted. Eventually, on a heavily forested piece of land she'd found something that captured her interest. A creature she'd never seen before, standing upright on two legs rather than four, and which seemed to do so far more naturally than in the case of other animals, who lacked the balance and familiarity with the position that these beings displayed. She'd wanted to know how they tasted.
They'd been quite a delightful prey. She was slightly smaller than them at the time, only having lived for a matter of decades, but they were weak and simple to kill. Yet as much as she'd enjoyed the taste, they were frustrating to finish. They were full of hard bits, pieces that she'd had to rip the meat from. Most of her previous prey had been smaller, simple to swallow whole. That day she'd decided not to finish them, to come back for the remains later. They would be safe until then. She'd yet to encounter a creature so lacking in survival instinct that they would attempt to steal the remnants of a prey clearly marked with the signs indicating that it belonged to a predator of her caliber.
She'd never seen such creatures before. She almost hadn't been able to comprehend what she was witnessing. More of the things had arrived, making strange noises and standing around the previous day's kills. Were they stupid? Or perhaps she'd interrupted their hunt for the things? Perhaps her kind weren't the only ones to kill and devour their own. It would have been interesting to encounter another such species. The decision then had been simple; Follow them. Watch them. Figure them out. She soon found that her assumption didn't seem to be the real case. They managed to confuse her once again. After dragging the remains back to an unusual (Albeit curiously effective) nest, they waited almost a day doing other activities that she'd been unable to identify…and burned what was left of her kill.
That was simply wasteful. Destroying perfectly good meat, even if it was somewhat frustrating to get off of the body at times, just wasn't reasonable. Then again, she'd never actually bothered to see what other animals would do with their fallen kin. She'd simply assumed that much like her they would devour the remains and continue along their path. Or if they didn't do so, that another predator would finish the deed in their place. Her next assumption was that there might have been something special about those things she'd killed. Some kind of innate desire to keep others predators from eating their own.
The next day she struck again. One of these two had been smaller, easier to swallow. Noisy, fast, and carrying a notably different scent from the previous ones and the larger one with it, but equally delicious. Still, she made sure to leave some of it behind. There were countless things to prey upon, and this had merely been to satisfy her own curiosity, so it would be unreasonable to keep it all to her own if it was theirs to kill. Curiously, and much as she'd started to suspect, they repeated he same process from the previous day. It was obvious by this point that the bizarre practice was the norm, rather than the exception. She stopped hunting them after that, at least for the time being. Instead she turned to observing different activities. Such unusual creatures, and more intelligent than she'd initially assumed. Perhaps that intelligence was the reason for their rather unimpressive survival instinct.
They made fire, but did so with rocks and twigs. They couldn't create it naturally so they found a way to replicate it. They combined their prey with different items they'd found on the ground, placing them in water filled objects held over fire, creating an odd but pleasant aroma before devouring them.
They had a language, a system of communicating with one another. They made certain sounds that were consistently used in the same way, or towards the same things. She attempted to repeat these sounds several times, but ultimately hadn't been able to decipher the babbling. Though she did become familiar with some of their implications. They were difficult to understand at first though, since many were often used to represent the same objects. Their nests were "homes" or "huts" or "houses" or any number of different combinations. She couldn't even grasp how many of these sounds they had for their prey. They even addressed each other by special, unique sounds. She wondered what it would be like to have one of those sounds applied to herself someday.
They couldn't lift larger objects. This one she'd seen when, much to her delight, another group of the creatures had arrived on large pieces of wood from the sea and began attacking the others. Instead, they created devices with moving parts and foreign systems that could throw large stones and pieces of earth or wood at their targets.
They had no claws or talons with which to defend their fragile bodies up close, so they created artificial ones in their place. Small strips somehow created from trees and sharpened to stab. Heated metal pounded and prodded until it shaped into something sharp to cut their victims with, or something large and sturdy to crush enemies into submission, or better yet a combination of the two in a large solid object covered with smaller sharpened points. They were creative, there was no doubt of that.
She wanted to see just how creative they could be. They didn't stand a chance when she made herself known. The hard, solid objects hurt a little. They were sore for several hours after hitting her. The sharpened objects were less painful. They might have been useful against their own species, with such soft hides it was expected, but they did little more than scratch or chip at the armored scales covering her far sturdier frame. They'd fled in terror upon that realization, ignoring it as these "homes" went up in flames, the long pieces of wood they used to travel the sea, those "ships", being reduced to a form that would never be repaired.
When they returned, they tried to rebuild. They were stubborn if nothing else. It became a pattern. She would attack, they would strike back with more efficiency every time, and they would rebuild the damage and perform their strange ritual for the remains of those that she'd killed. She soon learned a new sound. Her sound. One created just for her. They would cry it to the heavens when they heard her arrival.
They called her the Death. Sometimes with other sounds before it, but always with that one that was her own. The Death. The Red Death. The Green Death. The Death from Above. She grew to like that sound. But they were becoming a greater threat. While she was certainly growing, becoming stronger day after day, they too were adapting to their new situation. Every time she attacked they seemed to have a new measure in place to respond. Enough was enough.
The next strike was the last. And by the time it took place, even the large ones were small enough to swallow whole.
It had been quite a learning experience. One that she proceeded to put to use for her own means, just as she'd once manipulated her kind into their own slaughter, leaving her the victor. They'd had a sort of understanding when it came to what they ate. Some was kept for the self, but most of what they killed was shared among the others of their kind. Of those, the strongest, the largest, the most dominant, always seemed to get a bit more than the others. And if it worked for their kind, why not for her own?
She'd watched other beasts before. She'd seen all forms of beasts traveling across the skies, heading for some location unknown to her. There had been others similar to herself, albeit smaller and weaker. They could be her "village." She watched them as they disappeared into the distance, and began to make her way across that same sea. After feasting on the entire population of that little village, she had more than enough to last her for quite some time. No, the most annoying result of her long flight was not a lack of food, but a change in the air around her. Things were colder, water fell from the sky in many forms for many days, the changes aggravating and uncomfortable.
That was why she'd chosen her nest carefully. It hadn't been a difficult choice, at least not once she'd found it. It was warm. Scalding. Molten rock flowed throughout the depths of the massive hole, systems of tunnels and outcrops of stone lining the thick walls. Yes, this was the perfect place for one such as her. But that was the simple part. Now it was a matter of order, of finding the others and making sure that they understood how the system worked. They gathered food. She watched the nest. As the strongest and most important, she received the bulk of the hunt. If they were unwilling to provide, they provided in their own flesh.
Her kind lived for countless lifetimes. She was in no hurry.
AN: Well, what did you think? I'm trying to get into the feeling of writing for non-humans, since several of my stories (Current and planned) will involve them, so I figured the Green/Red Death would be a good place to start.