Hello everyone!

It's been so long since I've posted anything to this site, and I apologize for that. To any readers who have looked at my works before, I'll try to get some of those stories back on track. Been having issues with focusing on editing and maintaining the chapter files on the editing page. They kept getting deleted and I gave up on them for a while, but I can try again if that'd make anyone happy.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any character from the How to Train Your Dragon franchise (they belong to Dreamworks). However, I do own Beata/Vona, the Elds and the rest of Stein (list may grow, fyi); I also own the dragons Archer, the "Grand Queen" and Flame Runner.

And now, to the actual story! (Sorry for keep you this long from the chapter. I promise not to do this often.)

Enjoy! And comments are certainly welcome :)

Chapter 1: The Journey Begins

"So small and frail in such a form…" crooned a deep, motherly voice. "Still, the gods have chosen you, my dear Vona. Be strong, seek out the answer to our survival. Find the hope that you were named for, the peace between man and beast." A roar rang in the darkness, and thousands of others joined in, echoing inside her mind. Fire engulfed her vision, making her start and...

Beata gasped awake and stared at the wooden ceiling of her cottage. Her ice blue eyes blinked at the lingering flashes of the dream, the one that had plagued her since early childhood. Her brow was dampened with sweat, and her body was shaking. In her fifteen years, Beata had not been able to figure out what her dream had meant. She remembered asking the village elder, Mrs. Blomgren, only to have her say that it was her "destiny". The girl did not have a clue what fire and hope had to do with her, and eventually she had accepted the dreams as a norm. Still, she wished that the roars weren't so loud.

Shuddering at the phantom sounds, Beata got out of bed and dressed into her favorite earthen brown pants of soft hide, forest green shirt made from the warmest sheep's wool, and black leather armor that protected her thighs, shins and torso. She tied her shoulder length hair the color of raven's wings in a high tail, braided it and completed the ensemble with a leather thong, securing her hair from blocking her vision. She took up her weapons belt and frowned thoughtfully at her bow and arrow as she fastened the array of knives and hatchets to her waist. Surrendering to her instincts, Beata grabbed her quiver of ten arrows and slung them over her right shoulder. Next came the bow, placed crosswise, letting the bowstring rest on her front, right shoulder to left hip. Satisfied, the young viking exited her room, pulling on her gloves from her belt while she headed down the stairs to the main room of the house.

No one was awake yet, being an hour from dawn. The fire was dying in its hearth, its coals glowing a deep red. Beata took an armful of logs and tossed them onto the coals before coaxing the flames to life. As the light returned to the room, the youth located some bread and dried venison for breakfast. She sat by the fire, absorbing what warmth she could while she ate. Her blue eyes stared into the flames, mesmerized by how they danced and ate their own morning meal. When the crumbs were all that was left of her food, Beata sighed, took a swig of water from the barrel, filled up her water pouch and left the home of Chief Einar, leader of the Stein Tribe.

All the villagers were still sleeping, something that the girl was thankful for. She liked to avoid all the stares she was given and the whispers she caused among the people. In spite of her name, Beata was an outcast, having no birth parents and being raised by the Elder until she died. She was then passed to Einar, who then looked after her for ten years alongside his own sons. Only with those people did she feel remotely loved, even if the eldest brother didn't like her much. Those around her age wanted nothing to do with her. They heard what their parents said about her being a result of dark magic. Her appearance was just as ominous as how she was found, abandoned with a demon. With the eyes the color of unstoppable glaciers and the hair of the endless night, she was unlike any person seen in the tribe, so the villagers automatically feared it. Humans feared change, even Vikings.

Beata soon arrived at her favorite hill, part of the cliffs where Stein's land ended and the ocean began. There she sat, braced against the cold wind, to watch the sunrise. The sky filled with color for several minutes before transitioning to the grey-blue of dawn. The fog was not as thick as usual, and Beata took it as a good sign for travel. Shouts of greetings were faint with the wind; the girl did not mind them at all.

