Hello again! Sorry for the gap since the last update. Life got busy and stuff happened; but we're sorted now, and I've already started writing the next chapter!

The two men stopped rowing, letting their hands fall to their laps as they heaved for air. The ends of their paddles dipped out of the water and floated sullenly on the gentle waves. 'Paddles' is actually too strong a word; they were more like wretched, soggy planks of dark wood that the two men had deemed wide and long enough to be used as paddles. The 'boat' was similarly makeshift – just a few planks lashed together it was a pile of driftwood rather than any real boat, however much the two men might wish otherwise. One of the men was short and stocky, with a bushy brown beard as dark as the wood on which he sat. The other was tall and blond. He kept his shoulder-length golden hair pulled back from his forehead in a low pony tail and a leather headband, leaving two bangs to frame his handsome face on either side. Both of them had drenched their clothes with sweat, and their sleeveless arms glistened like the gentle sea around them under the afternoon sun. The storm rumbled angrily on the horizon. Two men had run away from its wrath. It wanted to swallow their lives, but only one of the men was afraid.

One of the men came from a strong family of warriors and fighters, and said to the other in a strong and steady voice, "Come on, we've got to keep going. We're the only chance Berk has of knowing what's happened."

The other man swallowed apprehension and nodded, feeling a cold sweat break out on his neck as his crystal blue eyes inspected the rapidly approaching storm. "We should have waited with the others," he replied with an edge in his voice, "my sister and her friends would have had no problem finding us on dragon-back." Her friends, he mused to himself. She didn't use to have a whole lot of time for any of those.

"You're the one who volunteered to come with me, Fearless Calder Hofferson."

"Yeah, and I'm starting to regret it. This was a dumb move, Hoark."

Both men could see flashes of lighting periodically illuminate the foreboding darkness on the horizon.

"It must almost be on the others," said Hoark.

Calder sighed. "Then I suppose we'd better keep rowing. Berk has to know."

With great reluctance from their sore and aching muscles, the two men took up their paddles and continued their steady trek across the water. Calder felt his muscles burning again after only a couple of strokes. He focused in on his breathing and tried to let his continuous heaves lull him into a rhythm. Gradually, he noticed the pain slowly become muted as it faded to the periphery of his awareness. It never went away, but he, not his body, had the final say. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye. Burning sting. Tearing up. Kept on rowing. Heaving, pulling, straining. He let the searing sting fall outside his awareness, and he rowed on. He could hear Hoark wheezing right beside him, and he rowed on. He felt his own lungs gasping for air, and he rowed on. He could see that deadly storm approaching...and he rowed on.

In his trance-like state, he noticed a knotted-up, coiled blemish in his mind. It's not like he'd never seen people die before; he'd fought his fair share of dragons and humans alike. He knew blood, and pain, and misery. He'd seen men die before – just not like that.

He was Fearless Calder Hofferson, a warrior so precise and deadly his elders considered him their equal, and enveloped him in their fold. Unfortunately, his sister didn't quite think he deserved it because of his 'cowardly' tactics. Well, she did, but she refused to think much of his victories gleaned from ways other than facing them head-on with pure, unadulterated skill and power. Though she'd been in a few scuffles now herself with the Outcasts, she still hadn't realised…there's no such thing as a single right way to fight. There's a winner, and there's dead. No one can say you're wrong if they're dead. Being brave, running in head first and kicking the door down has its merits, especially given that it's the old Viking fallback. But it's exactly that – a fallback. Battles, be it single combat or a war, were won with cleverness. Faking intentions. Insulting their mother. Tactical manoeuvring – which could sometimes look like retreating to the untrained eye. His uncle had some trouble realising this as well, and it had cost him his life. It was good to see her take an interest in Hiccup. He was clumsy, but he knew how to slow down and think, like a good warrior – Hel, a good leader – does. His blade-work could use some practice, though, he thought wryly.

He heard his stomach growling, then the storm grumbling in response; and he rowed on.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The storm wasn't too far behind them when they reached their island. Tuffnut usually loved a bit of mayhem – it was kind of his thing, he thought smugly. But this storm, it was something else entirely. Every time he turned around to glance at it he felt a bolt of fear shoot through him. He knew storms moving this fast would pass over fairly quickly, a few hours at most, but he feared anything that could wring that much destruction from the skies. The wild winds that preceded it already buffeted Barf and Belch to and fro. He looked over to Ruffnut. She returned his gaze and nodded; they would look for Astrid's brother, but not at their or Barf's and Belch's expense. Time was already running short, so they began their clumsy circumnavigation of the island amidst unstable air currents, paying particular attention to the shore.

