The wind whistled through the trees, icy and biting at Astrid's ears. She had changed over to her heavy tunic and coat, foregoing her usually armored skirt for another layer of insulation, but it was still freezing out. For Berk, this was just the first hints of Winter. The Windy Isle tribe had better hurry up; the ocean itself would freeze sometime in the next two months. They were cutting it close.
Though, if they were forced to stay here until the ice broke, that would give her another five months to figure things out. Maybe she didn't want them to hurry up. It would certainly give her more time to figure out how to deal with the plan to find her a husband among that tribe's eligible men, probably one around her age, but nonetheless forcing her to marry and subsequently move away. She didn't want that for a number of reasons.
How was she going to stop that from happening, when she had already agreed to it? She had no idea. It felt like something she would have to work out on the fly... which she hated doing.
No matter. She could not affect that entire situation here, now, so she would not worry about it. There were more pressing matters at the moment anyway.
She slipped through the woods, doing her best to move quietly, though she could not compare to the wraith above her at that. They were putting into practice their repertoire of gestures, expanded over the last few weeks, now at the point where she could barely remember them all. Really, she could no longer call the majority of them hand gestures, either. Toothless's only somewhat articulate paws had forced quite a bit of innovation.
She did not look up, knowing she would not see him. This part of the exercise was hers. He knew to follow and watch for his part. Once they found their quarry, he would take over. She was not so prideful as to think she could best a Night Fury when it came to catching the boar if it were to sense their presence and flee, and unlike in the past, they both needed this kill and didn't have that much time to make it.
At the moment, she had a faint trail to follow. That she had asked Toothless to point her in the right direction was only a slight damper on her faint pride in not losing the boar in question. Tracking was not one of her strengths, and this was not an easy trail to follow, though it was easier than any of the alternatives.
Really, boar were the only good target on Berk, it seemed. This was the third time she and Toothless had played this particular game as practice, and every time, their target was of porcine nature. She had seen no signs of other large animals, be they bears or deer or anything else. It was almost disappointing, how desolate of large animals Berk was.
But they would work with what they had. She heard a faint, guttural grunting carried on the cold wind, and pulled out her ax, liking how it no longer caught the weak sunlight, just barely dulled by ash to prevent reflections. She could return it to its normal, clean state at home tonight, and at the moment the ash was serving its purpose.
Then she called down what was, to put it bluntly, overkill. Toothless dropped out of the trees in front of her, nodding significantly, and flashing a gesture she knew well, his whole paw tapping the ground and then his other paw. He was requesting to take the lead.
She nodded and fell in behind him. He had also become adept at signaling with his back paws and tail, which was both useful and hilarious to watch, so she would see any of his signals without being able to see the front of him.
They moved closer, ignoring the almost constant cold wind, though it ruffled his frills and her short hair. She was beginning to think it was going to take years for her hair to return to normal; it still wasn't even long enough to put into a proper braid, and she was having to get used to letting it hang loose, blown every which way by the faintest breeze. That was one change she still did not like and intended to revert as soon as possible. Her hair was supposed to be long and braided.
Toothless stopped, signaling for her to be still. He leaned forward, nostrils twitching, and then gestured for her to circle around to the right, and to sneak.
She did so, losing track of him in the process. That was fine; they were both hunting the same target. She would see him again shortly.
Now it was a question of which of them got to the boar first, and who got the kill. He had taken the honors in both of their prior hunts. She wanted to break that streak.
So, she moved quickly, striving to be quiet all the while, which was very difficult. She did not particularly enjoy sneaking around.
Then she stepped through a large bush, crouching on the other side. The boar was close enough that she could hear it grunting. She could not move any closer without being heard in turn.
She slowly turned her head, looking around. Where was it?
There, at the base of a tree, eating something. She couldn't see what. It might be mushrooms, or moss, or even some unlucky bird or small woodland creature. Boar ate whatever they could find, meat or plant. It was part of what made them dangerous. That, and they usually traveled in packs. There weren't any packs left on Berk, though, so that particular danger no longer applied, which made the hunt far easier.