No one was looking for her. She was alone, but that was nothing new, really. Ten years of it and it becomes a habit to seek one's own company.

The sun was warm to the touch, soothing and filled with life. The youth closed her eyes and savored its caresses, breathing in the salty air with contentment. Once the star was higher in the sky, Beata stood and headed to her training grounds. There she practiced her knife throwing and archery.

Most Vikings like to go in for the kill, especially when the opponent was a dragon; Beata, however, knew better. Sure, dragons could shoot acid, fire, or lava at a Viking, but if one focused and had the greater range, it was safest to attack from afar. The dragons did it, so why couldn't she? Most of the villagers thought her mad to go after dragons with her bow and arrow, but they were always thankful for her marksmanship when it came to hunting deer and boar. Beata let them say what they wished. It wouldn't stop her from training. She felt more comfortable with firing things, but that did not mean that she couldn't handle herself in close combat. She sparred with her foster brothers, Gunnar and Birger Eld, sons of Chief Einar. They were usually good practice for her strength, something that surprised the eldest, Gunnar - Beata was a head shorter than him at best, but she was able to toss him around when she wished him harm. After several of such instances, the heir to the Stein Tribe learned to respect her abilities.

Which was why she was not surprised when he tracked her down in the early afternoon to her practice area. He was only two years older, but he was taller than most vikings his age. His build was solid, traditional of a Viking warrior. There wasn't much fat on him, which only warned challengers of his strength. Medium brown hair and deep brown eyes were common with the light complexion in Stein, but other girls drooled when he walked by. Beata did not care, she knew that she could toss him if she liked. He ran more off of instinct than strategy.

Gunnar stood at a respectful distance from her cooking fire, where she had roasted a rabbit and was burning the bones when he arrived. His voice was deep, but the girl could tell it had a ways to go before settling into a permanent pitch. "Beata," he said, "would ya like tuh help with the hunt for tonight's dinner? We'll need extra dried meat before the storms come in."

"Sure, how many will be in the party?" the girl asked.

"Just us three, ya know that by now." She always asked that question, and he would always give the same answer. Gunnar didn't know if she wanted him to say otherwise, but they were both aware that no one wanted to be near her. True, she was a skilled shot, but her differences made people think her unlucky, especially when she was focused on them. Though he never said so, the eldest son would never fail to feel a shiver go down his spine whenever she looked at him as intensely as she did now. Her cool blue eyes held a power that he wasn't sure of and never wanted to test. After a moment of silence, his foster-sister smiled, showing a warm side that the village never tried to see.

"Of course, just making sure." Beata stood from her sitting log and kicked dirt over the fire. Once the coals died out, she took up her bow and counted her arrows. All were accounted for. "Is Birger meeting us at the trail?"

Her foster-brother nodded while withholding a sigh of exasperation. "And he'll be frettin' over the loss of daylight. Let's go." He let her take the lead to make sure that she didn't lag behind. As she grinned and ran through the forest, light as ever, he shook his head. Hunting was a constant job, and she knew that she was Stein's leading huntress. Sometimes he wondered if she really was forgetting their routine.

"Well, brother, aren't ya gonna hurry?" she called. Gunnar sighed and picked up his pace, hoping that his sister would have the energy for the hunt.

