A/N:

So, a quick news flash. I will be taking a three day hiatus Friday to Sunday from what is possibly my biggest cluster**** yet. This chapter. Also known as Chapter 13. Maybe there is something to those old superstitions. So sit back, relax, and enjoy my largest update yet. Yet. Woah boy.

Unfortunately, Astrid won't be getting her soap any time soon. So close, but yet so far.

Written while listening to Rise Against – The Violence, and The Game Has Changed, by Daft Punk, my favorite electro band. Does anyone even listen to this music. And of course, Pumping Adrenaline 1

Last chapter's riddle was solved by Dragon rider's fury, formerly -ThatGuyWho... really doesn't need to finish that line, probably. :-D. It was a clock.

Enjoy your oatmeal raisin (bleugh) victory cookie.

(::)

To Harrypanther, who solved Chapter 11's riddle before it was even posted, a chocolate victory cookie. Enjoy.

(::)

New tradition. Whenever someone solves a riddle, their victory cookie will be their favorite flavor. I prefer maple personally, but that's just my humble opinion.

Riddle.

What is a sycophant?

Answer correctly and your victory cookie will be your favorite kind, if specified.

I am a full-fledged beta now! Whoot! That's all for now, B. Avar out.

Changelog - April 15th, 2019 - of course it had to be on a Monday.

I give up! I give up I give up I give up. There is NO SAVING THIS CHAPTER! Past 2018 me was so crap at writing that 2019 me is completely unable to salvage this piece of junk. There, I said it. I'm doing a rework of the rest of the fic. But this? Aside from splitting the paragraphs a little so that the average person can read it without special reading glasses to prevent them from getting a headache from reading this trash, there's nothing I can do. Maybe 2020 me will be able to rectify what's going on here, but 18 year old 2019 me won't bother.

Read at your own risk.

I looked at my work laying there so innocently on the bench, wondering how such a simple thing could be so difficult to make. It was a bowl clearly, but the rim was jagged and filled with splinters waiting to impale themselves on me should I slip while carrying it. The inside was unshaven and coarse, but at least I'd been able to sand the outside of it with the sharpener I used for my knife, which worked well enough. For pine wood this stuff was very hard to carve. You'd expect this kind of behavior from their needles, not the wood. Using my dagger on it was like trying to cut a rock with a dull saw blade.

Eventually I'd carved out a divot in it, and chipped away from there, making a little progress. Not without the hard spikes of the knob carving a hole in me first. Now I was done with it, but by that time Hiccup had already been back for thirty minutes or so, trying not to laugh. I was wrestling with the evil wood! Why is that so funny? Although some part of me admitted that it must have looked hilarious, I didn't want to say that out loud, so I just sulked, not really doing anything productive.

I looked over my shoulder, feeling that someone was looking at me. Hiccup had stopped laughing and was stealing concerned glances at my back, but when we made eye contact he blushed and looked away, trying to make it like we'd never seen each other. We sat there, not really knowing what to do, until my cuts began to itch and I rubbed the skin around them, trying to distract myself from the situation at hand. Hiccup began to ease up too, for he took the ashes he'd piled up earlier in the fire and cupped them in his hands.

"A little help here?" he said, shaking his filled hands a little.

"Fine." I said, "But you'll have to come over here first."

"Getting lazy are we? Wouldn't want that to happen." He put the ashes in my crude bowl, then reached for some of the last clean snow close to us, wedged up in a corner. Excoriating it wasn't too hard, and soon he had taken some of the heating stones out of the fire and placed the bowl on them. It browned heavily, but fortunately didn't catch.

"Did I do it right?" He asked me.

I shrugged. I really couldn't remember how to make soap. It had seemed such a short time since we had wrecked here, but we couldn't have been away from civilization for so long that we were forgetting the basics, right? Hiccup answered my questions, at least one of them, when he spoke up.

"It's only been six days, but it feels much longer than that."

"Six days doesn't feel right to me." I said

"But I notched first thing in the morning." Oh.

"And I made another one while you were away."

"I'll find a new stick while this is cooking up then." he said in a firm voice. "Don't want to run the risk of messing up again. It's too easy to lose track of time here, all alone."

I threw one to him that was on the wood pile, some of which was right next to me. There wasn't going to be any real snow from Hiccup's predictions, so some days we indulged ourselves and moved the day's fuel out of the shelter early. He caught it with grace and sat down, holding his hand out. I gave the knife to him and he made five notches, from the bark, almost to the core of the bough, then stripped off the extra layers that had been sloughing off slowly, which was all stripped and thrown to the fire, which blazed happily and then settled down to it's usual state of comatose embers.

I watched the snow become transparent as it slowly melted, accelerating faster and faster until it turned into a grey puddle at the bottom of the bowl, nowhere close to filling it up. Hiccup got up to find some more snow away from the fire, for we always made sure that our surroundings were never wet, hypothermia being the problem it was up here in the cold northern winter. He brought some in his fingers and dumped it, then warmed his fingers over the fire, looking over at our tent as he did so. I knew the reason very well. He had tried to make gloves overnight, but it hadn't worked out and he ended up wasting some good sinew. Now he was wishing that he'd managed to make it work out and now I had to distract him before he kicked himself too hard.

"I could teach you how to sew better." I offered.

"It's not my skills, it's the needle. Rabbit bone just isn't cutting it any more." he said, then added after some thought, for his mouth worked a little and his hand went to his chin, "Did you see any deer antlers though. While you were hunting?"

"Up near the hill, yes. After we found the iron I did a little scouting around."

"I'll get them this afternoon then."

"I could do it."

"You're a better hunter than me, and you'll need the space to carry stuff home, space that would be taken up by giant deer horns. Besides, I didn't catch very many fish. Only two, and I think they're the stragglers of the migration. We're going to need more food than that if we want to make it till spring without our ribs poking out like spines."

It was meant to be a joke, but the possibility was all too real to be dismissed, and we sat in morbid silence for a time, Hiccup checking the lye solution every so often.

"Maybe that wasn't exactly the right thing to say." he said sheepishly.

I ignored him and stretched out my legs, which I couldn't feel very well any more. If we really were running out of food, I needed to be able to find more, and I couldn't do that with sleeping feet, at least not very well. I smiled inwardly at the thought, but it still didn't remove the morbid effects of Hiccup's bad joke. Our earlier conversation was nagging at me, and I wanted to say something, but my mouth refused to open, at least until I forced it to.

"You can't expect to get the antlers while you're making soap, Hiccup. I think I should do that. Besides, I'm bored."

"What are you talking about again?" asked Hiccup.

"The needles to make gloves."

"Oh, that. Getting food is more important, but I see your point. Take your knife with you just in case you see something." Left unsaid was that I might run into that dragon again, and perhaps not be so lucky. The incident had to be viewed as a fluke, there was no other way to see it, unless somehow the blood thirsty animals had suddenly all turned into giant chew toys or stuffed animals. It's impossible to know exactly what goes on in those big brains of theirs, which can sometimes weigh up to fifty pounds. Enough reminiscing, it's time to go.

