Chapter 7

What the Night Fury saw, following the two strange Vikings, was breathtaking and astonishing. The forest took on strange new forms that he had never seen before. These two-legged creatures walked out of these strangely shaped trees without leaves or limbs. He assumed that they were nests, but why so big and so many? Not only did they use trees to build their nests, but stones as well. They were so neatly positioned and decorated; it was very mesmerizing to look at. He found himself standing on the outskirts looking in for hours on end.

As he studied this bewildering arrangement, he came to a realization that there were many more of these strange looking creatures than two; to him, they appeared to be as countless as a swarm of insects. They were the most peculiar bunch of creatures he had ever seen. Not only were they funny looking, some of their behaviors, that he was noticing, were just...odd. Not only that, they came in all shapes and sizes. They came in tall and husky to small and thin; even some of the small Vikings were heavyset as well. Besides the pale skins, there were very little common physical attributes that they shared.

One of the tall, muscular Vikings was carrying a large, seemingly heavy wooden log. It was almost funny to watch him move this strange looking object, as he was hugged it to his body. The Night Fury titled his head, trying to figure out what he was trying to do as he walked from one side of the village to another. A slight misstep and the Viking accidently dropped it to the ground, narrowly missing his own tows, and it narrowly tip over. He caught it before it fell, but not before the lid slid off and a whole fish fell out onto the ground.

The sight of that fish lying in the dirt brought a undeniable fact to light: he was hungry. It's been a while since the Night Fury had his last meal, and now his stomach was starting to protest the neglects it's been given. Just seeing that fish made his mouth water. His tongue hung from his mouth, as he nearly, inadvertently exposed himself from his hiding spot. When the Viking grabbed the fish and put it back into the container, the dragon came to his senses. The Viking again picked up the barrel and staggered off to continue his job.

The young dragon let out a soft, disappointed moan. He began to wonder if there was a way he could follow him until he put down that barrel. He was seriously contemplating taking the risk of being discovered, until his nose detected a delightful smell. It was a mixture of aromas, with one of them being the strong, husky stint of smoke. The other, had the familiar tint of salt water that usually comes from fish. He sniffed the air to sniff out the direction that smell it was coming from. From the best he could determine, it was coming from the top of a large wooden structure with a wooden walkway leading to the top. At the very top, there was a large fire burning in a fire pit, and two Vikings were sitting on a log in front of that fire. This structure was at the furthest edge of the village, near the edge of the mountain. It was the perfect location for him to be able to investigate the smell without being seen.


Gobber sat on his log, and enjoyed the smell of his fish cooking on an open fire. The smell only wet his appetite even more so, and it made him even more anxious for it to be done. He liked his fish slightly blackened, so he took his fish-on-a-stick and poked it into the heart of the hottest flame in the pit. It was the part of the bonfire that was showing the most sign of life, and the flames were dancing wildly. Stick the fish into that part of the fire, and his fish would cook in no time.

He was joined by another Viking sitting on a log to his left, but to him, he still felt as if he had this fire pit all to himself. On occasion, Gobber enjoyed being by himself to unwind. Being on the fire-pit platform, he felt removed from the stresses of the Viking life. Most of the Vikings ate in the Great Hall, and Gobber had no affront in doing so, but there was nothing in life better than a roasted fish over hot, open flames. It was a treat for him that he liked to indulge in once a week or so. Sometimes, he might ever roast a chicken, when the mood ever struck him. It wasn't really about what he ate, but more about eating alone.

As he was finishing up his fish, neither he or the other Viking noticed a Night Fury's head pop up behind them. The dragon had followed his nose all the way up to the platform. When he saw the fish cooking in the fire, the dragon could hardly contain his excitement. He licked his lips, or what would have been his lips if he had any.

He ducked his head below the platform when Gobber pulled out his fish from the fire. It was now cooked to perfection. He disconnected his rod attachment from his wrist and placed it, and the fish on the tip of it, up against the log he was sitting on, to his left. He turned to his right to grab his knife prosthetic limb, but it wasn't where he put it. "Now, where did it go?"

While he looked the other way, the Night Fury raised his head once more and cautiously grabbed the fish with his teeth and took it and the rod back down with him.

"Ah, here it is!" Gobber found his attachment and placed it into his wrist with a snap. When he turned to left... his fish was gone. "Beard of Thor! Where..."

Gobber looked up to see the other Viking on the platform as he took his first bite from his fish which looked a lot like his. His temper flared as he jumped to his feet. "Steel my fish, will you?"