Beata sat on one of the lower branches of a spruce tree, blue eyes watching the large boar grazing placidly beneath her. She noted Birger's position to the left of the creature, where the wind would not carry his scent. Gunnar was nowhere in sight, which was good. The archer relaxed herself and took a moment to breathe calmly, making sure that she was ready for the rush of the hunt. When she felt herself collected and prepared for the spring, Beata whistled three short notes like the common bird in the area. The boar paid no heed. Birger hunched lower, committing himself to the plan. In his own time, the young viking stood from his hiding place in the berry brush and tossed two stones, both solidly striking the boar's snout. The pig snorted in surprise and faced Birger, a seemingly unimpressive boy of fifteen. With lean muscles, he was a stick compared to his older brother. Dirty blonde hair framed intelligent grey-green eyes. The boy's calm face contorted into a challenging snarl, and their quarry gave an angry squeal. It centered its mass, kicking the dirt at his feet with a stiff leg, while focusing on the youngest of Einar's sons . After a long ten seconds of staring, Birger threw another rock at the boar - it bounced off the creature's skull, between the eyes - and ran through the forest. The pig squealed in fury and gave chase, provoked to a blind rage as Birger found bits of stone and branches to attack him with, shouting all the while.

Beata followed the racket, jumping from limb to limb along the trail of trees she had scouted prior to the hunt. While the viking and boar were running on the ground, the girl seemed to glide through the trees and came to the last pine with moments to spare. She settled in her platform that she had put together, took up her bow and knocked an arrow. Silently pulling the string to her cheek, Beata waited for her foster-brother and their dinner.

Birger did not disappoint. The boar was still after him, hot on his trail. Its tusks were coming a little too close for the boy's comfort. He knew that his sister would help him, but she only do so much with him so near the target. His fear seemed to fuel the pig's fire, for the boar lowered its head and gained speed. Birger yelped and made a mad dash for the pine to Beata's right; with the gap bought by his sudden burst of energy, the viking girl released the arrow. It bore into the pig's left eye, and it shrieked in pain and fear. When it turned its injured eye away from the scurrying Birger, Beata fired another arrow into the right eye. Again, the boar cried out and shook its head vigorously, maddened with pain. As it struggled with the arrows in its skull, Birger scaled up a handsome oak; Gunnar instantly leapt down from his tree, landing and straddling the creature's back. The two wrestled for a frightening eight seconds before a knife flashed and slit the boar's throat. Still the pig fought to free itself from the eldest son's grip, but the struggle began to wane. Eventually it sank onto the leaf-littered forest floor, Gunnar riding him down.

Silence reigned in the forest. Deciding that the beast was indeed dead, Gunnar dismounted the boar and dusted himself off nonchalantly. "Well," he said into the forest, " looks like enough meat for a few weeks, maybe a month. Ya two can come down now." He glanced up at the trees, where his siblings had watched him kill a boar that weighed nearly seventy kilograms with only a knife. Seeing the blood on his hands and the grass made Beata shudder the slightest, reminded how life was fragile and the strength of her eldest brother.

After a moment to collect herself and a second urging from Gunnar, she nodded, grabbed the coiled rope knotted to one of the secure branches and let it fall to the earth. She then strapped on her bow, took the rope in two gloved hands and slid down, absorbing the landing with a well-practiced crouch. Birger did the same with the rope she had installed into his climbing tree. While the brothers set to tying the boar for easier transport, Beata took a large, heavy stone and coiled the rope around it. With a rehearsed heave, the girl launched the stone with its rope to the top of the platform, a good two meters up the tree. She did the same to Birger's rope, hefting the rock with ease despite her seemingly dainty build. The routine made her feel better about her skills, letting her dust her hands off with a smile on her ace. As she turned to speak to her brothers, a sound caught her attention. The chief's sons heard the noise as well, but before they could ask, Beata tackled them to the ground, shouting, "DOWN!"

A piercing cry rang through the trees, and when the viking trio looked up, a Deadly Nadder was standing over their kill. The dragon was the common blue variety, head tilted like a bird, amber slitted eye scrutinizing them. It squawked again, baring teeth. "Mine!" came a hissing voice. "Mine!"

Beata gaped at the creature, startled by its voice. She had never been so close to a dragon, and this one could talk?! It awed her to think of them as intelligent creatures o speech. Before she could ask Birger if he heard it, Gunnar locked his arms around his siblings and rolled with them away from the boar. His job was to protect his family and his people, so he followed his teachings and instincts. He released Birger and Beata, who used the momentum to roll onto their feet and face the dragon. The Nadder hadn't moved, watching them from its place on the dead boar.