She hefted her ax, slowly winding back for a throw. To move slow was to give Toothless time to strike, wherever he was, but to move fast would be to alert the boar, which would see the movement and bolt, or possibly charge her.
She knew the distance, and her target was large, as well as still at the moment. But it would bolt as she threw, so she aimed a bit ahead of its snout, hoping it would run forward.
Then she threw. Her ax spun through the air on its slightly elliptical orbit, startling the boar-
And sinking into its neck, arresting its departure with a wet thud. The boar squealed, the sound tapering off as it flopped over, knocked on its side by the impact, kicking its legs.
An instant later, a tiny bolt of blue fire hit it in the head, and it moved no more.
Astrid walked out of the bush, making no attempt to hide her presence, and retrieved her ax, wiping it clean on a nearby plant with thick leaves. "My kill, even if you did finish it off. It was going to die anyway."
Toothless emerged from the shadows to her right, gurgling in a way she recognized as mocking. He stared pointedly at the dead boar, specifically at the blown apart head area.
"Like I said," she repeated, pointing her ax at the massive gash a little further down the body. "I killed it. You just put it out of its misery."
He huffed dramatically, rolling his eyes, and picked the boar up with his mouth, letting the body drip blood from what used to be the head.
"Actually, can I have this one?" she asked. To be sure she was clear, she gave the signal for give, shrugging to indicate it was a request. That had been an important sign, as there had to be a difference between implying 'I need you to do this' and 'do you think you could do this?'
Toothless nodded agreeably, not putting it down. He knew very well that he would be far less inconvenienced in carrying it out to the edge of the forest.
They began the long trek back to said edge.
"I need it to show Stoick," Astrid said in way of explanation as they walked. "He wanted to see proof of progress. I figure a boar hunted by dragon and ax is good enough for that. Better than having him come out here and watch us."
Toothless growled at that idea, shaking the dead carcass violently.
"Come on, he's not that bad," she remarked, a little confused. Why would Toothless not like Stoick, of all people?
Oh, wait. He had spent plenty of time with Hiccup. She didn't think Hiccup would have bad-mouthed his father, but Toothless heard and understood quite a bit, so it was entirely likely he picked up on how Hiccup was not his father's idea of an ideal Viking... and Toothless's loyalties were with Hiccup, not Stoick, so it was no surprise which side he must have picked. That was the only explanation for why the dragon recognized the name of a Viking Chieftain.
Anyway... she hadn't wanted Stoick to come out and observe for other reasons. What she and Toothless did now, their entire dynamic, could be mistaken for control, but only if one squinted, and if the both of them were trying to make it look like that. It was very likely Stoick would have seen through to the far more relaxed and equal relationship between them, and she wasn't sure how he would take that. Best he saw whatever he might see along with the rest of the audience when she and Toothless demonstrated for the Windy Isle tribe soon.
Very soon. They should be showing up sometime next week, by Stoick's estimation. The village was beginning to prepare for visitors. Many of the more important families were having to ready themselves to take in one or more visitors for the duration, because Berk had no extra huts available.
That, she reflected happily, would be one of the few indirect benefits of having a terrible reputation. Her family might have been expected to take in somebody if things were as they had been in times past, but they would never be picked to do so now. Her home would be as private as ever.
She and Toothless made good time, following the paths he seemed able to find without any effort whatsoever, the easiest possible way through the forest. He left her at the edge of the forest with the boar carcass and a lick, which was actually pretty disgusting given what he had been carrying in his mouth for the last half-hour. She would need to wash her face.
She hoisted the carcass over her shoulder, glad her training had mostly rebuilt her muscles to where they had been before, though it would be a few more months until she was totally back up to her previous standards. It also helped that part of the boar was missing.
She ended up dropping the body off in the shack used by the now out of work hunters, knowing that whichever one of them kept up the shack would be fine with cleaning and preparing it for her. Anything to at least look like he or she was still earning their keep, though there might be nervous inquiries as to where it came from, if she wasn't even now on her way to tell the Chief what she had just brought in.