I picked up my dagger, took my coat off its rung, where it was hanging by the scruff (you never knew how important the little things are until you don't have them), and trudged off to the hill, hoping that my memory served me well. If I was mistaken, well, Hiccup wouldn't want to be around for a bit. I didn't like wasting time. I finally managed to slip my arm into it's coat sleeve and then trudged out of camp, going straight ahead and feeling the ground rise underneath my feet, pushing the trees higher and higher in front of me. A few trenches dug by earlier snow melts exposed some of the roots, some of which were swollen with water. They reached down into the ground, passing through the snow, which was covered in twigs and other tiny pieces of the forest.

The frozen remains of a mushroom poked out of a fallen log that had been struck by lightning, as I could see from the black marks that spread out like the veins in a plant leaf, coming up from both sides, both top and bottom, where Midgard's earth had come to meet the handicraft of Thor. Beneath it lay a small, unassuming hole, where a wood mouse had dug into the snow and made a tunnel, or some other closely related animal. As I watched a built up overhang of snow fell on the tunnel from a bough, rendering it useless. The branch snapped up, free of it's weight, and swung, whistling gaily as it passed through the air in a wild bid for freedom from the tree which held it in it's tyrannical grasp (I've always been a sucker for anthropomorphic characters).

I stopped to rest, leaning against the very same tree that had the rebellion problem. The offending branch hit another, peaceful citizen, and before I could move a load of snow was on it's way to my coat. Fun. Fortunately, not much made it down my shirt, and I was alright, if a little mad. If I'd had my axe I would have given the tree a nasty gash, in the bark of course, so as not to send more snow my way from the impact. Instead of following our usual path up the hill, I turned and walked perpendicular to the rise of the terrain, planning to run on the edge of the treeless border and thus find a rub line, where a buck would scratch off the itchy velvet. Usually they would come back to the same spot when they were about to shed their antlers, at least in my experience.

A gull's screech echoed off of the hills. Like the fish, it was the last straggler in nature's great exodus to the south. I watched the little black dot float away on the air currents, then wheel and swoop down again, only to rise on a gust. Then it disappeared behind the myriad of branches that covered the sky, and I lost sight of it in the great expanse of sky.

I returned to what I was supposed to be doing, searching for deer antlers, or even bones that wouldn't snap when knitting through any of the fur that we currently had. Soon I found a young sapling that had had all of its bark scraped off on one side, and some of the wood was damaged underneath its protective shell. There were no tracks for me follow, but I had been expecting that, the snow covering anything which stood open to the sky in a protective blanket, which made my job quite a bit harder, as antlers were, well, white. At the base of another trunk was a place where more of the bark had been taken, but a closer look revealed that it had been gnawed off by something small. I looked up at the actual tree and noted that it bore apples. Not that that would do me any good right now.

Having lost the trail, I went back to the original sapling, hoping to find some more clues. When I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, I struck out in a random direction, hoping to find anything that would point me the right way. The biggest organic thing I found in that part of the woods was a rabbit carcass, picked almost clean and with only its ribs and head sticking out of the snow. I made a big circle, fifty yards in diameter, hoping to see a trace that I might have missed earlier. Failing that, I returned to the original lead, then passed it, taking almost the exact opposite path that I had before, but with a small turn included.

This was on purpose, as the possibility that this was the first tree on the velvet run was small enough to be almost completely discounted. I walked about a hundred yards, but found nothing. I was about to give up and find new territory, frustrated by my error, when I saw another tree with a scrape on it. I made a large circle around it, but I only completed a quarter, because I'd found another one. Finding the general direction of the line was easy enough, and soon I was trudging along, passing a velveted tree about every hundred feet or so. That might sound small, but in the woods it's easy to lose your sense of distance. But I didn't find any antlers, and my previous elation turned into disgust. The buck that had made this line had curved downhill to avoid the windward side of the hill, and now I was walking in the deep forest with only the crunch of my own boots to keep me company.

A rustle shook the silent tree tops, and I paused, ready to draw my dagger at need. A brown patch that seemed to float above the snow caught my interest, and I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Suddenly it hopped. I had forgotten some of my most basic lessons about small game, at least about rabbits. I almost laughed out loud. See, in the wintertime some animals will shed their old coats and grow one made of white instead, because their summer and fall colors stick out like a sore thumb in the snow. I was looking at a rabbit that hadn't lost all of it's old fur yet, and it had still fooled me. At the moment it was only ten or fifteen yards away, a perfect bow shot for any skilled hunter. If only I had one of the weapons. Not wanting to risk throwing my dagger and losing it in the snow for a chance at it, I stomped on the powder, making a loud, ringing noise that didn't quite echo but was still loud enough for any animal but a deaf one to hear for a mile. Sure enough, it ran away while I watched. Part of my mind whispered to me that I should have taken the shot, that my aim was too good to miss, but with the cold clamping on my fingers I couldn't be sure that I'd hit.

Frustrated, I kicked the snow in a random spot, hoping to find something by chance. My foot found a rock, but my spiked boot dug into the ground and flipped the little thing up and over onto its side a few feet away, causing a plume of snow to fly up and make little dimples in the snow where the tiny flakes had hit. But in one particular spot it seemed to outline something. My feet were weary, and I made no haste in getting to the place. Brushing away the snow with my finger really made me wish that I had gloves. But there in the snow lay a huge antler, though it was only half of a normal buck's rack, it would still serve my purpose. It was perhaps two feet tall, but only about six inches wide. Now to carry it home in the cold without gloves. Fun. I might as well have stayed home, but that would just be putting off vital action. Besides, if I didn't take it, the rodents would eat the calcium rich bone for the nutrients, which was probably already happening. I turned it over and inspected it, and was pleased to see no bite marks marring the surface. At least this would make Hiccup happy, if nothing else.

He would be done with the soap by now at least, that was the good news if my memory served me rightly. We didn't have the equipment to make any hard bars, so we'd have to contend with the soft, pudgy stuff, at least for now. The problem with that kind was that it smelled awful, and we'd have to keep the fire up for a long time, just to drown out the stench with wood smoke and ashes. Ironically, I'd have to get the scent out of my clothes using that very same soap. The thought of a nice bath after… what, almost two weeks since our last wash day, because of the length of the voyage? Come to think of it, we missed Laudgardur at the Meatheads too. First two weeks without a cleanse and then a shipwreck on an island filled with sick dragons. Tell me we haven't been jinxed by some witch and I might not believe you, because our bad luck definitely seemed a little over the top for it to be only a normal occurrence.

A bony antler pricked me behind the jaw and dumped all of those thoughts out of my ears. I shifted it from my shoulder to the crotch of my left arm and left it there, but it wasn't done yet. When I stepped forwards, the huge thing poked me in the back of my thigh. The more I tried to ignore it, push it out of my head, the more I felt that dull itching sensation wherever it chose to poke me. I shifted it around to whatever position felt more comfortable, but it kept getting in the way. After a while I just gave up and put it on the top of my head, where it was still swinging back and hooking my coat. I didn't have the energy to move it from up there, so I left it on the top of my skull as I dragged my (poked) feet along the home stretch. At least the torture would be over soon and I would get some much needed rest. I might have to hunt at some point, yes, but it would only be a short break. Hopefully. Those things had a habit of turning into naps, which turned into overnights, which turned into 'where did the time go?', when you woke up in the midmorning well after sunrise.

