Chapter 8

Astrid Hofferson had been shaken to her very core, a week ago today. Her discovery had brought her such anger, and confusion. A warrior maiden is not confused - confusion means death on the battlefield, and the war waged in her mind was not slowing even the slightest. Everything she'd ever believed as a good Viking, as a Hofferson, as a villager of Berk was on its head now.

The Chief's son was a Night Fury now.

She had been trying to deny the thought as it pierced every other question and rallied above them in her psyche, calling and screaming for her to acknowledge it. Every day had been a test of her own will as she went about her days as normally as possible. Wake up, train, eat breakfast, train some more, train with Gobber and the others, dinner, sleep; another enemy of hers. Her nights were haunted by the horrific sight of the Night Fury in the arena, killing her friends and allies at arms, before it became Hiccup in an instant, covered in blood and crawling for her, pleading for help. Astrid had been conflicted and every day weighed her down further with her self doubts. With no foreseeable dragon raids in the coming winter season, she had nothing to busy herself with, be it battle, tending the wounded or fixing homes and sheep pens.

Which brought her to the forge. Answers were the only thing that could stem her flowing ocean of questions and ideas, to win the battle. Astrid ducked her head down underneath a low hanging beam and stepped inside the cramped space, Gobber's back poking from the door to the backroom. She knocked on a beam and cleared her throat, and saw the older Viking jump on the spot, hearing the scuffling of papers and the man grunting a greeting at her.

"Astrid, ya' shouldn' sneak up on me like tha'." Gobber said, and she frowned at the stern warning. The blacksmith hadn't been himself since Hiccup died, or, left. He cleared his throat and sat on a stool by the roaring forge flames, tilting his head to look at her and waiting.

"Sorry, Gobber. I just came by to ask some questions." Astrid said politely, a small smile coming onto her face as she sat down near the way she'd come in, eyeing the sharp instruments on the wall behind her. Gobber's brow raised and he turned to look at her.

"Abou' what? Trainin' is still happenin' tomorrow." The blonde man said shortly, and she caught a flicker of anger on his face before it faded again.

"It's… about Hiccup." The maiden said boldly. She'd seen the Blacksmith in worse moods, but he'd not been… right, since Hiccups departure. His face went still, before going blank and he shrugged at her.

"Aye. What about him?" She heard the edge in his voice, as if daring her to insult the reed of a teenager in his presence, as if he somehow knew what she was about to ask. Astrid sat up a little straighter, steeling herself.

"Do you know what he might have been doing? Going out into the woods after that raid?" The change in his appearance was subtle, but the twitch of his hand as it wanted to curl into a fist didn't go amiss. She was provoking something, but her need for answers.

"D'ya think he'd a told me? He'd just been given a go at by St- the Chief, and was yammerin' on about… him." Gobber looked sad, his eyes betraying his ironclad features as he watched the young woman before him, peering at her over his nose.

"What makes you ask now?" She swallows, and shrugs her shoulders as nonchalantly as she could.

"Hiccup was saying something about a Night Fury he'd shot down. I'm… trying to piece together what he might've done, or how he'd have shot the thing down at least. For the village." Astrid lied through her teeth; dishonoring herself in front of Gobber but she simply had to win, no matter the cost.

Gobber's eyes flickered darkly to her and then down to the ground, before shaking his head.

"You'd sooner believe the Chief shot that thing down by pluckin' it from tha sky than Hiccup doin' it, wouldn' ye?" The blacksmith was almost accusatory of her, a malice in his voice and a furrowed crease between his brows as he grit his teeth. She kept her calm and shook her head, putting her hands out to stow his fury.

"Nothing like that, Gobber. I'm just trying to find out what happened. What he did did wrong and ho-"

A clang of his hammer prosthetic on the stony rim of the forge silenced her, near jumping out of her skin at the speed he'd leveled his hand onto the brick and cracked it.

