Stupid dragon.
Stupid Hookfang, he never was one to follow orders, was he?
"Now he's even late for my glorious death," Snotlout grumbled to himself in-between coughs.
Stupid dragon.
It had been nearly a decade since the Twins passed on, and now Snotlout was the next to kick the bucket.
Snotlout knew. Old people had a weird way of knowing. That, and the fact that an incurable poisonous arrow had so pleasantly lodged itself in his ankle.
Yet, when the Monstrous Nightmare finally came to the surface, after all those years, the old grump couldn't bring himself to say any of those things.
"Hey there, Fangster."
And so, Snotlout Jorgenson was on Midgard no more.