"Be gone, devil!" roared Gunnar. "If ya want the kill, take it! Leave now, before I add ya tuh the menu!"

The creature hissed at his tone. "So loud! More food for the Queen!" She - Beata was certain that the dragon was a female - unfurled her wings, balancing herself to attack. Before she could think about it, Beata dashed in the line of fire as Gunnar readied his axe, the dragon her tail of spines.

"Stop!" the viking girl pleaded, snatching his wrist and ignoring the glare that she received. "Gunnar, she only wants the boar. If you attack, she'll kill you!" The idea of the strength the dragon had over the three of them worried her. Surely her brother saw this?

"I won't let her," the heir growled, which she knew was his way of assuring her. Finding it hopeless to deter him and ever the strange viking who chose to use logic, she thought frantically of a way to avoid the vicious battle that would ensue.

"Let me handle this," she said. When he tried to deny her the chance to explain, she pointedly interrupted him. "I will try to make her go away. If she does not by the time I reach those blackberry bushes, then you can attack while I'm distracting her. Birger can point out any weak spots as I make the dragon follow me."

Gunnar's brown eyes glared at her momentarily. Finally, he snarled quietly before looking away, focusing on the dragon. "Fine. The berry bushes, Beata, no further."

She nodded slowly, sighing inwardly in relief, and held a hand out to the Deadly Nadder. "We are not food," she said to the dragon, walking in a slow circle away from her brothers and to the right. When she cocked her head at the viking, sniffing the air in her direction, Beata continued, "The boar is all we have, so take it. Go to your queen!"

The Nadder shook its head. Beata kept walking, drawing her attention. "No more food?" the creature piped. "The Queen needs food. She is sick."

"Take the meat and leave!" Beata put more force behind the words and gave a two-handed shove to the air for emphasis, hoping that it wouldn't anger her. The dragon squawked in surprise more than fury. "Return to your queen if she is ill. Hunt more later!"

"Dragon? Viking?" The beast looked confused, somehow. Seeing this as an opportunity, Gunnar and Birger roared and charged the Nadder. Gunnar made it to the dragoness first, swinging his battle axe with strong arms and back. The blue reptile jumped to the side, forcing Birger to duck his brother's blade while the latter spun with the momentum he needed to hurt the creature. The Nadder flicked her tail at the two vikings, and Beata cried out a futile warning, stopping half a meter from the blackberries to step toward her siblings. Of the eight spikes launched at the brothers, only five found targets. Two pierced Gunnar's arm; a third embedded itself into the back of his thigh; Birger received one in the shoulder and a second grazed his cheek. Both fell to the ground, clutching at their injuries.

"No!" Watching them collapse set a fire in her chest. "Stop!" Beata snarled at the beast, who was preparing herself for a charge. Amber eyes, blazing in fury, found her cold blue gaze. The girl stared down the creature, defiance and a threat screaming through her posture. She watched as the dragoness glared at her and suddenly turn her head toward the sea, seeming to listen to something.

Her slitted eyes suddenly became round. "Vona," it hissed, the sound remarkably gentle despite how much it made the youth shiver. She looked to the girl again, sadness and humility in those once burning eyes. "Hope for life, our savior, what must I do?"

Did the creature just speak the name from her dreams? How was that possible? Her turn to be confused, Beata flicked her gaze from her fallen brothers to the attacker. The blue dragon had bowed before her, awaiting orders. Carefully, the viking took a stern step toward the reptile and said, "Return to your home. Take the boar if you wish, but leave in peace." She watched the Nadder bob her head and take flight, carrying the sixty-eight kilo boar in her talons.

