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Broken
Chapter 36: Schism
'A smith needs to concentrate. If he gets distracted at the wrong moment he will either ruin his work or himself.'
Hiccup had heard that piece of sage advice enough times to know it by heart. He also knew it to be completely true. Blazing fires, sharp metal and swinging hammers all demanded a certain amount of attention. Ignoring any of them could result in a lifetime of regret. When he'd first started learning the art of blacksmithing it hadn't been terribly hard to keep his focus near the forge. If the fiery red glow of nearly molten metal or the blistering heat that rose from it didn't keep his mind on task then Gobber's constantly bellowed commands to be cautious certainly would do the trick. As he'd gained experience handling the objects than came out of the forge's blazing depths, he learned to concentrate on other things, such as the color of the metal or the sound of the shaping hammer. Eventually he reached the point that a piece of red hot metal was of more interest than concern. He could see more than danger; he could see potential.
This morning, however, the young man was struggling to find the focus he needed to deal with metal in its most malleable form. Ironically, the cause of this temporary setback was standing next to him, helping him with his work.
Toothless knew something was wrong. His friend had sensed it the moment he stepped outside his door. Perhaps he'd been frowning without realizing it. Maybe it was the way he had trouble meeting the dragon's eyes that caught his attention. Whatever it was, it must have been as obvious as Hoskuld's Spear, towering far behind Berk. Toothless had lightly pressed his nose into Hiccup's chest and warbled softly. He'd muttered a half-hearted assurance that nothing was bothering him and headed for the smithy.
Gobber must have also noticed something was off with his apprentice. The mustachioed man had stared at him for several moments when he first showed up, just after dawn. After greeting him and his large companion, the master smith had cocked his head to one side and frowned slightly. When he asked if anything was wrong, Hiccup had managed to reply with a simple 'No.' He had the same difficulty with looking his mentor in the eye as he did with Toothless. He kept his head down and tried to pay strict attention to the work before him.
Regardless of how much he needed to concentrate, his mind kept turning to another matter.
It didn't surprise him, given that Toothless was right there, helping heat the work with his metal-enhancing fire. The notion kept coming to him of throwing down the mold they'd worked on last night and confronting the Night Fury directly. Fighting with that idea was a building need to simply hold the black dragon's wide face in his hands and press his forehead to Toothless' snout while confessing all the fears that were building in his chest. Fumbled tools and small missteps were the result. It culminated in a soft groan from Toothless and a gentle nudge against his elbow that made him realize he'd been staring at the cooling mold for far too long, utterly lost in thought.
When he glanced up from the worried look on his friend's face he caught the same general expression on Gobber's. He shifted his gaze back to the mold on the table, wishing he could calm his thoughts.
"All right, let's have it. What's going on?" The smith's voice was calm and quiet but the concern was as plain as Hiccup's discomfort.
He opened his mouth to deny the existence of any problems. Before he could speak the first word he veered away from that idea. It was starkly false and his friends deserved better than that. But how could he explain that his stomach was a writhing knot of anxiety because of a dream? It made sense in his head but only when he felt it. When he tried to find words to explain what he felt they tended to cross paths with what the Night Fury had already told him. And he had no reason or desire to doubt his best friend about something so very important.
That didn't ease the gnawing fears that told him the cooling mold of fired clay beneath his gloved hand housed both his latest invention and his greatest mistake. He ran his fingers over its rough surface and allowed only as much to come out as felt safe. "I'm just worried about... all of this."
Neither Toothless nor Gobber responded immediately. He couldn't bring himself to look up at either of them so he kept his eyes on the mold. He clenched his jaw, determined to keep any more words from spilling out.
"Ah, no need to fret," the smith finally offered. "Just because we've never done this before doesn't mean it won't work."
Hiccup let go a soft breath of relief, grateful to follow the mistaken switch of topics. "I just hope Astrid feels the same way. She's the one who has to pull this off."