Sure enough, a rotten milk smell curdled my nose as I got closer to home, and I wrinkled it, which was hard because of all the frozen mucus up my nostrils and even sinuses. Have I ever mentioned that I don't like winter before? No, no apparently I haven't, because it's still freezing out here. I sighed as I trudged into camp, setting down the antlers I had spent so much time and energy to find on one of the two makeshift benches we had, the other being in the tent where Hiccup had put it.

On the bench was group of relatively clean leaves, wrapping something square and cube like in a coat of brown. It didn't smell very good though. A bowl, my bowl, was cooking up more of it over the fire, while more clean leaves decorated the adjacent rocks, which were more grey than usual with soot and needed a good scrubbing. In the center of it all was Hiccup, weaving something together using maple withes, those long feeler branches that lend themselves so well to that craft. He looked up, saw that I was present, and went back to his work, presumably to finish what he was working on, as it looked nearly done from what I could see, which was not very much because his arms were in the way and I could only see part of the webbing. It looked like a trap of some kind, but I was too tired to ask him about it for now. Other than that camp hadn't changed much on the surface, other than the general pile up of junk that comes with civilization. Hey, at least we're coming up on the charts now. At some point it would reach the point where we would need to do a spring cleaning, but that was a long time away, and I only let it nag a dark, dusty corner of my mind where I didn't often look.

Well, there was one thing that had changed. There was no snow on the ground inside the cove, and I kicked off my boots to find that the ground was pleasantly dry and while not warm to the touch, was not cold either. That was nice to know, I thought as I moved my boots from where they had landed on the floor (muppet me), to right on the doorstep of the fire so they could steam off the excess moisture trapped in their soles. At that moment Hiccup set aside his contraption and hunched up next to me, warming his hands with the air currents like me. He glanced over at the table and saw the antlers. The next thing I knew he was giving me a discreet thumbs up. I mirrored him, and then bumped his fist gently, just because. We both smiled at each other and for a moment it was just me and him.

"Are you alright? You took a long time getting back and I was getting a little worried." he said.

"Don't worry about me. You know I can handle myself."

"But you can't handle me and my madness."

Neither of us moved, until I released a breath I hadn't even known I was holding. He turned away, and the schism shattered between us, letting me finally breathe. We were so close, and then we pulled away, just to give ourselves some space. Where once I had wanted to talk to him, now we had an… understanding between our minds. Without speaking, Hiccup took the trap, for that was what it was, and baited it with a special kind of moss.

He left it on the ground there, and reached for my hand. He was obviously taking me somewhere. I took it easily, and he pulled me up from where I sat.

"I know a better place to be." he said, lightly jumping onto the ledge next to Protection Rock as he did so. For the first time I could see that there was a large cleft on top of the boulder, with just enough space for two, maybe three with a squeeze.

"Wanna come?"

I stepped up before him, and found the most comfortable place.

"Hey, that's my spot." he said, climbing up after me, but there was no edge in his voice.

The view was beautiful, and I wondered why I had never come up there before. I turned and to my right was a white glade, filled with the sweet smelling air. To my left was the forest, with tiny ice crystals hanging on the branches like little snow globes. Behind me was a downward slope that lead to a flat plain, from which fell steep, yet not tall cliffs. The ground filled everything and the earth was everywhere, making this part of the world timeless. I wanted to take this little island and keep it forever.

A song, out of place yet perfectly in harmony, came to my lips, and I let myself sing, softly. There were more verses than what you see, but this is all I remember of it.

Summer in the hills,

Those hazy days I do remember,

We were running still,

Had the whole world at our feet,

Watching seasons change,

Our roads were lined with adventure,

Mountains in the way,

Couldn't keep us from the sea,

Here we stand open arms,

This is home where we are,

Ever strong in the world that we made,

I still hear you in the breeze,

See your shadows in the trees,

Holding on memories never change."

We sang on for a long time, until eventually the world became grayer, and I fell asleep in Hiccup's arms. I dimly remember him carrying me down to the house and laying me down, but that is where I fell asleep.

My eyes fluttered open early the next morning, with light gently streaming in, the sun's light reflected by the white snow awaking me. I took my time rising, for I felt none of the usual need to stretch. Hiccup wasn't there, and neither (when I looked out at camp) was his trap. He must have already gone hunting. It grew momentarily darker as a cloud passed in front of the sun and blocked its radiance, but for now the weather remained stubbornly clear, for only the third time in all of my experience on the island. The remnants of his breakfast were next to my bed where he had set them, and I suddenly remembered that I hadn't had dinner the night before. There was even a roughly carved wooden fork there for me to eat with, complete with a flowery swirl etched into its surface. I ate with gusto, for today was going to be a great day, I could feel it in my bones. It was a warm day too, for some of the snow on the roof of the lean-to was dripping through the cracks or falling off the rafters and onto the ground. The fire crackled occasionally, but it was nowhere near as vibrant or noticeable as last night.

I threw off the woven hemlock blanket and looked around. There were my boots, also next to my bed, though not so close that I could trip over them, and yet close enough to reach without straining my arms. The morning of the sixth day had arrived, and I was ready for it. On the workbench lay two soft bars of soap and some water which was still warm when I dipped my finger in it, meaning that Hiccup had only left a few minutes ago. I washed my face thankfully and wiped it on my shirt, for which there was a hasty fur patch laying on the bench also, as a small tear had opened in my sleeve. A tiny needle with equally tiny thread also lay there, both of them moist, so that the cloth would seal when it dried after the patching business.

Mending my shirt was easy, and it was almost as good as new in only a couple of minutes. I had to say, his skill set was impressive. What else had he done during the night? I stepped out of the tent, and I had to rub my eyes to let them adjust to the thousand beams of light shooting into them. Remember those ice crystals I was talking about earlier? Now each of them flashed with the brightness of the sun, creating a brilliant gallery, shaking in the dull wind and tinkling like an so many wind chimes back home. It was dazzling, bright and fantastic all at the same time, and maybe a little more. I tried to concentrate on what else had changed, but my eyes wanted to pay attention to the ice and nothing else. I forced them down and started to take stock of our camp. There was more wood under the covering, that was for sure, though the snow melt was giving the waterproof job that Hiccup had done on it a run for its money. The soft plop of a falling water droplet sounded every so often, giving the scene a more down to Midgard feeling, but that wasn't even the best part.