To be perfectly honest, there wasn't much of a shore. Not the nice sandy kind, anyway. In some places it resembled a beach, in a dull, rocky, grey manner. In others, there were vicious juts of rock sticking up amidst waves that were being thrown against them by the sea. From there the land transitioned into dark, crunchy dirt that eventually gave way to greenery; grass, shrubs, and even trees as it went further up. The entire island was a single mountain - or a really tall hill - and the trees shrubbed at its base acting like an alpine forest. Tuffnut couldn't be fooled, though. Its altitude was too low to be alpine.

Their circumnavigation was slow. The island was relatively large, but keeping a steady flight was difficult. The angry storm kicked up air turbulence as it began to lick at their heels, so much so that several times Barf and Belch accidentally smacked their heads together, nearly knocking the twins off.

"Hey, sis! Do you see anything?" Tuffnut called after a particularly hard smack. He shook his head and stuck a finger in his ear to try and stop the ringing. Looking at Ruffnut, he saw her doing the same.

"Not yet! Have we gone around the whole island?" she called back.

"I dunno! That storm's pretty massive! Do you think we should land?"

"Yeah, maybe! How about over there?" Ruffnut pointed at a slab of wood on the gravelly shore.

"Firewood…good idea, sis!"

"I know! The crop is ripe this year!"

"Mine's always riper, dear sister, and don't you forget it!"

Ruffnut opened her mouth to retort when a wall of wind slammed into them and sent them spiralling down to the gravelly coast below. The wind whistled past Tuffnut's ears as he felt himself swirl around. He let out a gleeful chuckle. The dizzying sensation in his inner ear was stronger than anything he'd felt recently, stronger than Ruffnut punching him in the face, stronger than anything he could remember. Granted, he didn't remember much, but his point still stood. He made a mental note to do this more often.

The two-headed dragon thudded onto the ground hard, flinging the twins from their saddles, and Tuffnut's world became a blur of spinning colours and an unrepentant battering all over his body. He didn't know how long it went for, but it eventually stopped. A low groan escaped his throat. Scratch that, the world was still spinning. Worse than any hangover he'd ever had, definitely. His head throbbed and his entire body hurt. He could feel the wind whipping the gravel around him and over his face as he lay there on his back. Tuffnut gently opened his eyes. A grey blur greeted him. He closed his eyes, then tried again. Darker grey - no, hold on - his sister's face came into his field of vision, the wind whipping at her hair, and her eyes squinted against the gravel flying on the wind.

Tuffnut felt her hands on his shoulders and he was shaken roughly.

"Waaghuguauagh!"

"Come on, bro, the storm's almost here!"

He felt Ruffnut hook her arm under his shoulder and haul him to his feet. Swaying with the wind, he placed a hand on his sister's shoulder to brace himself. The other hand went to his forehead as the dizziness assaulted him anew from his sudden rise. From his uncovered eye he saw Barf and Belch untangle their heads, struggle to their feet, and make their unsteady way towards their riders. "Hey, sis, where's the wood?" Tuffnut intoned.

"What?!" Ruffnut yelled back over the whistling winds.

"Where's the wood on the shore?!"

"Who cares, let's get to cover!"

Tuffnut looked frantically around, staggering as he fought his dizziness. And then - "There!" He pointed to the wood on the beach, about 15 metres away being licked by the edges of crashed waves.

The first drops of rain began to drizzle, as ever, carried sideways by the howling winds. It splattered the twins' faces, and mixed with gravel and dirt already present. They looked quite unsavoury. Tuffnut grinned.

Ruffnut grabbed his wrist and tried to yank him towards the tree line, but he resisted.

"Now listen here, dear sister! I may not know a lot but I do know a log!"

"Come on, do you want to die?!"

"That's not a log!" Tuffnut jabbed a finger at the piece of wood on the beach. "It's Viking-made!"

Ruffnut turned to look where he was pointing. Then, the storm clouds above threw an angry bolt of lightning at the twins. It missed by a few metres, but it made them jump and yelp. The dirty gravel was a glowing, molten mess where it had struck; and at that point, Barf and Belch decided it was a good time to bolt for the trees. Trusting the ancient wisdom of draconian instinct, the twins followed suit in a fit of panic, yelling all the while.