As he spoke, Hiccup suddenly understood there was far more truth in his expression of concern than he'd intended. There was a lot resting on several untried elements of this plan.
Hiccup's main contribution had been the basic idea and the enhanced steel Toothless could make by heating it with his fire. Going from the notion of heavy wooden spears to thin metal ones and finally leading to the concept of metal arrows had been one of his better moments. Coupling that with the power of Ivarr, Freygerd's ironwood bow, and Astrid's skill with that particular weapon had given Hiccup a way to imagine bringing the needed elements together. Astrid attacking from her dragon's back, using Freygerd's bow to fire metal arrows tipped with Gobber's triple bladed heads into the new Red Death's eye was an image that could only have been born in Hiccup's mind, all agreed.
It had still required both Gobber's experience and Hiccup's skill at design to come up with a usable arrow. The first difficulty was the fletching. Simple feathers couldn't provide stable flight for so heavy a shaft. Making the fletching out of the same metal seemed like the solution. Gobber quickly realized an iron fin racing past the arrow rest would send the shaft careening out of control and damage the bow. Hiccup's suggestion had been to reduce the fletching from three fins to two, in line with the nock.
Gobber had responded that only two fins would reduce the arrow's flight stability. Hiccup's answer had been to slightly alter the arrow's three bladed head. If those blades were slightly twisted they would help induce a spin the shaft would need to fly straight.
The hardest part had been figuring out how to actually make such a shaft. A single mold for the entire arrow had proven nearly impossible. They compromised by making the head and fletching ends first. A stub of shaft protruded from each piece. Those stubs were then heated and put into the ends of a rod mold that would make the middle of the shaft, effectively welding the ends to the center.
Having never made such joints, Gobber couldn't guarantee they would be strong enough without some additional heating and hammer work after the arrow was assembled. That was the next step, as soon as Hiccup was willing to open the mold and extract the results of their effort. "Come on, lad. Open her up and let's have a look."
Hiccup nodded and loosened the leather thongs that held the two halves of the mold together. To his surprise and satisfaction both halves fell away from the metal with relative ease. Gobber's work at making a smooth, straight channel for the molten metal to fill showed his level of expertise. The tang left behind from where the metal had been poured in was the only noticeable defect in the length of the shaft. There wasn't even much in the way of a line to mark where the molten had met the stubs. With a pair of heavy pincers, Hiccup cut off the tang and laid the shaft on the table.
It needed smoothing and sharpening, but the overall effect was gratifying. They had their very first Red Death arrow. And with that thought, Hiccup's stomach twisted around itself once again.
They spent the better part of the morning making several more arrows. Gobber took care of the finishing work: filing down any rough spots on the shaft, strengthening the joints and sharpening the edges of each arrow's head. Hiccup and Toothless worked on creating molten and filling molds. The dragon had the least complicated job, needing only to know exactly how hot to make the metal at any given point. His rider still seemed to have much on his mind besides casting arrow parts. He was quite attentive to his companion, though. He asked several times if the dragon needed a rest or some food and water. Strangely though, he was reluctant to touch the Fury. More than once he raised a hand as though to caress the dark scales, only to curl his fingers and press them into his own thin chest.
When four metal arrows were lying on the work table before them, Gobber declared it time for a meal. Instead of rummaging around the small larder he kept in the smithy, he began stumping his way toward the great hall. With a cheerful shout he invited Hiccup and Toothless to join him. Hiccup quietly declined, saying he needed to speak to Astrid.
Toothless bumped his shoulder with the point of his snout, tipping his head slightly to invite his rider to take to the saddle.
"Um, you mind if we walk? The leg's feeling pretty good today and I'd kind of like to..."
So the Night Fury followed his friend through the pathways between houses, searching for the huntress who would use their new weapons. As they left the somewhat cramped confines of the village and worked their way toward the field where Astrid had said she would be practicing, Hiccup was silent. His lips were pressed to a thin line, his eyes dark and worried. He nodded or waved to the few who greeted them, trying to keep his face from showing his distress openly.