A bow, just my size, lay on the outside workbench with ten perfectly crafted arrows laying right next to it, already strung tightly with sinew. I glossed over it's shape and all of the details. It was almost five feet long and would be almost as tall as me should I stand it on the ground with the end down. The binding that held the cord to the bow looked well reinforced, and when I inspected the wood itself the heart and sap were in their right positions, with the inner core holding it all in place. The arrows glinted wickedly in the morning light, their sharp but not serrated edges able to cut a hair, not that we had any beards in need of shaving. Their shafts looked almost like they had been cut from port cedar, the best kind for arrows, as it kept its form well and was not affected by the weather, wet or dry. Several broad feathers were driven into the back of the things, just in front of the end of the stick. Where had Hiccup found this much quality wood and flint? And when would he have had the time to actually make this thing? If it was meant to be a surprise gift, he had certainly kept it secret well enough. Unfortunately he must not have had very much leather, for there was no belt or quiver, and the heads were not shielded. Still, it was his way of saying thank you, and who was I to turn down a free present. But first, a few practice shots to get the hang of it, for there was no point in standing around. Yes, I do have impatience issues, as Hiccup says, but I'll be an old woman when I finally tell him that.

I grabbed it with my left hand, which melded well with the design, allowing me to bring it to heel, perpendicular to the ground. I pulled back the string experimentally. While it was animal-based and would be liable to cause problems in the future. For now, it decided to behave, and as I felt the power of the weapon, tensing underneath my hand. It was better than any other bow I had ever owned, given I had never owned one, and felt almost as intuitive as my axe. Almost. Given our resources however, I wasn't inclined to complain, at least not much. I played around with it for a little while longer until finally putting an arrow to the string, pulling back slowly, still testing the limits of this new machine. My hands shook almost imperceptibly as the fletching tickled my nose, waiting for an unseen signal, restless and waiting to release. Then the sound of a small water droplet hit my ears, and was drowned out by the whish-smack of the arrow flying off of the string and the bow snapping back and hitting the air. I watched, the world almost in slow motion as I watched the shockwave of the speeding projectile, the feathers guiding it onto it's target, an oak tree of considerable size. The shot felt natural, almost as if it was an extension of my body and not just a conglomeration of various natural materials powered by my energy. Speaking of which, all that energy had to go somewhere, and it was dispersed as the broadhead embedded itself deep within the center of the tree, almost a foot deep, burying more than a third of the arrow with it and making the feathers thrash around wildly for several seconds with an insistent buzzing noise, like that of a yak-fly. Note to self, do not shoot arrows at trees, at least not with that much power, or you might break something.

The world returned to real time soon after, and I realized that the tree was actually a good thirty yards away, pretty far for a first time bullseye on such a distant target. Now the only thing to do was get the arrow out, no mean task, for arrowheads were designed to stick, and if Hiccup was as experienced with that part of making bows as he was with the rest, well, this could take a while. It eventually ended sucking up almost half an hour of good time, as well as costing me the arrow, for the shaft splintered when I tried to wrench the head free. I grunted and tossed it into the camp woodpile next to our other firelighters, ashamed to waste flint of such good quality. Where had he gotten the stuff from, anyway? Especially without telling me about it too. Making sure that the camp was in order, I burned the bones from the morning meal, since we didn't have a pot, fed wood to the fire, and put on my coat, not taking any tinder or even a sparker with me, as we'd come to call them, as I already had my arrowheads and the dagger, and besides, I didn't plan to stay out long.

With that I tempered my bouncing step to avoid tiring myself out before the real game, and took to the forest like a deer, with only my tracks to say that I had been there, and my scent had been partially washed out by the soap, though any wild animal that claimed to have a good nose would still smell me if the wind was right. At least it felt better to have all that grime off.

Keeping the bow in my left hand, and keeping it clear of brush, I walked with a quick gait, but not too quick lest my boots inhale snow again. Tripping wouldn't be any run either, what with the snow being wet today, so I kept an eye out for any slippery rocks, and really anything else too. The moss that was still hanging on was shining vibrantly with clear water, the pure liquid dripping onto the snow not with a 'plop', but with a 'plosh' instead, forming icicles that I could see my (distorted) reflection in as I looked on. I saw nothing other than that until a little mouse not even the size of my fist shook itself off, sending droplets into the air, some even landing on my boot, which I ignored. The small being groomed it's whiskers with pride, and I noted how it's pink tail, which was hairless, seemed to not freeze.

I had no more chance to study it, as even as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, seeming to vanish into an unseen tunnel. I looked up from the distraction at a rustle, and saw from the corner of my eye that it was only some snow falling onto a cocklebur, which were surprisingly rare around here, even for our home. The only place I had ever seen them en' masse was at the Meathead island when I went on that disastrous trip. Now that I think about it, it's kind of odd that we left as late in the season as we did. I shrugged. I'd have to ask someone about that when we got back. An underling perhaps, a navigator maybe. I didn't want to acquire a reputation for snooping around, but it did seem a little wrong to me.

A little imprint in the snow attracted my attention, and I came closer, hunched so that I could inspect it in detail. It turned out to just be the place where a snowdrop had fallen and made a hole that only looked like a rabbit track. I sighed. Oh well. It's not like there's a thousand more rabbits running around in the woods anyway, hopping really, but that's just a technicality for a later date. Right now it seemed that all the game in the forest had disappeared into some magical place, because no matter how hard I hunted or followed the tracks, I never saw another animal bigger than a crow. And that inconsiderate chump dropped a pine cone on my head, courtesy of his excellent 'manners'.

Maybe Hiccup was having some better luck. One could only hope, but what with all the game acting so mysteriously spooked, I'd be surprised if he'd catch anything today. Naturally, I'd just gotten a bow, and then all the rabbits vanished into their holes just like that. I hadn't even seen any deer tracks all day, and if there had been some in the morning, they must have been smudged over, because I didn't find anything of that sort in my neck of the woods. It took me almost two hours just to inspect one mile, I was doing it so carefully, and I still couldn't find anything less than three hours old. Well, not nothing. A lithe bobcat had been watching me from the crotch of a tree, and I only noticed him when he yawned, opening his red mouth wide and exposing his cherry red tongue. He was probably taking a catnap and had just heard me stomping along like a drum, what with those big ears of his, and had decided to investigate. Gracefully he sat up and began cleaning off his fur with his paws, talons not extended but still showing underneath the tawny skin. I had half a mind to kill him and eliminate the competition for our resources and perhaps get the pelt, but to my knowledge he hadn't done anything wrong, yet. I'd keep an eye on the meat back at camp for a while. I decided not to bother him, but at the same time keep an eye on the big cat. When I turned away I could see him grinning at me over his shoulder, then putting a paw over his eyes so that he could go back to sleep. I considered going back home, just to rest up, but denied myself the opportunity. I would not get lazy, not with our very lives at stake. Just because there was nice weather now didn't mean that there would be nice weather later, I regaled, and I'd better take advantage of the situation while it lasted.

I jumped down into a small depression caused by the winter melt. While gully's and channels sometimes formed out here, a thick layer of moss and leaves would always trap the water and absorb it, releasing it slowly over the summer months. That kind of thing usually happened when there was a wildfire, and from the looks of the trees, events of that sort hadn't happened here for many years. A honeycomb of fallen saplings blocked my way, but I vaulted through them, exploiting the many gaps in the myriad combination to get through safely. Once I was on the other side I turned and looked back to see what had even caused that mess. The ground around the bases of the trees was covered in flecks of frozen dirt, much of which was mixing with the snow, which seemed more watery around there. In fact, the trunks all showed signs of water damage. The roots must have gotten loose during a bad rain, and something had caused them to fall over. Not in the market for looking at dead or dying plants anymore, I climbed out of the gully and started to walk within the real deal.