Of course, to tell him, she first had to find him. Preparations for visitors also meant a sort of out-of-season Spring cleaning, with the idea of everything being brought back to normal levels of filthiness. They didn't want everything clean, they just wanted it clean enough to be tolerable. That was the Viking way.
She found Stoick in the plaza near the center of the village, directing things and breaking up arguments before they could devolve into brawls. Some small amount of cleaning was necessary, but nobody was happy about doing it.
"Chief, a word," she requested, ignoring the dirty looks her presence elicited. She was used to it now. It was not good, but it could be ignored.
"Ah, Astrid." Stoick looked her over. "So, about that proof..."
"No need for a demonstration," she answered calmly. "Proof is hanging in the hunting shack by the edge of the village. I think getting the dragon to help me hunt is pretty good progress, all in all, and not something you would have really been able to watch, anyway."
"It kills for you?" he asked excitedly, rubbing his hands together. "That really is progress."
If he were anything but a Viking commanding a village that was always at war, she might have been alarmed by how happy he was with that. "We killed it together," which was true, "but yes. Pretty much all that remains to be done is flight, and that is waiting on Gobber."
"Aye, he's working as fast he can," Stoick said, his tone rueful and... sad? "Hiccup's designs are, to put it in his words, 'crazier than a Berserker with a beehive over his helmet and a rat up his tunic.' He's working on it, but it's not easy at all."
She wouldn't know that, having not been to the forge in a few weeks, lacking any reason to go as her ax was in good condition. Fishlegs would come get her once it was ready. "Good to know. And I'm not surprised. It was that complex when I saw it." Gears, thin rods, and wires, all somehow formed into a tailfin and controlling device that could withstand Toothless's quite powerful movement and even match it? She would have no idea where to start if a perfectly formed example lay in front of her, let alone reconstructing one from schematics and designs that very likely weren't complete.
"Aye, he was good with that stuff," Stoick agreed gruffly, turning away for a moment. "I can set the demonstration for as late as the third day after they arrive, but that might not give you much time to work on flight. If needed, you can keep that to a minimum. Just prove you can do it to some extent."
"Got it." She had already planned to do that. Insane maneuvers like what Toothless had tortured her with what felt like so long ago were not on the list of priorities. Later, much later, if at all.
"Oy," a new voice interrupted, "Stoick, put 'er to work! She's lazin' around while we all pitch in." Mildew walked by as he finished his request, carrying a small beam of wood while Fungus trailed behind him.
"Like we did with you when you showed up and refused to help?" Stoick asked calmly. "Sure. Astrid, do something useful. It's up to you to decide what."
"You stuck me on this job," Mildew complained. "Put her somewhere worse, don't let her pick!"
"Get over here with that wood, Mildew!" an angry Viking yelled from across the plaza. "Hoark is stuck holding up the building until we can put it into place!"
Mildew sneered and continued walking, not speeding up at all.
"Faster, or I'll make you take Hoark's place," Stoick remarked. Mildew's pace increased noticeably.
"I can help," Astrid said eagerly. "Where do you want me?"
"Go help the others up in the Great Hall," Stoick decided.
Astrid nodded and left him there, content. She had nothing else to do, and she really didn't mind pitching in. It made her look good, which would make her mother and father happy, which in turn would make them less insistent about her working on her reputation or looking for someone to take over with Toothless. Given she wouldn't do the latter and was already doing the former, it was better for everyone when they didn't push her on those subjects.
When she entered the Great Hall, she wasn't expecting anything, so she was quite surprised to see a reunion, of sorts.
They were all there. Tuffnut was chiseling away at something on the underside of a table, and his sister was down there with him. Fishlegs was hammering a nail into a stool Astrid distinctly remembered as unstable. Snotlout was in a dark corner, fiddling with something. She couldn't see what, as the shadows hid it, but somehow, she knew it wasn't anything to do with fixing up the Great Hall. He just looked like he might be helping, at least to the casual observer.