Between the village and the field they heard a sharp squawk. They looked up to where a familiar Nadder was angling toward the ground in a sharp decent. It dropped below the tree line ahead of them. Hiccup stopped, staring at the tops of the trees.
A questioning growl drew his eyes down when he failed to resume walking. Toothless stared at him, his concern plain to see.
A sudden rush of opposing emotions threatened to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. He hated this. For an instant he wanted to shout at the world, curse it for how miserably unfair it could be. How could he be torn so thoroughly in two? The conflict within him rooted his legs while two thoughts struggled bitterly for dominance. There has to be a better way.
There is no other way.
While plenty of his personal failures had been born of Hiccup's belief that he could improve something, nearly all his success had come from the same source. There was no arguing against the benefits his village currently enjoyed, all due to his attempts to fix things, to make them better.
Those improvements had required, and brought about, the destruction of the terrible Red Death. There was also no arguing that its continued existence would have made Berk's future dim and doubtful. For the Vikings it had come down to a very simple fact: they couldn't live with it. For Hiccup, there was an additional imperative: the dragons couldn't live with it.
So why did every second he held one of those metal arrows in his hands fill him with loathing?
Because there had to be a better way.
That wasn't the source of his greatest distress, though. Naturally he wanted Berk to continue unmolested. He certainly wanted the dragons to live free of the mindless bondage a Red Death would impose. But it wasn't those desires that conflicted with his belief. It was the words of his closest friend, the one who stood before him and stared at him with apprehension. Hiccup was faced with the disturbing fact that Toothless' beliefs about the new Red Death ran completely counter to his own.
He couldn't do it. The look on his friend's face made his stomach clench so hard he felt faintly ill. As badly as he feared the consequences, Hiccup knew he couldn't go on without resolving the conflict within him. He glanced around quickly, noting that they were far enough from the village and not yet within sight of Astrid's practice field. This would have to do.
Hiccup turned back to the Fury and took a step closer, reaching out with both hands. The dragon immediately moved nearer until the young man could place his palms under his jaw, just beneath his nose. "Toothless." Unbelievably, his guts gave a small spasm as he heard his voice rasp harshly, straining to push the air needed to say that single word. Something felt horribly permanent about this moment. He'd been forced into this act and he had no clear idea where it would lead.
He took a breath and tried to find a way through the storm of thoughts swirling within his head. "You know..." He swallowed, took another breath. "You know you're my best friend, right?"
His hands stayed pressed to Toothless' jaw as the dragon nodded slightly.
"You know I trust you."
"Yes." The slight vibration of that spoken word teased his fingertips.
"You know I respect you."
"Yes."
He was delaying, mincing around the pit that had opened up beneath him. "You know I love you." He cringed as his voice broke over that all-important word. That was what he feared; the possibility of an unbearable loss. He could sense it looming, threatening to destroy the most important thing in his life.
Hiccup couldn't tell what it meant. The Fury answered with the same word, "Yes." But it was a soft, breathy exhalation that seemed, to his ears, to lack something. Worse, the dragon's eyes widened and his ear fins lowered slightly. In a fight that expression would have been called fear, perhaps in equal measure to what was stabbing icy fingers into his own heart. To draw such a reaction with quiet words only made it harder to understand. That fed his own apprehension and nearly locked up his throat.
"T- Toothless, I have to know. I have to ask."
A soft whistling whine, barely audible, came from the Fury's throat. Hiccup had to force himself to ignore it. It was obvious they were both going to be hurt by this. For a moment his resolve wavered. The thought of how many might be hurt if he didn't go forward gave him strength. He had to do this for more than just the two of them.
"Can the Red Death speak?"
Can dragons lie? His father's question, as yet unanswered. Do you know who he is? Hiccup wanted the answer to be 'my best friend' with unquestionable finality. But he understood that only Toothless could answer those questions. Hiccup had assumed, had truly believed with the blindest of faith that the questions didn't even deserve to be asked.