Threading my way gingerly through the trees, with not a man or his makings in sight, felt oddly wonderful to me,, and I marveled at all the things I hadn't noticed before. The way a branch would bend and twist to get into the light, for example, and still remain closer to the trunk. The thousands of hibernating beetles hidden inside every log that I so much as cracked the bark open on. I had seen these things before, but I had not really seen. I had just been dimly aware of everything. It was like I could feel the beating heart of the earth, and subsequently every disturbance in it. I saw something that looked like it was out of place, a brown shape behind one of the bushes. I could have dismissed it as another mouse, but something else told me to take a closer look.

I crouched and began to approach quietly, with my left hand gripping the bow and my right fingering one of the arrows that I had belted to my coat, rather crudely compared to what Hiccup could have made, I thought with chagrin, and a lot slower than a quiver should I need to make a fast draw in case of an emergency. I intentionally turned at a slight angle, to make it look like I had lost the trail of whatever I was hunting, most likely a rabbit, which was the only thing small enough to fit behind that tiny bush.

Not looking at your prey directly made it look, to them at least, like they had not been seen, and if you did it right, you could even come within spear range of a partridge, albeit with more time and patience than I had at my disposal. Keeping the… ear, for that was what it was, in the peripherals of my vision, I shuffled along quietly, smiling to no one in particular but myself when it flicked a little. Still not looking at it directly, I came closer to the animal. If it happened to be a deer, it certainly wasn't a buck, for at this distance I would have been able to see the antlers or perhaps their stubs if they had been shed already, which some of them had been, as I had seen earlier.

Once I judged I was close enough, I intentionally stepped on a rather large stick to see if I could flush it out. Frustratingly, it refused to break. I kicked up some snow anyway, and the animal twitched. I picked up the stick and tossed it against a tree, where it broke with a soddened thud, as it was impregnated with water. The animal shot up and in an instant I saw that it was a deer, a magnificent doe, though not with fawn. Good. Even though it would have been necessary, I saddened when I had to kill unborn animals just for their mother. I found the bow automatically held in front of me, my hand poised to draw. You see, deer's eyes are optimized to see motion, and with my ragtag clothes on, she must not have been able to make me out clearly as long as I didn't stir.

While I was frozen in place, I was contemplating the best way to get the arrows out of the makeshift belt, which was not serving it's purpose well at all. My arms were still fresh and I felt that with an arrow in my hands, I would be able to easily take it down. If I pulled them head first out of the belt, I would run the risk of losing the feathers, but at this range it wouldn't be such a problem, the doe standing stupidly less than a stone's toss away, making an easy broadside target for all but the most inexperienced archers. I reached slowly for my sash, watching the deer as I did so. It tensed, but remained rooted to the spot without trying to flee.

Suddenly I pulled the arrow out of the sash and held it in my right hand, which was drawing it quickly up to my nose, which was harder then I'd imagined it would be. Thankfully I hadn't lost any of the fletchings. The doe leaped away, but I did not loose my weapon, knowing full well that I had only one good shot and I couldn't waste it. My stance was near perfect, once again the bow feeling like just another part of my body thanks to Hiccup's craftsmanship. I held my breath, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The unfortunate doe bounded high into the air, and I aimed slightly below it, and released. With it's now trademark whish-smack, the arrow screamed towards it's target, going so fast that a tiny contrail formed behind it and curled away from the path like wisps of smoke, only without a fire to cause them. So fast that I struggled to see the arrow, though I had been holding it only a moment before. The broadhead entered the deer's chest and smashed straight through, leaving only a small entry hole. But I knew what would happen when it came out the other side. Immediately the animal staggered from the force behind the impact, which nearly knocked it over, the feathers of the projectile having completely disappeared into it's skin, such was the blow. It tried to regain it's balance, but the pain must have been too much and it's strength too little, for it just gurgled and sank to the forest floor. I looked at my bow with interest, then looked back at the doe, seeing the damage compared to the relatively small arrow. Normally I was hit or miss with these things, but this one was special. It needed a name worthy of the marvelous design and massive power it had revealed to me. I rolled some around on my tongue.

Ghost? No. Too generic. Hunter? Better, but still not great. I could sit there and debate with myself for hours, but I didn't want to spend the time doing it. Hopefully I'd come up with a moniker sometime in the future.

Not worried about bloating for the moment, as it was in the cold snow, I didn't bother to cut it open, which also ran the risk of letting dirt in from the environment, especially since I was certainly at least a mile from home. There was the arrow to be worried about too, and I went too see if I could recover it. Sure enough, it had passed straight through the flesh of the deer almost like it hadn't been there, although the exit wound was larger than the size of my fist. I did some estimation and, if my figures were right, it had gone roughly east after killing the deer. So what was there to do but follow it?

Sure enough, I found the place where it had entered the snow, and then I kicked around a bit, hoping to find it snagged on a random root. It wasn't there, and neither did the next ten feet yield anything. I know if I was off-track, for my shoes erased any trace of tunnels as soon as they uncovered them. Eventually I returned to the entry point, thoroughly puzzled. I didn't want to lose it, for we only had ten, and I knew it was still intact. I cast my eyes over it's presumed path, hoping that they might find something. And find something they did. Ten yards away, my arrow lay on it's back, partially on top of the snow, shaft and head still intact, if a little bloody. It must've skittered thirty feet underneath the snow after it had entered, and then bounced high enough to get out, which was why I was even able to see it.

In deeper snow this could have been a nightmare to find and dig out. Fate was surely smiling upon me that day, and I wasn't about to inspect a gift horse from behind, so I dug the arrow out of the snow, wiped it off well, and put it back into my sash, an arrangement that I now highly detested.

Now the deer. If it had behooved me so to carry a pair of antlers (actually, only one set), then how would I move the whole thing. Turning it over so that the wide exit wound was on top and not dragging on the dirt wasn't too difficult, and pulling it a few dozen yards wasn't either. Only another mile and a half to go, I thought sarcastically. I took the head on my shoulders and started to make another drag, this time for a slightly shorter distance. That went on for a while, until I encountered the first major obstacle of many. A flat wall of rock, about seven feet tall and twenty feet long blocked the way home with its sheer bulk.

Pulling the deer all the way up was out of the question, as it probably weighed almost five hundred pounds, and besides, it was hard enough to drag it around, getting a good enough grip to heft it over a cliff. I didn't really want to go around, so I started looking for a better way up. Multiple tree roots had burrowed or broken through the granite and were poking out randomly like insect feelers. I must've scanned the wall three times, but there was no way directly up it for both me and my cargo to go up all at once. There weren't going to be any shortcuts.

The thing about time is that you can't stop it. Eventually if you try hard enough or hit your problem often enough (with an axe, not a hammer, thank you), you'll always succeed. Stoick's Nest hunts not included. I dragged the carcass along nearly twenty yards in the wrong direction before I found a dip in the wall, perhaps five feet in diameter and surrounded by sharp stubble that could perhaps damage my catch. First I scaled the incline and tried to pull the deer up by it's forelegs, but the weight was too much to lift, even for me. Then I jumped down and tried to shove it up from behind.