Still, they were all there, and she didn't mind working with most of them. It had been weeks since she saw Tufffnut, and while Ruffnut was around, she had not talked to her either. Fishlegs had been holed up in the forge, and of course she actively avoided Snotlout. This could be time to catch up with some of the other teens.
After taking another look around, she noticed that Ruffnut and Tuffnut were working together on something. That was a new development, so she decided to start with them. She approached the table they were messing with, and after a moment of deliberation crawled under, getting a good look at-
"Disgusting." She quickly pulled out from under the table.
"Yeah, but someone has to get this stuff off, and the Chief said since it was probably us who put most of it here, we should be that someone," Ruffnut explained sourly.
Astrid did not question how the Chief had known it was the Twins who were responsible for the buildup of rotting food on the underside of the table, too busy wondering how nobody had ever smelled the horrors she had just seen while eating on the top of the very same table. "Were all the tables like this?" She could not recall eating at this one, but she had sat at others recently enough.
"Yup, this one isn't as bad as some of the others were. We got those cleaned already," Tuffnut replied, his voice muffled. "Hey, a whole fish! I know that wasn't us."
"Yeah, we're not that wasteful," Ruffnut agreed, before seeming to remember she was still mad at her brother. She scooted out from under the table. "I'm going to get some air."
Tuffnut scooted out after her, watching her go. "I hope she gets over it soon."
"You do kind of deserve it, from her point of view," Astrid remarked.
"True. Still." Tuffnut stood, dragging a bucket out from under the table, one filled with horrible rot... and topped with one just as rotten fish, somehow still whole.
Okay, time to move on before she added the contents of her own stomach to that bucket. She left the twins and approached Fishlegs, who was now cradling his hand.
"Need a hand?" she asked, somewhat seriously. She could at least hammer a nail without hammering herself in the process.
"If I do that again, maybe," he groaned. "One of Gobber's, with a nice hammer attachment for the irony."
"Not exactly what I meant," she laughed, picking up the hammer. "Where is the intended victim?"
He gestured to the side of the stool, where a crude nail was stuck, still halfway exposed. She carefully tapped it into place, worried the stool would break further. It really wasn't high quality to start with, and looked halfway to being kindling as it was.
"Yeah, we should just make a new one," Fishlegs said, seeing her caution. "But hey, if one of the Windy Isle guys uses it, it'll be more flammable afterward, so if we're going to burn it for firewood, we should wait."
"What?" She didn't follow that logic at all.
"You know, Windy Isle? They're known for the strongest wind of all the archipelago!" he explained excitedly. "They can light it on fire, too!"
"Seriously?" She had thought 'Windy' was in reference to the weather, not that. "Suddenly, I don't want to meet any of them." Or marry into their tribe. Or live on their island. Berk Vikings were obnoxious enough about that sort of thing without throwing tribal pride in it!
Just another reason to try very hard to avoid moving there. As if she needed another.
"Of course," Fishlegs continued happily. "They even hold yearly competitions. Like Thawfest."
"That's nice," she remarked absently, not really meaning it. "Also," she continued in order to change the subject, "I can return your book soon. I'm pretty much done with it." They would probably never stop adding gestures as needed, but they had taken everything usable from Fishlegs' book by now.
"I can come and get it when Gobber sends me to tell you we're done with your... with the saddle and tail," he finished quickly. "It's probably going to take us a few more weeks, but we're working on it."
"I hope it doesn't take that long," she admitted, "but fine. And sure, I can give the book back then." She looked the stool over, setting Fishlegs' carpentry hammer down on top of it. "Think it'll collapse the moment someone sits on it?"
"I give it a seventy-three percent chance," he announced. "Ninety-three if it's a Windy Isle Viking. At least Berkians know to be careful with this one."
"Is careful something we do?" she asked rhetorically, looking towards the exit of the Great Hall and wondering what else needed to be done that she could accomplish. The twins had handled the tables, the floor was kept more or less clean to prevent pointless injury by slipping and falling, and the back, where the food was served, was already kept spotless by Bucket, who had a thing for only eating off of clean surfaces, and had long ago taken it upon himself to keep that area perfectly clean. His head injury certainly did make him do strange things, sometimes. Wearing a bucket was just one of them.