"Get out o' here, girl. Before I do somethin' else I'll regret." Gobber was gone; the viking before her was victim of countless battles and enemies slain on the field before him, his hand shaking as he gripped at his leg.

Astrid did not return to the forge that night. The shock of how quick Gobber was to anger at even the slightest provocation on her part. She could not even find her own anger to rise back at him, the fear and pit in her stomach bringing her out of the building. Her hunch was correct however; Gobber was probably taking this the hardest of most in the village, not that the list was steep to begin with.

She steered herself to the docks, standing on a cliff face that fell off into the spiked crown that ran this edge of Berk's cliff bases, falling into the cold grass and shaking her head. Staring off into the night, she cursed the dragon that had written to her and left her with all of these questions. No axe could pierce this condundrum that had filled her head with awful ideas.

For instance; Hiccup (or the dragon masquerading as him), had protected her from the other Night Fury in the small cove. She had heard them talk. Astrid was not crazy in this, the memory so vivid in her mind that she could almost hear the sounds if she focused hard enough. Like birds calling to each other but more guttural and somehow full of emotion.

Astrid had steered clear of other dragons since then, terrified that instead of the bloodthirsty cries of her peoples demons, she would hear those chirps and warbles instead as they spoke.
She suspected this would only steel her resolve that dragons were all monsters, that they knew exactly what they were doing, the cracks in that particular armour shining through when she'd heard the Night Fury's conversing above her, trapped beneath them.

She stared into the ocean, and then up at the moon, thinking for the first time where the two dragons might be now, if they'd survived. Where they might be, if they'd attacked other viking longboats with the same horrific ability she'd witnessed in the ring.

Astrid Hofferson sat there all night, staring off into the empty skies and endless ocean, thinking through the battle in her mind.

Stoick the Vast sat in his empty, cold house, and sat in front of the embers of a fire that had long gone out with a defeated grimace.

No amount of murder or butchery of the flying beasts that took his world from him would set him right, and now he had naught to do but consider how to live on.

When Valka had been stolen from him, he'd still had Hiccup. That tiny bairn who'd survived the impossible, twice now, and he imprinted everything he could remember of Val' onto him. Her kindness always shone through in Hiccup, even when it shouldn't have. She was the better part of Stoick Haddock, and then his son was. Now all he had was his anger, his rage, that threatened to boil over any time now. Small provocations, whispers of things he assumed to be so built upon the mighty castle of his fury brick by brick. The only small hope he had left was that one day, he would meet Hiccup at the table of kings. Spitelout had insisted that the boy must've gone down fighting from the evidence he'd found, and Stoick trusted his right hand man; so Hiccup must've gone down a Viking, and the Allfather would see fit to seat him in Valhalla until the end of time.

That thought kept him fighting, kept him going, pushing against the tidal wave of scaled nightmares that drove to crash over Berk and destroy everything his forefathers had built. He would kill every last one, or die trying.

A knock at his door pulled him from his loneliness, and he hurried to the door to answer it, breathing in and drawing himself tall out of the slump he'd been sat in. A chief is not weak before his people.
The sailor at the door had a grim expression, and looked beat and exhausted. He wondered if he looked much the same.

"What can I do for you at this early hour, Arne?" Stoick asked, hands at his hips as he watched the man before him, who looked to be somewhat nervous underneath the grimace he carried on his lips like a wound.

"I've just gotten back from scoutin'. Not seen tail nor scale of a single flyin' beastie." Arne spoke, arms folded over his chest to grip his biceps against the cold.

"What's with the expression then, Arne?" He grunted, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two beefy fingers and holding in an irritated sigh.

"Well, this time of year, there's usually a few in the water or the sky while I take my passage. But in my twelve winters doin' this 'av' never seen not a single one." Arne said with a worried lilt, scratching the base of his scraggly black beard and twisting the ends.