It seemed to be working, until I slipped on some grit and two hundred pounds of flesh came crashing down on me from above. The end result? A blood spattered and thoroughly frustrated Astrid who was no closer to home then when she had started. At least I had a name for my bow. Silencer. It was a good name that served it's purpose well, and sounded nice if I do say so myself. I'd stick with it.

The sun was waning steadily and the shadows were growing longer when I finally reached more familiar territory, with my stamina almost gone and my body screaming for a rest. I dropped the deer and leaned against a tree to get my breath, for I was badly winded.

"Need a little help with that? You've left a bloody trail that runs all over the woods." said a voice. I knew instantly who it was. Hiccup.

"Maybe."

He grabbed the hind legs and heaved.

"Who goes first?"

I shrugged, then picked up my end and trudged forward in front. Soon I passed one of our landmarks. We only had a quarter of a mile to go, but it would be a hard bought quarter, and none too easy to navigate, the forest having it's ways.

It was late in the afternoon when we arrived at Protection Rock. Not a minute too soon either, for Hiccup wasn't looking too well, his face looking very red and maybe even puffy, you might say. We threw the carcass down and took a good breather once we got into camp, exhausted. It was late in the afternoon, but my brain felt like it had been years since I'd stepped out of the little glade that morning. The deer would still have to be skinned, or frozen until we chose to eat it of course, but for now we would be glad to only eat a part of the massive slab of venison, and hang up the rest for later processing.

The previously warm temperatures had fallen some, and a few ominous clouds covered half of the western sky, threatening to drop more snow on our heads. The sun reflected off their tops, diffusing into the air, creating a multicolored halo that spanned the sky like a thread of yarn, so thin and yet so wide and vivid. Underneath the floating masses I worked fervently to keep our only fresh venison from spoiling in the unusual heat of the winter thaw that had come. By now patches of brown grass had begun to poke through the melting layers, and camp, though not filled with water by all means, had started to take on a musty smell.

Thankfully all of the flies had been killed by the cold snap, otherwise we would have been miserable from their constant biting. Come to think of it, they would've spoiled the meat if we had left it out too long, so we were thankful for that as well. Today would be known as first venison day, and Hiccup had already extended the notch on the day stick to twice it's usual size to mark our celebration. I was trying to cut the haunch of the animal, with a little difficulty but more determination, and Hiccup had thrown some more oak onto the fire prematurely, so that it would cook properly.

And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Do you know that feeling, when your neck tingles, when you can tell that something isn't quite right, but it's impossible to pinpoint exactly what it is that's bothering you? I couldn't see what was wrong, but I trusted my danger sense enough to know that we could be in peril from some wild animal. Hiccup looked like he was feeling the same presence, for he was stealing concerned looks at the forest around us, trying to penetrate the depths of the trees, all to no avail I knew, for the brush was simply too thick, and there were too many places to hide in should someone wish us evil. I kept my bow within reach, just in case, and the hand that was cutting the doe was always ready to come out at a moment's notice.

Still, I doubted it would really come to anything. Some coyote scouting around, hoping to rush in and steal some of the meat from us most likely. We knew that they hung around on the island, so it wouldn't be too far of a stretch. Coyotes didn't attack vikings all that often though, and fire usually kept them away. Still, we would have to take precautions if we didn't want to have a large chunk of meat 'mysteriously' disappear during the late night and early morning, when the fire would have burnt down and we would be asleep and unable to prevent the theft. But I digress here.

By the time I had cut out a significant portion of venison, the cooking rocks (we didn't have a pan) were red hot, and I laid some of the delicious smelling meat on a slab to cook, all the while making small talk with Hiccup, of which there was plenty to go round.

The sun was almost below the horizon by the time we began to eat. Though not as brilliant a sunset as the night before, the marching line of clouds made for an impressive dinner that rounded off a good day. I looked forward to relaxing and discussing things with Hiccup before heading off to bed for a refreshing sleep. But still my spine tingled dangerously, and I found myself uneasy and not in the mood for much of anything.

A loud, hollow sound began to rise from the forest, deepening in tone, and prickling my skin so that the hairs on my scalp stood on end. It was unmistakably the call of a wolf, and it was very close. Another howl joined it, and soon the forest was ringing with their calls, calls that seemed to draw nearer and nearer with every second. Silently praying that they would pass us by, for we were in no condition to fight, we wasted no time in drawing our weapons, though they were small and unsuited to what faced us. I waited, standing my ground, with an arrow within easy reach and Silencer poised to fire. It was better to be safe then sorry, as my aunt always said, although she was on my mother's side, not Finn's.

Then, like a candle silently lit, a pair of golden eyes appeared in the darkness ahead of us, then another pair, and another one, until five wolves stood in front of us, and more were baying in the distance. Hiccup summed up all of my thoughts.

"I have a bad feeling about this."

This was no time to be funny, but I smiled anyway. Hopefully they hadn't circled around us to attack from both directions. My hopes were dashed when I heard the tch tch tch of claws against stone, which meant that the wolves were probably attempting to find a foothold against Protection Rock.

"Stick with me. Don't show them fear." I told him, and he did, valiantly holding my knife in one hand while I covered the forest, ready to draw. I felt his fingers grasp mine and squeeze, and I squeezed back.

The leader of the pack stepped forward into the small circle of firelight, faintly back lighted by the light of dusk shining onto his tail like a hazy coat of blue paint. He was about chest hight for me, and his frame was well shaped and filled with muscles that rippled when he walked or so much as craned his neck. His lungs were well built, leading up to a huge jugular that powered jaws that looked like they could snap my arm in half and his fur shone with what can only be called gloss. He was colored mostly black, with a head like that on most wolves, just more powerful and perfectly shaped.

His eyes were piercing and saw everything in front of them with a surgical glance, wandering here and there, yet remarkably focused.

They were seeing me now, as he looked straight at me, and unconsciously we both began to participate in the ancient game of domination, each of us seeking to prove our superiority. The wolf's hair bristled while we fought without words, wanting to resolve this without a fight, but our pumping hearts betrayed us, ready for action if the situation need be. Adrenaline coursed through my veins while I surveyed my surroundings carefully, not wanting to trip on a wayward stone.

I did not avert my eyes from his, staring him down like a hawk, waiting to see if he would knuckle under and cow. But he owned the numbers advantage, and he knew it. So he stepped past me, making a beeline for the doe which I had killed and was now chilling in the evening air, along with a rabbit and some other assorted meat which was going to be smoked. I stepped in front of him, but he blithely passed me and attempted to go on. I stepped in front of him again, but he ignored me. This guy had some moxie to just barge into our home and steal our food, and if he knew what was good for him he would leave. Their alpha growled and shoved me aside, once again heading for our food. Now he was just overstepping his boundaries.