Beata watched the dragon go, wondering absently what it was like to fly. If she could have the skies like a dragon did, hunting would be so much easier. All that power, all that freedom…

The sound of pain broke her from her reverie. Gunnar had pulled out the spine that was behind his leg, desperate to keep the projectile from injecting all of its venom into his system. Thankfully the leather he and Birger wore was thick - they did not go boar hunting without a minimum of four layers of tough leather - and kept the bone needles from penetrating more than five centimeters. It had missed major arteries, but blood welled from the puncture anyway.

"Idiot," Beata scolded. "You're going to bleed out." She hurried over to her eldest foster-brother, tearing her left long sleeve for a makeshift bandage. Before she had taken six steps, Gunnar cried out and made a futile attempt to back away.

"Don't come any closer!" he barked, panicked. Still trying to process what had just occurred, he wanted nothing to do with the girl. He noticed as Beata froze in her tracks and studied the heir to the Stein Tribe. His brown eyes were shocked, frightened. "Stay away!" he pleaded.

The blood came freely from the wound now, and Beata held her hands out in a placating gesture. She didn't know why he was so shaken, but seeing him so out of character hurt her. He needed to relax. "Gunnar, calm down," she ordered softly. "You're going to pass out if you don't put pressure on that injury. Let me help you." Slowly, she took a step toward him.

"Stay back!" The girl kept going, her gaze intent and chilling, her small yet threatening hand outstretched to him. "Stop, stop! Freak!" Gunnar snarled and threw his axe at his foster-sister. Beata ducked and rolled to the right, hearing the heavy axe embed itself into the old pine where her shooting platform was with a weighty thunk. Her blue eyes flickered to Gunnar, wide and startled.

"Gunnar? What is wrong with you?" she demanded. "Birger, what…?" When she looked to her other brother, his grey-green eyes were confused and frightened. He, too, could not figure out what had happened. He knew that his sister just saved their lives, but he couldn't help but feel horrified at what he had heard. The expression crushed the pieces of the heart that Gunnar's words had shattered. Both of them were so afraid of her, but why?

There was a sudden chorus of shouts and hollers from the northern side of the kill zone. A group of men exploded from the brushes, armed to the teeth and wearing the traditional helmets of Vikings. The warrior at the front of the mob was Chief Einar, whom Birger had gotten his eyes from. The father's had more steel, however, and scanned the area with quick precision. In the span of several seconds he counted his children, their weapons strewn about, and the blood that matted the dirt. His large muscular frame - something that Gunnar inherited - did not relax at the sight before him.

"What happened?" he asked in a calm, if rough, voice. He noted the injuries and cursed. "Nadders, those bastards. Quickly, let's get 'em tuh safety." The men, six in total, set to checking the teens for injuries. They bandaged Gunnar's leg and hoisted him up onto someone's cloak, a makeshift stretcher. The spikes in his arms were left in the flesh to keep him from losing more blood, but they rushed him off before the venom in the barbs could inflict serious harm. Birger removed the spine in his shoulder and managed to stand on his own, keeping pressure on his wound. Despite his insistence that he was fine, someone hovered by his side as they walked in case he fell. All the while, Einar watched with a cool gaze. He waited for the men to vanish behind the trees before turning to check on his adopted daughter, who had not moved from her place on the ground.

"Sir," Beata said as she stood, saluted with a fist over her heart and bowed shortly. The man had taken her in, raised her as his own, and she was grateful for it. She respected his strength and sense of honor, so she always did her best to show it. Seeing the look on his face, she gave a report. "We were hunting boar, and she came at the kill."

"She?" the chief repeated.

"The dragon, sir. She wanted the meat for their queen, and while I tried to make her go away, Gunnar and Birger attacked her. She became frightened and flung spines at them." Her eyes searched the strong face of her chief, hoping that he was not angry with her, even though he had a right to do so. She allowed his sons to be attacked; the fact that the Nadder was too quick didn't matter to her. She tensed subtly, ready for a lecture or shouting, but instead she saw his eyes soften along with his voice.