Stoick thought for a moment. Perhaps he'd actually done it over the last week, made such a dent in the dragons morale, or forces that they retreated fully? Or was it an omen to be heralded that thousands more could come at any moment? He did not like the uncertainty.

"Thank you for this Arne. I'll collaborate with Fishlegs, and try to see if he's e'er heard of somethin' like this in a book of his." Stoick spoke, finality in his tone so that Arne knew he was dismissed. The man nodded his head respectfully and left him, standing atop his hill, the lonely house behind him beckoning him back in with its shadows. He only came back in to take his cloak and helmet off the mantle, before leaving again for the Great Hall. A mental checklist sounded off in his head as it always had, every day he was chief.

Establish security. Help the people. Be the Chief they needed.

It started with him heading down the docks, spotting the Hofferson girl, passed out in the grass and frowning before he started his day proper; the fishermen having just come into port and they were all arguing as was normal. Each of them bristling with the viking pride he admired in every single one of them.

Once a few barrels were lifted and heads knocked, he went on his way, walking up the slowly waking village street to small waves and nods, walking his way to the Great Hall and stepping inside the towering doors, peering around the almost empty room before passing into the back rooms. Food was cooking and the few women who worked there greeted him. Small talk was made and offers for dinner brought to his house made which he refused; always amicable to a point.

Stoick left the Great Hall, where his feet headed towards the forge, his body having not quite caught on yet that the small wisp of a son he'd had was no longer there. Only a bitter friend and painful memories, so he adjusted himself. On his way down the hill, he'd spotted the two Hel-Spawned twins with a crateful of something, and he was more than eager to stop them. The last thing he wanted right now was something breaking, or catching fire. Now that Hiccup wasn't around, the main threat outside of raids from dragons or vikings and natural disasters was the twins. Stoick had started wondering why he was so easy on them comparatively, but the answer was easy in his mind. The twins weren't of good stock such as he was and Hiccup was. He had no expectations for them to lead the village when he was unable to.

This time, he would be harsher on them, he thought to himself as he went around a homestead and around the back to cut the two off; which worked excellently. But instead of a pair of panic-struck twins, instead he found them confused and looking at him expectantly.

"Chief?" Tuffnut started, looking between himself and his sister.

"Are we in trouble again? Listen, those yaks h-" Ruffnut began, before Stoick shook his head, bristling a little as he looked in the box, finding small mechanical pieces and splintered wood, rope and bola stones.

"Are you two stealing raid supplies?" Stoick asked darkly, the box in their hands signalling to him that they'd broken into the armory and found something worth taking, his hands coming to his hips as disapproval settled on his face.

"What, this junk? It's just something we found by Sten's house by the cliff. I bet it's a deadly weapon from Thor, just waiting to be put back together!" Tuffnut grinned widely, pumping a fist with one hand as the box wobbled in the other from the motion, Ruffnut gripping it before it fell and dropped the contents on the ground and headbutted her brother. Stoick sighed and wiped a palm across his brow, pinching his nose again out of annoyance, before his raised head let him peer a little deeper into the crate and he felt a pang of recognition. He swiped the box just as the twins started a tussle in the alley behind the house, sweeping a hand through the pieces of the contraption as he found a small piece of wood, clearly a snapped piece of a bow with the whittled initials of his son inscribed on it.

Stoick's heart felt heavy for a moment before he shut his eyes, leaving the twins to their scuffle, no longer caring for their behaviour as he headed to Gobber's forge against his will. Their relationship had been more than strained the last week, short, quiet conversations and hard gazes that refused to falter either way. The small, stone built forge looked cold despite the hot, metal-smoldering fires within, and as Stoick dragged himself in front of the backdoor, braced to knock, he hesitated. He looked down at this collection of junk that he held so carefully and frowned. It felt wrong to give this away, this last piece of his son, but perhaps Gobber could tell him what it had been before this.