His dream said otherwise.
Toothless' head jerked back, as if he'd been taken by surprise. Hiccup's extended hands were left touching empty air. The young man kept his arms out, as though beseeching the dragon to renew the contact. The dragon's ear fins slowly lowered and his pupils contracted slightly. But he didn't move forward. He only stared, for a long time.
Hiccup didn't know what to think. Was Toothless upset with him for asking, for essentially calling the Fury's honesty into question? Was he confused, wondering why his rider seemed to care so much about their common enemy? Or was it something he couldn't fathom, not being a dragon himself, something his mind couldn't possibly grasp?
Another of his father's questions returned, casting a pall over everything he'd come to believe concerning his companion. Can you really talk to him?
Just as the doubt started to seep in, Toothless spoke.
"Bad."
His expression didn't change at all, nor did he move. Hiccup shook his head, letting his hands finally drop. "No, I know it's... wait." A new splinter of fear drove itself into his heart. On whom had Toothless just passed judgment? "What's bad? The- the Red Death?"
Toothless nodded once. "Yes. Bad." Still the dragon's expression did not change. He was presenting the very definition of his father's name.
Now Hiccup was left with yet another worry piled upon all the others. What might happen to them if he failed to make himself and his concerns clear? He shook his head, needing to make his own position plain. "No, I understand. It's not a good thing to have in that... nest. I know it needs to go away but... Toothless, I have to know. Why can't we talk to it?"
It happened again; the look of fear, so out of place on the face of a dragon once called 'the offspring of lightning and death itself.' He knew Toothless was worried for his safety. As grateful as he was for his friend's concern and the implied protection that came with it, he didn't want his own welfare to be the reason the new Red Death absolutely had to be killed. "You'll be with me. We'll be careful."
The fear diminished, as it did last time. And once again, determination grew in its place. "No."
"Toothless-"
"NO!"
That pushed too hard and he had to push back. Hiccup didn't want his question ignored. He also didn't want his father's questions to have fertile ground in which to spread. "I don't want any more dragons to die! It's the wrong way!"
Toothless actually snarled and yanked out his pencil. The field was thickly covered with newly green grass and he had no good place to write. Blue flames swept across the ground and he scattered the ashes with an angry swipe of his paw. [Red Death not dragon] Had Toothless and Stoick somehow coordinated their thoughts on that particular topic? It sounded too much like his father not to notice.
"I know you want it gone, so do I but I have to believe there's a better way than killing it! Fighting it is dangerous and talking might just work."
[Red Death not talk] The symbols were scribbled harshly and difficult to read. They also seemed to contradict an earlier statement he'd made. Or at least implied, when they'd only first started to truly communicate. Was that a lie?
"You said only Terrible Terrors couldn't talk." Hiccup had only a moment to feel a sharp stab of guilt as the Fury looked wounded at his statement. Then his anger was once again imprinted upon the ground. [not dragon all bad hate]
"Yes," he placated, "I know you hate it. But let me ask you this: do you hate it because of what the first one did?"
Toothless looked confused. Hiccup couldn't think of a good way to explain what he had in mind. Holding a grudge or perpetuating a feud were difficult ideas to explain, even to someone who actually spoke Norse.
"We're all going to be risking our lives for this. Even us." He took the step forward to close the small distance between them and placed his hands on the dragon's jaws once again. "I don't want to lose you. If talking to this new dragon could help-"
Toothless shook his head, breaking their contact again. "NO!" He shrieked some other words, turned and stomped on the ground next to his written [not dragon]
Hiccup's anger, so slow to kindle, was starting to burn in his chest. This made no sense to him. "What was it then?" A monster. "It sure looked like a dragon to me!"
Toothless' anger matched his own and it wasn't until later that Hiccup realized the whole bizarre encounter between them had never once made him feel personally threatened. The Night Fury threw a strange fit. He screeched his words over and over, pounding the ground near his declaration of Red Deaths not belonging to the group he considered 'dragons.'