"Are ya hurt?" The question surprised Beata, but she immediately shook her head, both to give assurance and to dispel any thought of him caring so deeply.

"Not bleeding, in any case." She looked to the blood all about the forest earth. "I tried to stop her from attacking us, but by the time I got her to leave, they were hurt." The Valkyrie fell to her knee and bowed her head. "Forgive me, Einar, sir, for not fighting as a Viking should."

The chief's green eyes studied the girl for a moment. He had cared for her since she was five years old, and somewhere along the way she had begun to see it as her duty to be a faithful warrior, almost a servant, to him and his family. There were moments where this role was abandoned for the one of a loving daughter and sister, but whenever he looked at her, she would become serious and distance herself from him. Einar didn't blame her, really. It wasn't her fault that she saw herself as an outcast, fit to be in the house of the chief only because she had to serve his family. That was what the people said, what their children said. It had gotten to her, so any act of kindness he showed her was always taken as a courtesy. Einar hated himself for not teaching her sooner about why he took her in.

Figuring that brisk business was what she expected, he played the part. "Get up," he ordered. "Grab yer weapons; we need tuh get back tuh the village and see how yer brothers are doing." He watched as Beata snatched up the arrows that had been removed from the boar's eyes by Gunnar prior to the Deadly Nadder's arrival. Einar himself walked to the pine and pulled out the battle axe with a quick tug born of his frustration with his villagers. Knowing that he had to set things straight with them and Beata, he put on a scowl and turned for the trail plowed by the burly viking party. The youth took the lead, and the chief followed alongside his daughter, marching to Stein in relative silence.

During the trip, Beata kept glancing at her foster father, wondering how furious he was with her. Always wanting to prove to him that she was worth keeping, the girl had worked hard in her training. Her excellent marksmanship was only rival to Frida Eld, her foster mother. Beata trained every day and sparred her brothers often, earning her share of scars and bruises. Now, she had no injuries to prove that she tried her best to prevent the attack. Worry gnawed at her, for she couldn't tell if Einar believed her story, and the glower on his face didn't bode well. Her decision to work out a more peaceful solution and its terrible failure weighed heavily on her shoulders. Her brothers were hurt for acting in what they thought was right: see a dragon, kill on sight. Gunnar had been kind enough to attempt scaring the Nadder off before resorting to beheading the creature, something he only did when Beata was watching.

Everyone in Stein knew of her fascination with dragons. They whispered about it and the day she was found. A dragon, a Monstrous Nightmare, had been coiled around her when Einar and the men of the village located the source of the fire the dragon had made. Thinking that the beast had been trying to eat her, Einar and the men sought to scare him away from the newborn Beata. A spear to the flank sent the Nightmare to the sky, leaving the helpless infant behind. Elder Blomgren had told Beata that the dragon was protecting her until the men arrived, that she was blessed by the gods for something great. Beata wasn't so sure.

Still, her love and respect for dragons persisted. She would watch them fly the ocean, into the clouds to wherever they rest. The village did not suffer from intensive dragon raids, but once Beata had been introduced to Stein's life, the attacks had become even less frequent. The girl had to travel far, close to the borders of the land and high in the trees to glimpse the elusive dragons. She always looked beyond the ocean, feeling like it was the right thing to do every morning. Something had felt like it was calling to her, and as Beata and Einar arrived at the edge of the homes in Stein, the girl looked to the water and felt…

Nothing.

There was the natural curiosity of wondering what was out there, but the pull was gone. It made her shudder at its absence. A part of her seemed to be missing, leaving a cold place in her soul. The loss of whatever called to her also brought a sudden sadness into her heart. Tears stung her eyes as she dwelled on the feeling, but her thoughts were interrupted by the shouts of the villagers.

The men and women of Stein rushed to their chief, calling and trying to speak over one another. All of them halted ten meters before the pair, their many eyes staring at Einar, frightened. "Is it true?!" asked a woman. "The dragons are attacking us again?"