Steeling himself, he knocked on the black oak door and stood back, hands cradling the box as he waited for his childhood friend and trusted advisor, hearing him knocking things down and a series of clangs and crashes and curses from inside, almost bringing the Chief to a small smile.

"Astrid, if this is about-" Gobber yelled out, yanking the door hard as if to free it of its hinges, pointing a soot coated digit out at his friend who simply eyed him with a curious nod. The blacksmith's display faltered and he rolled his eyes, standing still and folding his arms.

"Chief." Gobber greeted him sternly, having rarely called his friend by his name since his sons death.

"Gobber. I found the twins fightin' over… well, whatever this is.`` He gestured with his arms and lifted the crate in his grip to show the other viking, who simply shook his head and turned as if to leave, Stoick clearing his throat and grunting.

"It was somethin' Hiccup made." Stoick said, his voice giving the slightest hint of a crack, and he noted Gobber's disposition slacken a little before him, turning around and beckoning him into the small building. He followed, slowly, and placed the crate on the small workbench by the forge for the man to look over, dragging a chair up and falling into it, the wood creaking its complaint to him. Gobber put on the small monocle used for inspecting things closer than his eye alone could. His hand dove into the box and carefully retrieved the small shattered pieces of metal and wood and rope, inspecting them slowly until he took the bow piece and his shoulders sagged a little, lifting it to his face before placing it back down.

"Ah think this was young Hiccup's device he showed me the night before tha' raid. Gave Arvid a right bruisin'. Left him to handle the forge… an'.. I s'pose he wheeled it out." Gobber said slowly, scratching his cheek and rubbing under his beard for a moment. Stoick took a breath and eyed the smith, noting the pain in his tones and the slump of his shoulders.

"Do you know what it did, Gobber? The… machine, I mean." Stoick grunted quietly, raising a bushy red brow towards the smith who stood up a little straighter, nodding at him before withdrawing into the back room. Stoick noted that was where he usually saw his son disappearing whenever he visited the smithy, reasoning it to be a storeroom or study. He didn't manage to get a peek into the room thanks to Gobber's stocky, wide build, but quickly found the man returning and passing the thought from his mind.

In his one good hand, he held a small scroll of yellowed paper and threw it across to Stoick, who took it from midair.

Stoick was not one for math, or anything that took more thought than swinging a hammer or shouting loudly, but he could almost see the shattered pieces formed into the device before him. Hiccup's messy scrawl covered most of the paper around the blueprint. It had multiple attachments that let it fire different ammunition. Hiccup was clearly much more intelligent than that sharp wit of his hinted at, and Stoick grimaced, looking up at Gobber who was scowling at him.

"D'ya see what he was doin' fer us?" Gobber asked, and Stoick stood slowly, speechless as his friend's anger rose unbidden, like a wildfire, seemingly the tension was once again about to break between them and he heaved a great sigh.

"Stoick, yer lad might've been the smar'est of all of us. He knew he couldn' wield a weapon as a Viking, and all that time he'd been makin' contraptions like these." Gobber grunted, his one good hand balled into a tight, white-knuckled fist.

"Why'd ya never listen to 'em? Why didn' I?" The smith trailed off, unclenching his fist with, his posture returning to the slack shouldered standing. The chief of Berk heaved and shook his head, folding his arms across his chest.

"It's not the Viking way to use trickery and traps to fight our battles. Our forefathers fought steel to scale with the beasts and Hiccup shouldn't have been any exception." Stoick managed to push out, even as guilt gripped at his heart and mind. A chief is strong for his tribe.

The two fell quiet in their thoughts, the wind knocking the walls and rattling the shields on the walls around them before Stoick spoke again.

"Hiccup shot down that accursed Night Fury and it killed him, Gobber. I'll not have anyone else die because of that machine." Stoick braced, before meeting the smiths eyes.