"Toothless! You're-"
Acting crazy. Being foolish. Not behaving like a Viking. All the phrases that had been thrown up in Hiccup's face over the years threatened to come out. Perhaps what upset him the most was the dragon's stubbornness, a behavior that would have actually been praised by those same Vikings. It was as if the subject of the Red Death drastically changed his friend into someone else, someone he couldn't understand.
Astrid's words suddenly rushed back to him. 'He's your dragon and I know him better than that!' But that just resurrected his father's question once more: do you know who he is?
In a blink he thrust away all the confusion laid upon him by others and spoke his heart, hoping it would clear both his mind and the obstacles between them.
"You're better than this."
An instant later his breath hitched as his words collapsed into a meaningless heap. That was the problem, the disconnect. He'd come to believe, firmly, that Toothless was as intelligent as he was. Therefore if Hiccup could see that killing the Red Death out of ignorance was something to be avoided, Toothless should see it, too.
But he didn't. It was a division that hinted at Stoick's questions being far more valid than Hiccup wanted them to be. Could dragons lie? How well did he really know his best friend?
Did the black dragon want the new Red Death killed for some reason other than protecting his fellow dragons? Or was Hiccup the one approaching the problem in complete ignorance? Was there something truly different about a Red Death that set it apart from all other dragons?
Should he blindly trust in Toothless' decision and continue to put all his efforts into finding a way to kill it?
Another ugly possibility came hard after the last. Was he upset because Toothless was not fulfilling his expectations of being perfectly in sync with his views and desires?
Or even worse, could they both be wrong?
He needed the answer. He took in the sight of his companion: wings slightly spread, jaws open and teeth exposed, his breath coming harder than normal. His anger had already diminished. It left him feeling vulnerable and confused. He dropped to his good knee and held out his hands once more. "Bud, please. Please explain this to me."
Toothless took a step forward, paused. His eyes still showed turmoil, the difficulty of meeting his rider in the middle over the threat to their home. He felt a brief but wonderful flair of relief as the Fury closed the small distance and pushed his head into his chest, nearly knocking him over. Hiccup wrapped his arms around the dragon's head, a place he would always feel they belonged. "Please help me with this. It's important to me."
A long, low groan went through Toothless' body and into Hiccup's. Slowly the dragon sat, turning his eyes to the burnt grass and exposed dirt. [Red Death] He hesitated, drew a large breath. [much big much strong] He paused again, apparently in thought. [Red Death not see dragon] Beneath that he added [see fish]
'Fish' meaning 'food', Hiccup could understand. But there was still that other question Toothless hadn't answered. "That was the old one. Are you sure the new one is the same way?"
Another long pause while the dragon's expression hardened. [Red Death much bad to] and after he drew a detailed Nadder. Hiccup was puzzled by such a singular depiction until Toothless pointed to the symbol for the Red Death, then the Nadder. Then he stepped on the Nadder, and Hiccup remembered with horrible clarity finding Bitequick's body.
A chill swept through him, leaving his arms covered in bumps. Bitequick wasn't just another casualty, to be lumped in with all the other victims of the recently ended war. The dragons he wanted to protect had killed people he'd known, people he'd grown up with. His mother. But he'd gotten past that. Now the dragon threatening them all had killed another dragon, one they knew. It might have possibly killed Jaspin as well.
Yes, it had killed a friend of theirs. And there was an emotional resonance within him at the idea of revenge. But the cost could be terribly high. Was one death worth several more, perhaps even their own?
Hiccup couldn't find the balance. He tried to take all things into consideration, only to be overwhelmed by it all. He was left unable to figure which was the best path. There were only two that he could see: confrontation or communication. Neither promised success, both were extremely hazardous.
He took a shaky breath and finally decided on one last appeal. He told himself it would be Toothless' decision, in the end. He clenched his fists and resolved to follow the path his companion set for them. Trust had to come from somewhere.
"Can we please at least try? Just once, for me?"