"It was only one dragon, and it took what it wanted and left," replied the chief. "There is nothing tuh worry about if we stay close tuh home. The forest is dangerous like always. Make sure tuh not go alone on the south side of the woods." Before the people could demand another answer, Einar asked, "Where are my sons?"

"In yer home," supplied an older man. "Frida and Ana are tendin' tuh them." Einar nodded at the mention of his wife and neighbor.

"My chief," spoke another, "Gunnar told us what 'appened."

Einar felt himself tense. He looked sharply at the man and prompted. "Did he?"

"Aye, and he said that she," the man spat the word contemptuously while pointing at Beata, "was controlling da beast who attacked him an' Birger!"

The people who had not heard the news gasped in horror. Realization came across their many faces as they saw their fears come to life. The vikings started to shout accusations,varying from jealousy to possession by dark magic. Their scorn, fear, and hate flooded from their voices, tainting the air and making Beata cringe. She knew that she was only tolerated by the whim of Einar, but feeling the strength of their resentment made her feel even more alone. No one standing before her had a look of understanding, of kindness. All she saw was judgment and disgust.

Suddenly thrown into the old, deep pain of her childhood, she took a step back, dropping her arrows prior to automatically seeking shelter in the fur cloak of her foster-father. Einar flinched at his little Valkyrie's loss of confidence in the face of her darkest fears. This was what he had hoped to avoid, but his heir unwittingly set their people against the only person who Blomgren had said would save them. He glared at the men and women before looking down at his daughter, who had her face buried in the bearskin cloak. He did not want to hurt her, but he had to ask.

"Beata," he said softly, "is that what happened?"

The girl unmasked her face and gulped some cold air before looking up at Einar's grey-green eyes. They were not angry, only sad and concerned. At first she wanted to cry, but she feared that showing weakness would anger the chief. Instead, she took another breath and answered, "I was talking to the dragon, convincing her that Gunnar and Birger were not food. She would have left, I'm sure, but Gunnar charged her. I told him not to until I was at the blackberry bush, but he didn't listen."

"So ya told the Nadder to attack 'im!" snarled the man from before. "Gunnar said that you were growling, spitting and roaring like a dragon. Ya ordered it to hurt Einar's sons!"

"I didn't!" Beata cried, desperate. "I was telling her not to hurt us, to take the boar we killed and go away! She was listening to me, but then she became scared and reacted."

"Did ya speak like a dragon?" asked Einar. Had it happened already? Was her secret exposed? Worry turned his stomach worse than any morbid thing he had seen in all his years of war. He prayed that his sons hadn't seen her for what she was, not so soon.

The intensity of his eyes frightened her; the girl hurried to speak. "I don't know! I thought I was speaking fine, but if I was…" She remembered the fear in her brothers' eyes. The memory hurt her, and she averted her gaze to the ground. "I understood her, the dragon. She couldn't tell if I was a viking or a...dragon."

"I knew it!" howled a woman. "She's a monster, a witch! An' we let her live in our village when a dragon was at her beck 'n call!"

Horrified cries exploded from the crowd. "She's a danger tuh all of us!" shouted a man.

"Some blessing," spat another.

"She'll get us killed!" lamented a woman.

"She needs tuh go!"

"Aye!" cried the mass.

Einar glared at the mob with cold, furious eyes. His hopes for his child to be accepted were lost, and now her hopes of finding a place to belong had been shattered. He looked down to Beata, only to find her missing. He spun around, wildly searching for the girl, his Valkyrie. She was nowhere to be found. Only the stirring of ferns gave sign to where to went. The chief stared despairingly at the forest as the vikings of Stein shouted a good riddance to her.

"Beata…" Einar said softly. "I'm so sorry."