"I regret what I did every day that he's gone. But he's gone, and all I can do is move on." The fire in his eyes dimmed and the chief's chest deflated. He felt old in his bones, like every day dragged on for infinity until it got dark, even with the coming winter shortening. He saw his son everywhere he went, a ghost with auburn hair and his wife's eyes.
The quietness took the forge over again, before Gobber sighed and shook his head, a dreary chuckle coming from him and it made Stoick crack a tiny smile on his mighty visage.

"Well as long as you regret et'... I can find no more hate for you in my heart, old friend." Gobber said solemnly, reaching his good hand out for his chief to take.
Stoick eyed it, before firmly clasping his friend and tugging them both together, grasping the brief moment of normalcy before they parted.

"Make sure you keep Hiccup's things safe, Gobber. I'd… like to read through it all sometime."

"I'll make sure to have some fine ale for the occasion. You'd be amazed what he had in that brain o' his." Gobber nodded, smiling to his brother, who nodded back and swiftly left.

Stoick headed for his house again, that had stood proud through years of strife, and no longer felt quite so empty. He knew he'd still think of his lost family, but if he could press forward with his tribe at his side, maybe in time, the wounds would heal and he'd be himself again, not the shadow of Stoick the Vast that he felt he occupied.

Toothless had been sitting beside his kin for minutes now. The cold stone did nothing to abate the slight worry of the Alpha's rebuttal of his brother's question. In his entire life-cycle, he'd never once seen a King or Queen leave their nest, and fighting another of their kind was almost preposterous to consider. Even if the bad-nest-Queen was truly evil. She ate fellow-scales and wrought misery on the two-legs all in the sight of her own desire for power and gluttony. She took their minds and life-organs from them and hid them away in herself, using them as puppets. He had barely escaped her with his life and now was about to set out to fight her.

Night Ones were solitary, and he was no different. He'd lost his sire and dam, and never since had seen one of his own kind before Small-Claw, which perhaps did not even count as he was once a two-leg. He had no desire to save other scale-wings or help the two-legs. The former out of apathy, and the latter out of how utterly and contemptuously cruel he knew them to be; not gifted like scale-wings or four-leg sharp-teeth, they instead used their minds to fashion tools and sharp-claws of their own to hurt and maim.
Even Small-Claw, who had been proved to be one of the kindest creatures he'd ever met - a gentle and damaged soul even before becoming Night-kin, had created a device that left him mangled and disabled; forever without flight. Lesser scale-wings would have killed him, without a doubt, any other would be driven mad without their gift of flight, of freedom.

But Small-Claw had peered into his very soul, and he had looked back into his. They were the same, separated by kind until intervention by unknown forces brought them together as one. Toothless had even been named, which in his eyes was an honor unworthy of himself. There was no denying that something drew them together, and bonded them. He would not sully the bond with his anger and fear of being flightless, which had been granted back to him in time with Small-Claws intervention, once again.

Toothless watched carefully as the Alpha and his kin had a conversation for no other ears, and noted with slight pride how despite the subject matter, his brother in scales never once backed down or flinched from the piercing gaze of their King. He rested his head on his forepaws and purred quietly, his tail sliding slowly over to rest atop Small-Claws for comfort with a small croon of encouragement. He could not hear their conversation but would stick by him always.

A great sigh echoed towards him, and he didn't have to look to know it was their Alpha. He almost sounded irritated - and Toothless suppressed a throaty chuckle at how determined his friend was, or must be.

This seemed to mark the end of their discussion as Small-Claw turned to face him, a wide gummy grin on his face, and bounded over, pushing off the ground with his forelegs in a half-jump with excitement. Toothless only shared this, standing up from his seated position and bowing his head with his friends motions, that odd grin coming to him too.

"We go, with four-wing and two-leg female. Only… look in nest before fight." Small-Claw crooned at him, turning around and running in a small circle before facing his friend again, Toothless tilting his head at the unspoken question.

"Alpha not fight?" He frowned, bumping his snout against his brothers, who shrugged.