The moment would haunt him the rest of his days. It felt every bit as bad as the realization that he'd been responsible for taking the Fury's flight from him. The look on the black dragon's wide face told him without doubt that he'd hurt his friend by asking for something so hard. It pressed sharply against his heart and almost made him want to take the words back.
It felt, in fact, like holding one of his metal arrows in his hands when Toothless lowered his head, pressed his crown once more into his chest and quietly crooned, "Yes."
There was much to think on. Yellowbreath was quite content to lie in a grassy patch of sun near her bond partner's wood cave and let the thoughts crowding her head sort themselves out. She doubted she would be able to make sense of them all before sun fall. There were too many and they did not fly well together.
The Kin and the preytooths who shared this nest were going to fight as one to rid Fire Nest of a new Gatherer. It was a difficult mouthful to chew, yet that was the meal before them. Neither Kin nor their two legged companions seemed to know exactly how to accomplish this without being grounded in the process. Her own contribution, the idea of using their own wounded bodies as diversions, was hatched out of desperation. It did not fill her liver with fire to consider how weak such a defense would be.
There were also the preytooths themselves to consider. Her bond partner, the round one who carried the enigmatic flight name of 'Legs of fish', had asked her questions from sun rise to sun high. She had reveled in the exchange as much as he had; his scent and actions had made it pleasingly clear to her. The questions had been somewhat limited to what she could respond to with movements of her head to signify 'yes' and 'no' answers. Flicktail had given her a brief lesson in how to respond without language.
Once Legs of fish had asked all his questions, he had given her many pleasing scratches and provided her with a welcome husk of fish. She had eaten her fill, snatched a few stray rocks to fill her lava crop and found a good place to think. Preytooths became the first mouthful of thoughts on which she gnawed.
The preytooth nest had soured, that scent was obvious. What had started it was uncertain but the new hunts from Fire Nest had definitely not helped. There might have been actions Kin could have taken to strengthen their bonds to them; it was their nest after all. After the Great Eel's grounding it hadn't felt necessary. Perhaps that was their mistake; assuming the change in the preytooths' livers had not needed tending.
No matter how badly they'd flown the rough airs behind them, their attention needed to turn to the storm ahead of them. Their story was taking form and already it felt much like that of Two Hearts' sire. They knew that path would result in failure. But it was the differences that gave them hope: the presence of the preytooths and their strengthening bonds, Yellowbreath's idea of protective deception, and the liver-stoking abilities inherent in Featherstone's mind.
She wished their words were clearer. The preytooths had mentioned a word that Two Hearts had claimed meant 'weakness'. It twisted endlessly within her own head; the notion of a Gatherer having a weakness that those small preytooths with their clever foreclaws could exploit. Still, it had put much fire in the preytooths' livers.
The Gatherer became the next mouthful on which she chewed. Once again, sinking her teeth into such thoughts proved quite hard. It was newly fledged, inexperienced in keeping a healthy nest to support it. It was powerful and, according to Two Hearts, had already taken several Kin. It had also taken a flight name that bothered her. 'Smoketail' meant nothing useful to her. She could not piece together a story that would explain it. Perhaps Gatherers took their flight names differently than ordinary Kin.
A teasing hint came to her with a gentle breeze. Yellowbreath flexed her sturdy wings and twisted her great head to bring herself upright. The scent came again, telling her of his approach. Before he came into view, however, she caught something else. He smelled of stress; his mind was disturbed. Thus was she prepared. The First Hunter needed her words.
Two Hearts saw her stance and lowered his head. He growled quietly, asking permission to approach a favored nest mate. She chuffed her pleasure at his presence.
His movements only emphasized his scent. The ghostwing was deeply troubled. He lay in the warm grass, his wings drooping to the ground and his head landing heavily on his paws. A slightly smoky breath set the green blades in front of his nose swirling. She moved close, the strength of their nest bond keeping any thoughts of territory firmly away. With a gentle touch she brought her blunt snout to his brow and slowly licked the central run of stubby spines.