The moon was full and rising in the sky when Beata decided to return to Stein. She was reluctant to do so, remembering the hate-filled glares of the tribe. Still, she needed her bag of survival tools. The flint and whetstone were important above all else, but she would also need her cloak, a change of clothes, and rope. She already had her weapons, all stashed in her shooting tree save for a dagger and short knife, keeping them in her bodice and her boot, respectfully. On silent feet she walked through the village, sticking to the shadows and keeping still when voices came from the houses. Ignoring their self-satisfaction in ridding their home of the cursed dragon-child, Beata went up the hill to Einar's house. She stalked to the back of the house and listened by the door, checking for anyone who was still awake. Finding it silent but for the crackling of the fireplace, Beata opened the door and stepped inside.

After tiptoeing upstairs and entering her room, the youth swiped her satchel from the bed frame and checked its contents, adding the supplies that she needed. With her sewing kit and spare clothes in the bag, she tied the mouth shut, tossed it over her shoulder and made her way downstairs. As she walked from the stairs to the back door, movement caught the corner of her eye. Instinctively, Beata flicked out her dagger from her bodice and held it at the ready, blue eyes glaring at the hulking shadow that had been behind her. Her fire faltered when she saw the soft look in Einar's eyes.

"Chief…" Words tried to spill out of her, struggling to be said first. She wanted so much to explain herself, to assure him that what she was doing was the right thing. "I'm sorry, sir, but...I'm not what they say I am. They won't believe me, though, so I need to leave. Please, don't try to change my mind because I won't and-"

Arms suddenly embraced her. It took her a moment to realize that Einar was hugging her. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, where she listened to the man's strong heart beating for several moments before he spoke. "I wouldn't stop ya, Beata," he murmured, the sound loud enough through his chest. If she didn't know any better, should would have thought the rattling breath he took was due to a battle with tears. She chose to ignore it and focused on his words. "It is no longer safe here, and I know that you are destined for greater, better things. Birger told me what he saw today. He thinks that ya meant no harm, but he is scared about what happened. He told me tuh wish ya luck for 'im."

Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. She never knew how deeply the chief cared until he embraced her. The feelings were clear: he was worried and didn't want to let her go, but he knew he had to. Did he always feel like that, all those years? Were those kind words and praises really as heartfelt as this moment? She wouldn't ever know, now that she had to leave while she was still unnoticed. Beata hugged him back just as tightly.

"Thank you...dad," she whispered.

The word seemed to knock the wind out of him. Einar bowed his head and nodded. "Anything for my little girl." Both seemed to take a deep breath, steeling themselves against the rush of melancholy and pain that was almost completely foreign to a viking. The two met gazes, and Einar nodded again. "Best ya get going, then."

"Yes, sir." Beata smiled and turned, tightening the cloak around her shoulders. A hand caught her shoulder; she turned to look at moist green-grey eyes.

"Take a boat, sail south until ya pass the first island and head east. Eleanor told me to tell ya those directions when ya chose to leave of yer own accord."

The girl nodded, trusting that he would pass on the Elder's words flawlessly. "I'll do that, dad." She slowly headed for the door again. "Tell mother that I'll miss her, will ya? And Birger, too. If Gunnar wishes tuh hear it, tell 'im that I was only concerned about his health and I hope his leg heals well."

"Alright, lass. Off with ya, before someone sees ya." Now silent, the chief watched his darling girl, his dragon-born, disappear into the shadows of the back forest. Einar walked to the back door, stood looking out at the night, tracking for a sign of Beata.

She was gone.

A small smile quirked at his mouth in pride. That was his little warrior. He looked at the stars and knew that she would be okay. Still, it didn't stop him from praying.

"Gods be with you," he whispered. Then he turned back and retreated to the warmth of the fire, closing the door behind him.

Beata watched as the homes of Stein vanished behind the silver-washed seaside cliffs. Praying for her family's safety, she turned her blue eyes south and kept the sail with the wind. "Let us see what destiny has in store, shall we?" she murmured to the stars, silent sentinels of her voyage. The moon followed the viking as she headed for the southern island.