The other Viking sat there dumbfounded, not sure if he was talking to him or not. Gobber charged at him, which quickly got him up on his feet. His Viking rage overtook Gobber and before either of them knew it, they commenced in negotiations in the normal Viking manner: a good ol' fashioned fist fight.

Down below the platform, the Night Fury reached the bottom of the platform without any of the Vikings seeing him. He spat out the rod onto the ground that he had managed to separate from the fish on his way down. While the scent of the cooked fish was exhilarating, he found the taste to be a little bland. The fire seemed to take away the flavor that the dragon enjoyed when eating fish. From this point on, he figured he would keep to raw fish.

The dragon looked around to see if there any Vikings around so he could continue exploring the village without being seen. A tiny lamb stood had been minding his own business when he saw the dragon climb down the tall, wooden structure. The little lamb, with eyes full of shock, stood there frozen in place, unable to move. The site of the strange little furry creature caused the Night Fury to title his head in curiosity. He had never seen such a funny little fellow before.

"Baaa!" The angry mother sheep came out of nowhere and came charging after the dragon.

The young dragon didn't know what else to do but to run. At first, he ran in circles, not wanting to be seen by the Vikings, but the angry mother did not seem to care about being inconspicuous. The mother continued to chase him for as long as she could.


It was a tricky endeavor, but the Night Fury had managed to escape the angry mother Sheep without being seen by the Vikings. He could now continue feeding his curiosity about these strange two-legged creatures, but at the same time, his stomach was still crying for more food. A single fish was just not enough to quench his hunger. These Vikings seemed to like fish as much as he did, so he had no doubt that he would stumble upon another payload. With his inability to catch his own, maybe staying on this island to feed himself was a viable way to survive.

During his search through this group of nests, he made sure that he stayed on the outskirts; it was where the Vikings seemed less likely to look or go. As he searched, he came across a nest with one of those wooden 'logs' that he had seen earlier. Last time, it was full of raw, juicy fish; perhaps this one was too. He ventured carefully towards it looking to his left and right to see if anyone was looking. It was perfectly located so he could stay to the side of the nest and not have to come out into the open.

He cautiously approached the barrel and sniffed it; he could indeed smell the scent of salt water all over it. Standing on his hind two feet, the dragon poked at the lid with his snout. It was heavy enough for him to be able to put a little weight on it with his front two feet in order to be able to keep his balance. He was just tall enough for his neck to arch over the top of the 'log'. The lid proved to be very loose, so it took just a few pokes to unseat it. He then used his snout to push the lid aside and just as he hoped, he found it full to the rim with fish.

He let out a joyous whine before helping himself to all the fish he could eat. The more he ate, the more careless he became until he put too much weight on the round, wooden barrel, and knocked it down, emptying all of its contents onto the ground. At first, he thought this was a good thing; the fish were now easier to get to, but the noise had caused a stirring from inside the nest. He had no choice to race back into the forest to hide.

The door to the hut violently swung open with such force, it nearly fell off of its hinges. "You lousy...Ahhh!"

The Viking stormed out of the hut too far, and had inadvertently stepped on a fish which caused him to slip and fall. Momentarily stunned, he groaned as he sat up. He looked around to see his barrel of fish tipped over and all over the ground. "My Fish! You wretched Vikings of Berk!" He shouted.

Two lone Vikings happened to be walking by when they saw his strange misfortune. The two men bellowed out a monstrous roar of laughter. "What's the matter, Mildew? You such a clumsy oaf!"

Mildew grumbled as he picked himself and cleaned himself off. "I'll show you who's an oaf!" he grumbled underneath his breath.

"Having problems, my friend?" Another Viking asked, walking up to him.

Mildew was too furious for conversation. He hated these Vikings in Berk, especially the chief and his son, Stoick. They were an abomination to all things Viking. They have made his life here miserable and treated him like nuisance. It was on one of their dragon hunts, his wife was killed , and he had never forgiven the Viking chief for that. He killed his wife, as far as he was concerned, and all the compensation he gave Mildew was to treat him like an outcast.

He had no desire to talk to anyone at that very moment; he wished they would all just leave him alone. "Leave me alone, Alvin. I'm in no mood for chatting."

The heavy set young Viking grinned as he folded his arms in front of him. "I know what you've had to endure because of our chief. I know how he has continued to embarrass you and make you the joke of the village."

"Yeah, so?" Mildew growled. "What do you want?"

"I have a proposition for you; something that will benefit the both of us in the long run of things."