DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING
Author's note: Hey guys! First off-thanks so much for the follows, favorites, and reviews! They mean a lot to me. I quite literally have no idea if my writing's any good, so your opinions help!
Now...story continues yet again. In this chapter, we get another brief encounter between Toothless and Hiccup, and Toothless makes a startling realization about his tail.
Also, I'd really appreciate some more reviews. Criticism would be really welcome, especially since I'm always trying to get better. I know I said I wouldn't push you guys, but I really want to know whether improvement is necessary.
Well, enjoy this chapter. Sorry about the rapid chapter updates too, but chances are I won't have time to add to this during the week.
Soon enough, The Dragon realized that he was still effectively trapped. It wasn't a problem involving Vikings, or their tricky devices, but a trap he had accidentally imposed on himself.
It was his tail; the injury was far worse than The Dragon had initially guessed.
In truth, the blame was his alone—not really the Vikings'. If he had grabbed that tree branch with one of his legs, or even the lower part of the tail, he would have been fine. But at the time of his rapid descent, he had been too panicked to think clearly, and his injury was the consequence.
Even directly after the boy had released him from the trap, The Dragon failed to notice the extent of his tail's damage. He had assumed that it was just bent out-of-place, like any other broken bone, and waited patiently to heal (dragons heal rather quickly). It wasn't until the exhilaration and fear of death had passed that he realized that half of his tail was actually missing! The left tail fin had been ripped away so that there was hardly a remnant of the thin, smooth skin that had once existed there.
Fear gripped The Dragon's heart. His kind doesn't necessarily understand the physics of flight, but most birds, bats, and dragons knew that a damaged tail could ground an animal for life.
Hoping that such an impediment was not the case, The Dragon unfolded his wings and carefully attempted to take off from the bottom of the ravine.
His wings flapped with enormous force, displacing leaves and other small objects around him. The Dragon was momentarily relieved since he was rising above the ground, meaning that he could fly.
His worries dissipating, The Dragon resolved to leave Berk. He had sustained enough injuries already, and didn't want to deal with any more violent Vikings.
As he tried to maneuver himself out of the ravine at a diagonal angle, he suddenly felt himself drop out of the sky. He screeched as he fell back toward the earth, slamming into the ground. However, he was not hurt, so he shook off the pain of his fall. Certain that it was just a fluke, The Dragon took off again. A few seconds passed before he plummeted back down again, as if the air was suddenly rejecting his presence.
No! He was going to fly again! He'd find some way to make it work.
The Dragon tried to take flight for hours, but for some reason, he just couldn't maneuver out of the ravine. After hollering and spewing fireballs with frustration, he continued feverishly flapping his wings, but the sky was still far out of reach. It was useless—he just couldn't get high enough to clear the ravine's walls.
In desperation, he even tried climbing the rock walls of the gorge, now just content with leaving the hole. His efforts were fruitless, though. Every time he tried to escape, he fell back down again, sometimes slamming painfully into the rocks surrounding him.
He gave a final effort with his wings, rising a considerable height in the process. Just as escape seemed possible, the wind caught him the wrong way, and he tumbled back down. Defeated, he lay heartbroken in the sand by a small pond.
His ability to fly had been revoked. And now…he was stranded in this gorge. A flightless dragon in a hostile Viking land.
He thought back to his gratitude toward the Viking boy. Perhaps it wasn't mercy that had driven his actions—but cruelty. Maybe he had spotted The Dragon's injured tail, and wanted him to feel the torture of being so close to freedom, only to realize that it was unattainable.
It simply wasn't fair. The Dragon had only one pleasure in life: flying. It was what he excelled at more than anything. But for some reason, that one joy was stolen from him, and now he was going to die the way he was born—flightless and alone.
He started to wish that the Viking boy had killed him. Given the guilt the child had felt, he probably would have made the job quick and painless for The Dragon.
Trying to fight the despair in his thoughts, he remembered that he still had a day—maybe more. A day meant something when it came to survival. It was no use dwelling in the past.
Smelling fish in the tiny, blue pond, The Dragon plunged his head into the icy water, hoping to snag unsuspecting prey. However, the prey was obviously suspecting, considering that he surfaced with an empty mouth.
This was more than maddening. How was The Dragon supposed to hunt without flight? It was his greatest advantage!
A clattering sound above him alerted The Dragon to an intruder. He turned his head in time to see a falling stick of some sort, and followed the path of its descent to its origin.
Sitting on the rocky wall of the gorge was the Viking boy, looking terrified at The Dragon's attention. He should have smelled the child's presence, but his residual smell from the nearby forest kept The Dragon ignorant.
They held each other's gaze for a while. The Dragon still somewhat disliked the Viking boy, so his stare echoed his emotions. Meanwhile, the child's face betrayed a mixture of curiosity and fear, but there was nothing hostile about it. He was holding something too—not a weapon by the look of it. It was one of those Viking inventions, though. What was it called…? A "book?"
He saw the Viking boy cock his head. It was strange to see him move that way—the action was just so…animalistic? Dragonish?
Almost subconsciously, The Dragon returned the gesture, cocking his head in the same direction. He honestly did not know why he mimicked the motion—perhaps it was a challenge? His way of saying "What are you looking at?"
They remained there for almost an hour, staring at each other intensely, maybe trying to determine the other's intentions.
What did the boy want from him? The Dragon wondered. If he wasn't planning to kill, then why did he return? Was it guilt?
As the sun set, the boy broke eye contact, beginning to climb back out of the gorge. The Dragon had never been so jealous of human hands—their ability to climb, or build, or hold.
He wondered whether the boy would come back.
Immediately chastising himself for the thought, The Dragon reminded himself that the child was a Viking—and Vikings killed dragons. Plus, the boy had shot him out of the sky! The Dragon should want to flay the child alive, not see him again.
But yet…there was something vaguely dragonish about the child. An intelligence and empathy that echoed his own. It was comforting to know that for once, something in this world did not intend him harm. After all, he had shown the dragon mercy.
But in reality, it was that moment. The moment when they had mimicked each other—and for a second, The Dragon did not feel so alone.
It was a silly feeling, though, and The Dragon tried to ignore it. Vikings and Dragons should never, ever interact.