I slugged him what would normally be a knockout blow in the nose, and the fight was on. He wrinkled his nose and sniffed, as if surprised. Then he threw his head up and howled fit to shatter a window. The other members of the pack answered him and sprang forward with their teeth bared, glinting wickedly against the dull setting of our camp. It happened so fast that it was overwhelming, but I had been in dragon raids before, and I knew how to keep my cool. Hiccup, not so much. With a shock I realized that keeping up with the alpha had isolated him and he was now an easy kill for anything that so much as looked at him the wrong way. Looking over, I saw that the wolves seemed to flow around him without leaving so much as a scratch.

The alpha had disappeared and I couldn't see him in my limited frame of vision. At the same time half of the pack was scrambling down off of the rocks in the cove, having climbed over them at their leader's call to arms. The scene was one of chaos as at least ten wolves were bounding through our camp, knocking over everything and turning what had been an organized home into a mess. Their barking and whining was terrible to hear, and was second only in noise to a dragon raid. In the heat of the action the unfamiliar weapon was a detriment, and as I drew an arrow to the string and let go, I knew it would miss.

The whish-smack of Silencer got the wolves attention, as if they'd never seen a bow before. The wolf I'd been aiming at, a medium sized black chestnut which had been running broadside to me, stopped, and the arrow which had been wobbling out of control before was now suddenly on target. It slammed into it's target near one of the leg arteries, hitting the bone and causing dark red blood to spurt out almost a foot into the snow, almost like yak cream being poured into a cup. It howled in pain and leaped away, losing it's balance and falling, though it was still alive, I doubted it would live without becoming permanently crippled. The satisfaction of seeing it fall wasn't as relevant as the need to find another target, so I drew another arrow to the string, this time with better form, and took aim, this time at a large grey that was helping another pull off a chunk of meat.

Another whish-smack shattered the cacophony, but I just wasn't familiar enough with Silencer to score good hits with it. The arrow missed it's back by a hairs breadth and went on to hit Protection Rock, shattering the flint head and leaving the shaft to fall harmlessly to the ground with a thud. I winced. Every miss counted against us in a game where we were outnumbered eleven to one (I'm not sure Hiccup counts). Our only hope was to make them realize that our food stores were not worth running the gauntlet beneath my debatable marksmanship.

By now the pack was beginning to catch on to the strange projectiles that were hitting them, and three of their biggest were already loping towards me, among them their leader. I can only assume that they smelled human scent on my arrows, otherwise I might have been able to kill them all had I only been given enough ammunition. Without my dagger to defend myself with, I had to make this shot count. The alpha stood head and shoulders above the others, but he was moving faster than the others as well, so that actually hitting him would be a challenge. The wolf at his right split from the formation, as did the one on his left in a classic encirclement tactic that would pin me down at a range where my bow would be useless.

What about Hiccup? I stole a quick look at him and saw that he was alright, if a little afraid. He'd held his ground with his back against the wall, afraid to go into the maelstrom that was the center of camp with only a dagger in his untrained hands. I grimaced. They had probably gotten into the main food stores already too. But now the alpha was close enough for me to see the whites, or in this case the greens, of his eyes, giving me a generous profile with his chest entirely exposed. I couldn't have gotten a better shot if I'd tried.

I pulled back the string as far as it would go, almost past my head, feeling the raw power of it's held back energy. Whish-smack! The arrow sped towards his neck, and once again time seemed to slow down. The two wolves on either side of him leaped at me with a roar, but it was too late to save the alpha, as I watched white wisps form behind the screaming black mass. It was like a man crushing a worm, for all his muscles and brawn couldn't save him from the well-placed force that was now kicking him back like a boulder from a catapult. The arrow buried itself up to the feather in his neck and crushed his windpipe, and that was the end for him.

But recognizing that he was surely doomed, and that death would come to him that night, he howled one last time, until his mouth was choked in blood so much so that he couldn't breathe, couldn't think from the pain, all he could do was howl like a banshee until he died like just another animal.

Instantly all of the other wolves dropped everything and charged at us, wont to avenge the fall of their comrade. Alas, us included Hiccup, and he was now isolated and backed against a rock wall with no conceivable escape. For now I had my own problems. One of the grays that had accompanied the alpha had left to nuzzle his dead body, presumably his mate. The other was still running towards me at top speed with deadly intent visible in his eyes. I fumbled with my arrow, but he was just too close. I dropped my bow, but not my arrows, which I held above my head. The moment he came too close, I'd stab him. Not the best weapon, but it would be better than nothing when push came to shove. I watched as the wolf gathered himself for the spring, his well oiled skin showing the muscles coiling themselves like the cat chasing a mouse under the carpet.

When he leaped, I was ready for it. He made an ill-coordinated jump, trying to pin me down, but he should've known that I was quicker than that. I scrambled to the side, and sunk a barb into his massive shoulder, which was now glossed with blood from the injury. But the arrow haft was not strong enough to support such twisting forces, and it snapped in two, giving me a long cut on my palm from one of the flying splinters that itched like the devil. I rolled away and stood up on all two legs, my bow near at hand where it lay from when I had thrown it, and another arrow already in my hands, there being no time for a proper shot. But even as I prepared to fight with my teeth if I had to, more wolves were on my case, and in ten seconds I would be totally overwhelmed.

"Run!" shouted Hiccup. "You can't hold them off forever."

I risked a tiny glance over my shoulder. Hiccup had somehow climbed over the rock wall and the wolves had not been able to follow him. Right now he was on the outside of the cove with my dagger hanging uselessly at his side. I could just barely see his shape outlined against the night sky, beckoning to me. I looked back at the wolves. Half the pack was closing in on me now, the other half either having taken the meat or been killed. Hiccup was right, this was a fight we could not win. I grabbed my bow off the ground and bolted towards the exit, but not before the gray I had hit scored a neat scratch on my right arm that didn't help things. I punched him for his efforts.

My hand met an outstretched arm that pulled me from danger, at least for the moment. We didn't waste any time looking back and booked it for the forest, with the wolves nipping at our heels. They weren't playing around either, their great strides covering five yards with every bound, and soon they had almost caught up to us.

"Why do they want to kill us so much? You'd think they would've stopped chasing us by now." said Hiccup between breaths.

"Revenge, I think."

"For what?"

"I killed the big black one. Must've been their leader." I said as a hungry pair of teeth nearly found a home in my heel.

"No kidding." Hiccup mumbled something else under his breath, but I didn't quite catch it.

Now was not the time for that however, as any extra effort on our part would just slow us down. Already my lungs were… tightening so that every breath was harder than the last. My mouth became sour, and a burning spit was pooling in my teeth and coating my throat in a choking vapor, never mind my tongue, which had become totally numb, and my jaw which had been hanging slack for so long in a bid to inhale more air, was now sore from all the shaking which the running had caused. I coughed and nearly turned my ankle on a log while I was distracted. A moment later Hiccup did the same. Our stamina was running out, and the wolves were almost done with us. They must have been playing with our lives, thinking that on a small, uninhabited island like this there was no refuge for us. Alas, that was closer to the truth then I had originally thought. They were so close behind us that we did not dare stop and fight, nor even attempt to climb the trees which would provide protection.

Even the minuscule light of the falling sun had been completely blotted out, and we were running blind through a hazard filled forest. Night in the archipelago comes quickly, and sometimes it can be so dark that the air is almost a tangible weight that fills the air, grabbing onto our limbs like glue.