"Need see if Queen can be…" He tried to grunt a word he did not know, before giving up. "Speak to, change her!" Small-Claw finished, licking his lips before looking up to the top of their nest thoughtfully, before butting his head with Toothless', and losing some of his energy.

"But.. have to wait. No flying in ice, he say." Toothless snorted at this, but understood. His friend had never flown in the freezing cold air and would struggle too much to fly the great distance between the two nests without lots of stops and breaks at dangerous two-leg islands.

"We go next-next moon cycle, to nest." Small-Claw said, the excited energy leaving him before he nudged his partner and asking him with a curious little head tilt and churr.

"What do in cold time?"

Toothless looked around. There were not many other scale-wings out now, most would be asleep and he moved his head back towards their cave to indicate. Most cold-cycles, scale-wings slept and ate and reserved their energy for the warmer months where prey was plentiful on the ground and fish schooled far and wide in the water.

"Rest. We have more grow to do, biggest next season-changes. Eat, rest." Toothless nodded to him with a small warble for his inquisitive partner, who seemed to frown deeper, shaking his head.

"But, that… not fun. No play?" At the word, Small-Claw got into a pouncing position, wiggling his rump and lifting his tail before sitting normally again, and he rolled his eyes.

"Next-next moon cycle, you be tired if not rested enough and ate enough. Bad for hunt. Bad for fight!" He growled a little and then turned to head back into their nest-cave, which he'd grown attached to after the short period of time spent there. Never having anywhere of his own, this was a good change. He thought on his words for a second before flitting his head around.

"Teach you fight and life-fire next season." Toothless said, and quickly sped into their small nest, not wanting to hear his rebuttal. He knew Small-Claw would not want to fight anymore, still haunted by the memories of what he'd had to do to survive at his two-leg nest. Hearing his slow dragging of paws into their nest he knew how reluctant he was, but this was something all scale-wings had to do. From what he could guess, two-legs had to learn from young cycles as well, but the scrawny, lanky fledgling before him in the forest had no muscle, and no survival instinct. Even crippled and bound, scale-wings had their fire and their claws. This had made it more amazing that the two-leg had saved him still.

Toothless laid down on the cool stone with a loud rumble, and lifted his wing, spreading himself out against the warm stones of the cavern wall, rubbing his back and that itchy canyon between his wings to relieve the sensation, and waited for Small-Claw to come in. He saw some slight hesitation, but the smaller Night-scale pushed himself in and rested close to his friend, Toothless draping his wing over him gently and dragging his tongue along the top of his kins headscales, cleaning him affectionately to Small-Claws gentle, annoyed murrs, but the smaller of them made no effort to push him away. It made him happy that his kin liked this, it only being natural for two fledglings of the same nest and scale. He could tell it disgruntled him, but his body told him it was good, judging by how his shoulders slumped and he relaxed into the grooming. This was good, and important that he let him. It strengthened their bond and let him know he was safe. He knew Small-Claw wouldn't accept this life overnight, or even in just the winter that was coming, but Toothless knew he could help him be ready for it when he did.

He felt his friend drift off beneath him slowly and saw no reason to not join him, making sure their cave-nest was secure even now before resting his head atop his brothers and laid himself to sleep, purring contentedly in a thrumming chorus with Small-Claw. In this nest, sleep came easier than ever to him.

The crack of dawn was signalled with a squawk from the mouth of their cave. Toothless was on edge quickly, dragging the smaller of the two into himself and sitting up slowly, craning his neck so he could look at the intruder - a curious, wide eyed tiny-wing. Rolling his eyes, he relaxed a little and tried to send it away with a warning growl, shaking his head at it. He never enjoyed the smaller cousins of theirs, they were very annoying and were much more akin to the feather-flyers than a scale-wing - pitiful scavengers. A thought came to him and he quickly roused his partner, nudging him and crooning a soft wake up, warning down at Small-Claw, who was up in moments, smacking his maw open and closed and stretching himself out before turning to face him a little better, frowning. Toothless did nothing and instead let him figure it out on his own with a small squinted gaze to the lazed scale-wing.