All in all, there was not much more to be done here-
She felt a presence behind her. Fishlegs was in her line of sight, and Tuffnut would not sneak up on her like this, knowing she was dangerous. Ruffnut had left the Great Hall.
She thought all of this over in an instant, quickly deducing who it must be- and acting. She jabbed her elbow out behind her, catching something hard but yielding. A strangled exhale echoed from far too close behind her.
She took a step forward and spun, finding exactly what she had expected. Snotlout, totally winded by a strike to the gut.
"I'm sorry," she lied in a toneless voice, "I didn't know who I would be hitting." She would not apologize at all, but she had no desire to give Snotlout ammo to levy against her in the future. His threat of taking her to trial over any further assault or threat and winning because she was not liked among the village was still very much in effect, forcing her to be cautious. But he could not make anything of that little incident, because there were two witnesses who could and would testify that she had not even known it was him.
She would also say the same, lying if needed, though she thought she could phrase things as to make it not an outright lie. Either way, she was prepared to do whatever it took to make sure he lost.
All of that was background information, things she had already decided on. She was totally focused on Snotlout as he recovered, standing straight once more. He had his sword, though it was not the same one as that day in the woods. For all she knew that one was still lying in the dirt somewhere near the cove, rusting away. He was not allowed to go out and get it, and she would refuse if he asked her to retrieve it, so he had never bothered asking.
"Worth it," he asserted, staring openly at her. His threat still made him bold, and she had no recourse. "Say, I was wondering. There will probably be dancing when the tribe of farts gets here, so I've come to ask-"
"No, I will not tolerate you within ten feet of me, at a dance or otherwise," she gritted, making no pretense at civility. "Dance alone. You're self-absorbed enough to enjoy that if you try." His threat might protect him physically, but it did nothing verbally, aside from making threats of violence unwise. She could and would cut him to the core if given reason, and he very likely did not have the protection she now had, that of truly not caring. His ego would bleed, even if she could not make him bleed for real.
"I'm hurt," he announced, an edge to his voice suggesting he did not care as little as he made it seem. "But I'm willing to forgive your vicious and unprovoked attack on me if you would just-"
"What is there to forgive?" she asked, not expecting an answer. "I'm innocent, and so is the dragon." She had no trouble calling Toothless 'the dragon' here in public; it was just another little part of who she was that she chose not to show to Berk yet. She didn't know how she would refer to him during the demonstration. Practically speaking, it would be smarter to keep up the facade, but she was beginning to not want to. Let them see that her version of 'control' was not what they expected. It was better in any case.
That was for the future, though, not here and now. Here and now, she wanted Snotlout out of her face. "And should I tell Stoick you need something to do?"
Snotlout withdrew something from a back pocket, sneering as he did. "Already got it. My dad wants me to give a short speech when the tribe of farts arrives."
"Maybe don't call them that in the speech," Fishlegs suggested. "They do have a proper title. We don't call Berk the tribe of idiots, even if that is one translation of 'Berk'."
That was news to Astrid. "Since when?"
Fishlegs shrugged. "Since forever. Berk means different things in different languages, and in one of them it means an idiot. I don't think that's what our ancestors had in mind when they named the island, but still."
"So when we say someone is a Berkian to the core," she concluded, "we may as well be calling them a massive idiot?" That was hilarious. Also hilarious was how she was totally keeping Snotlout out of the conversation, keeping Fishlegs talking fast enough to block him out.
"And when we say someone is the model of Berkian behavior, well, you get the idea," Fishlegs continued enthusiastically. "Of course, it could be worse. We could be called the Meatheads, for instance. At least with Berk, most people don't know it can be an insult. Nobody thinks being called a Meathead is complimentary."
"Hey, it isn't?" Snotlout asked angrily, finally cutting back into the conversation. "Tuffnut!"
"Present," Tuffnut shouted back from the other side of the hall, now halfway up one of the supporting pillars, shining something with a dirty rag. How had he gotten up there?