"Turn around! I have a plan."

"To shoot them in the face? Because that would be really.." Hiccup wheezed painfully. "helpful right now!"

Perhaps there was a better way to do this. I reached out to Hiccup, and while I couldn't see him, I still had a rough idea of where he was, from feeling more than anything else. I found his shoulder and traced it down to his hand.

"Just turn around! We don't have any time for any backtalk. Our lives are on the line here!" I yelled back.

"As if I didn't already know that."

"It's better than nothing."

Before he could resist, I yanked his arm so that he spun backwards, almost losing his balance, but my firm grip steadied him. Only having my right arm free was proving to be quite the challenge, but I gently lowered him to the forest floor, though I did it as quickly as possible. Then I lay down flat, keeping a hand on Hiccup's mouth so that he wouldn't cry out. My little scheme worked to perfection, as the wolves were mainly relying on their noses and their ears to follow us, the pitch black of the arctic night having concealed us from them. They swept our position like a summer thunderstorm. Just to keep them off our track for a little longer and buy us more time to escape, I threw a rock in a random direction to imitate the sounds of an escape. The pack bought the deception, as I could hear their barks shifting to what I judged was the south. It would only be a matter of time before they noticed we were gone and picked up the scent again, so moving was a matter of the highest priority.

I waited several seconds to make sure that no stragglers would come along and find our hiding spot, then sat up and looked around, Hiccup doing the same. It was hard to make out anything in spite of our best efforts, the moon, which was in it's last stages of waning, was not able to penetrate the clouds, and the world was dark. The body of the forest I could see, dimly backdropped against the inky night sky, but not much else.

"We need to climb." I said. "Wolves can't climb trees."

Alas, the woods here were of the worst sort, as we found to our detriment. Whatever bark we could find was silky smooth and the branches were too high to grasp. Not wanting to waste time, for it was of the essence, we began to move in an attempt to find good shelter. Sure enough, the barks which had faded away into the distance now came closer and louder again, and we quickened our steps in fear, stopping only to navigate an obstacle or test the trees once more. With our scent trail so hot, there would only be a few more minutes before once more they were nipping at our heels once more. Still the forest refused to cooperate, and as an explosion of noise in the otherwise quiet winter night rang through the hills, I broke into a run. My breath caught the littlest glint of light shining down from the sky, and the ground took on a more surreal texture. Hiccup was right behind me, running as fast as he possibly could to avoid losing the trail that I had taken and the wolves were now tracing. I doubted that I could pull my earlier trick again.

Suddenly the dark presence of the woods cleared, and I could see the clouds racing across the sky, their features ambiguous and yet defined. I could feel grass replacing the woody leaves and moss of the forest floor that had become so familiar to me. We had broken into a small glade, roughly circular, though my night vision was unreliable at best that I was sure of. Up ahead was a looming shape that looked almost like a turtle's shell, sticking up out of the ground like a pile of rocks. Which it was, as I discovered to my detriment when I slipped and scraped myself on them. Hiccup missed my fall, but when he could not hear me running, he began to call out.

"Astrid! Where are you?"

I grunted and lifted my arm, which seemed to be in some hole in the pile.

"Over here! In the stones."

"Keep talking. Hurt?"

He was now on the other side of the rocks, from what I could tell, and coming closer. I tested my limbs. Other than that deep scratch which I had received earlier I was mostly fine, just banged up and hung out to dry, that was all.

"No. I think I've found a cave."

"Good. I'll be there in a sec." I could hear a faint scratching over the ever growing sounds of the wolf pack, which was now only a minute away, maybe two. There was a thud as a body landed right next to me, and he caught my arm. I felt rather than saw him trace the lines of the opening, and he gave a low whistle as he reached forwards and met nothing but air. It was an entrance well hidden, and had I not fallen at just the right time we never would have seen the small black shadow there in a world of black shadows.

"Do you think there's anything in here?" he asked.

"If there is, it's got to be better than being eaten alive by wolves. I'll take my chances." How wrong that was.

I scooted in and found to my delight that I was able to stand all the way up. Hiccup tripped over a large rock coming in, but it was just the right kind of rock, as it looked to be about the size that would fit in the entrance, if you paired it with a few others. The only problem was that the entrance was three feet wide and almost double that in width. Still, it was our best hope, and we began searching for the crack between it and the floor so that we could lift up the slab, which reminded me of a giant doormat. It wasn't all that wide, so soon we had lifted it halfway up to the way in. I pushed hard with my back to the stone, but it took much strength to move it, strength that I didn't have after such a long chase. As it was, it took both of us to close the 'door', and there was still a small passage that a wolf could possibly slip through.

Speak of the devil, the cavalry had arrived. The leaders of the pack charged in to the clearing, and began sniffing the ground around our shelter, doubtless following Hiccup's scent trail, which would buy us some time. Without hesitation, the boy in question started to gather some of the average looking rocks that were laying about in the corners, and thrust them endwise into the hole so that they would stick. I joined in, and soon we had to kick with our boots to make the new stones fit in. Finally, with a mighty thrust, I pushed the last slab into the barrier, just as a giant paw scratched at it. Hopefully they would hold. But one could not take any chances. I stepped back with my bow drawn and my four sweaty arrows on my belt, guarding against the chance of a break in.

My foot hit something, but it wasn't a rock. It seemed almost organic to the touch, and yet hard. It was late at night, and so the part of my mind that would normally be screaming danger at me was cloudy and not functioning. I half-turned, all while keeping an eye on the door.

"Hiccup, what's this?" I spurned the object with my toe.

"What's what?"

"This."

"I can't see it. Where?"

"Here."

And I kicked it with my boot, hard, in an effort to show him the spot. Suddenly there was a low rumbling noise and my boot rose up as the ground moved. I was thrown down by the mass as it rose, and the warm wind of heavy breathing flowed across my hair, ruffling it. A small curtain of flames spat out and onto the ground, where they stuck and lit up the room with a phosphorus glow. A blue dragon, it's great bulk taking up half of the room was revealed before my eyes.

"And to think we've just sealed our own coffins." groaned Hiccup.

So, a little chronological grounder for you. The first half of this chapter occurs on Day Five after shipwreck, at least according to their calculations. Astrid was actually out through the night when they wrecked and Hiccup forgot to mark that down on the stick, because they didn't have one, so it's technically Day Six. Ocean has the correct time because she, well, she's a dragon and is more intimate with nature. shrugs . That's the timeline for you just in case you wanted to know.

At this point Stoick hasn't seen hide nor hair of the two of them for almost a month, since he departed to go on another of his nest hunts some time before they left, and he must be getting a little stir crazy. We'll see about that later. And he's definitely not going to be in the mood to be listening to We Can Dance If We Want To by Men Without Hard Hats, even though I might be. Somebody please listen to this music, or.. never mind.

Also, did you catch the star wars reference on the sentence that starts with word 9309? It's in every one of the films and most of the extended universe.

On a foot note, rabbit meat is also sometimes called Hasen in Germany, and I may or may not use this term sparingly in the future when the text gets a little tedious and perhaps unwieldy. 4AR