Yellowbreath settled before him, almost touching, sharing breath. "What has cooled your liver, First Hunter?"
"I should not be named so," he grunted. "I am questioning my own hunt."
She was confused by such a statement. "Why?"
His eyes met hers briefly, then slid away. He huffed a smaller breath before raising his head to meet her gaze.
"This you know: Featherstone is half of my liver. The Kin of this nest are the other half."
In a most informal manner Yellowbreath gave his chin a small lick and crooned, "This I know."
"From the first moment I touched his foreclaw to this day, my trust in him has been the heaviest air, the greatest lift."
"This I know." She gave a tiny rumble of humor, her happiness born of his. He paused, grateful, and gave a little ear flick of acknowledgement.
"He is my sky. He is as much Kin as preytooth. He's..."
The change was so sudden it caught her with her wings folded. He scented of tension and despair. Her own liver cooled and she worried for both of them. "What's happened?"
"I was foolish," he growled. It wasn't heated, like anger; it wasn't sharp, like warning. It was raspy, like pain. "I thought I had the scent of all the rough airs we would fly. I felt certain nothing could ground us."
"Two Hearts!"
"His liver is full of fire for all Kin." His tone was misery, his scent was an ache. "Even one who would enthrall the breeders."
At first, Yellowbreath couldn't get a single tooth into such a thought. Many strange possibilities moved through her mind, but none were worth a sniff.
"How..."
"I think it might be the form. A Gatherer is Kin." A different kind of stress heated his words, a great distaste for an unwanted truth. "Featherstone doesn't want Kin grounded while driving it off. He doesn't want it grounded, either. They are the same thing in his mind."
Her liver cooled so quickly at such a thought she almost spat up some molten stone to prove her fire still lived. "Does he not remember the Great Eel? Has he forgotten why he has a dead leg?"
Two Hearts turned aside, scenting now slightly of shame. This was becoming the most difficult conversation she could ever remember. "I told him of the Great Eel's age, its weak mind. I also told him this Smoketail is younger, smarter." He hesitated, his wings fidgeting. "He wants very much to try to speak to him."
That was more than even the calmest stonebelly could bear. "As soon speak to a flit!"
"So I told him!" Aggrieved and agreed, he dug his claws into the dirt. What had gotten into the little preytooth's head? "But no matter how I questioned his hunt, he persisted. He wants to speak to Smoketail."
Thoroughly unsettled by such an idea, Yellowbreath could only think to ask, "What will you do?"
"I... I told him I would try."
Her liver was white, snow and ice and desolate emptiness.
"Will you?"
Slowly, as if every bit of strength he had was bleeding out of him into the ground, the ghostwing sank to the grass. For many, many heartbeats he said nothing. Finally, he closed his eyes and groaned, "I don't know."
(c)Wirewolf 2015
"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
AN:
Those reading this probably feel like I'm dragging it out with so much emotional turmoil this late in the game. The truth is this is the last chance I'll have to set the stage for these personalities and their worldviews before the climax of the story. A climax that is coming, soon (believe it or not.)
Much of this is based on my own friendship with a co-worker. He and I have many of the same opinions and views, on which our relationship is based. But he grew up in a very different world than I did. Now and again that crops up and I'm forced to remember, "Wow, I really don't know him as well as I keep thinking I do." You'd think I'd be able to remember such things when I'm talking to him, but no. And it's this recurring mistake of mine that made me want to establish this realization in Hiccup. These two intelligences, so different in some ways yet mostly aligned in an amazing harmony, will occasionally have to stop, stare at each other and remember, "Oh, yeah, you're NOT an exact duplicate of me."
I'm also still working on the ending. I need some real quiet time to hide myself away from the world and concentrate entirely on it. Unfortunately my job has just been changed and I have even less time for my own thoughts than ever before. I really don't know how I'm going to pull this off, but I do know I will. I can only hope the end result doesn't suffer for all the distractions I'm facing.