"When you come down, I'm going to get you," Snotlout asserted, seeing that he wouldn't be able to reach Tuffnut. "Now, Astrid."
"Is leaving," she finished for him, turning away. "Go do something useful." She was out the door before he could respond.
Later that day, she made her way back home, deciding to take the time to organize her own room. Nobody would be staying with her family and their tainted reputation, but she might as well make her room at least as clean as the rest of Berk was becoming.
Besides, there wasn't much to do. Her room was still sparse, save for the pile of Hiccup's things in the corner.
She stopped at those, feeling a bit sad. He was gone, and he was never coming back. This was all she had of him. This, and Toothless.
At least she had that much. Stoick had nothing except the rest of what had been in his room.
Oh well. She sifted through the parchments, looking for a few in particular. The good drawings of Toothless, the ones that looked like pieces of art the traders might bring in on their ships every once in a while. Three in particular stood out to her. Toothless sleeping, Toothless pouncing, and Toothless looking out to sea. There were more, but these three caught her attention.
She kept those out of the pile, setting them aside. The rest of his things she sorted and put into a wooden chest, one meant for clothing. She had a few extras, preferring to keep to only a few main outfits. She slid that chest into the corner and placed more everyday things on top of it.
There. Now nobody could see the parchments, and they were safe from accidental destruction. She really should not have left them out in the open so long anyway.
As for the others... she liked them. She stuck them up on a ledge built into the wall opposite her bed, in a place where they would only be noticeable if one looked for them. Not hidden, just not flaunted. She liked that, too.
It was a little sad that she didn't have any drawings of both Hiccup and Toothless, but as Hiccup was the artist, that made sense. He must have watched Toothless for hours to get such amazingly accurate details right, and doing the same with himself was obviously impossible.
Really, having such accurate images of someone, or some dragon in this case, was unusual. Even the portraits of Chiefs and their sons that hung in the Great Hall were more stylized than accurate. If one had a red beard, it would be exaggerated to a red bush that covered half the shield that has been used in place of parchment or canvas, and so on.
Would the next shield to go up in the Great Hall be of Snotlout? She shuddered at that line of thought. Berk was going to face some hard times in the future. Hopefully, Snotlout would not be Chief for long, however that could be achieved. Maybe a raid would pick him off.
Raids... of which there still had not been one. She was fine with that. The freeze was coming, and raids did not occur in the Winter. The general consensus was that the dragons couldn't bear the cold, but she figured it was more likely, having seen the nest, that they were just sticking close to home, like Vikings did. How they fed their overlord during that time was a mystery to her.
Maybe it hibernated? It lived in a volcano, so that would be a bit odd, but maybe all dragons did? She hadn't seen Toothless showing any signs of slowing down as the cold settled in, but he was a bad example if she wanted to know about the typical dragon. She did also wonder about the cold, but he had been fine in the frigid sea, and showed no signs of suffering from lack of heat.
Lack of food, on the other hand, might soon become a problem. If boar were all that remained on Berk's menu for a dragon, and those were slowly and steadily being taken out... eventually, they would run out of those, too.
She resolved to start bringing him fish, if she could afford it. Maybe it was time to turn her odd jobs back into a source of income again. Working without pay had not endeared her to the village anyway. She could at least slow Toothless's depletion of his only free food source.
And maybe if she could get him into the air, he could show her how Night Furies kept themselves fed in the wild. It definitely wasn't through looting Viking storehouses, because Night Furies never stole food, and she knew for a fact that all the food went to one dragon in particular anyway. He probably had some way of fishing, if she judged by his love of whatever chunks of seafood she took to him from the Great Hall on occasion.
So, flight would solve more than one problem, it seemed. Good. Now she just needed to wait until Gobber and Fishlegs produced the complex machinery that would allow it.
Would they finish it before the Windy Isle tribe arrived? She didn't know. Hopefully. She would like more than three days to learn to fly, if at all possible, though she could probably do it in a few hours, at least to the extent that would be needed for the demonstration.
Still, the question remained. Which would happen first?