Small-Claw turned around, sniffing the air almost imperceptibly and snapped his head around to the cave entrance, tense for a moment before spotting the tiny-wing and groaning at Toothless.

"You wake up for this? Let sleep more." The smaller of them grumbled irritably, moving to rest his head down on his paws again, earning him a slap from the larger who shook his head, growling at him and then the other scale-wing. He had to learn that certain things were not allowed in this world, and this was one of them, but he would not provoke him into doing it so he could learn.

Toothless pointedly stared at the smaller scale-wing at the mouth of their cave, who started to take tentative steps inside, which earned him a snarl and a snap of his jaws, sitting up straighter against his kin who seemed slightly worried, moving to put himself between them. He shoved his paw down on Small-Claws side and made him sit, before growling at the other in their den again.

He seemed to understand, but his shoulders went a little limp at the prospect. Small-Claw sat up, reaching his snout forward and gave a half-hearted growl at the tiny-wing in their nest, who seemed to take it as an invitation to come in. Toothless shook his head again and bumped his kin a little harshly with a paw, which forced a harsher growl from his brother, who even went and bared his teeth to the intruder. It worked, and the tiny-wing screeched and flew from their nest den, earning a deep purr from Toothless who hugged Small-Claw tightly into him and nodded.

"Good. You learn." He praised, licking along the frills on the side of his kin's jaw and head, which made the other shudder and smack his tail on the floor and roll away from his brother.

"Why? Nest-wing not do bad to us." Small-Claw grumbled, leaning his head down and looking rather upset at what he'd done.

Toothless shook his head and sat in front of him, chest facing him as he lay across the stone.

"This our nest. Nest-wing good, yes, but not come in our nest. Only us and mates." Toothless warbled to him, licking his lips and shuffling a little, scratching at the ground. The last portion of his sentence coming out as a warm growl. Small-Claw paused from his reply and seemed to shake his head at him.

"Mate? Like… sire and dam?" The perceptive night-one warbled at him, frowning some and this brought a great purr from Toothless, who nodded his head and smiled at the chest-tingling happiness the idea brought him, his tail swaying behind him across the ground.

"When we bigger, stronger, we find mate and new nest each." Toothless purred out, nodding as he spoke, before noting the sadness in Small-Claws eyes. He almost growled at the once-two-leg, before thinking better and sighing.

"We nest near each other, small-head. Stop think bad." He said, a small amused grumble leaving his chest before Small-Claw sat up a little bit, having the good grace to look ashamed and bowing his head slightly.
The conversation stopped there, before a loud call echoed through the entire nest and they grew matching grins, leaping to their paws and scrambling out of the den. Toothless was very glad Small-Claw had enthusiasm for eating - his two-leg-self had been worryingly thin and frail - as when they'd first met as Night-Ones he was rather malnourished. Now that they were safe in the nest these pawful of cycles, he'd found they had an almost similar appetite, and had the same preference for the juicier fish in the waters this far north.
The Alpha made sure every nest-kin was well fed and never went without, and he was very happy for it - many times with his sire and dam he'd had to go hungry when hunting did not cede any food for them and it had stunted his growth as a fledgling a little. He was glad he and Small-Claw would have no such worries and that he could help his kin grow to their potential.

They bounded from their den and scrambled down the ledges, Small-Claw clumsily gliding and slipping down steps without being reminded by Toothless to practice using his wings to make sure they were strong. He did much the same, flapping and hopping until they were down by the alpha's pool, where a pile of fish the size of a two-leg nest was being set upon by the other inhabitants that nested and near their King.

Hungrily snapping up as much of the fresh fish as he could, he made sure to not leave his Small-Claws side, ensuring he knew where he was at all times. The feeding frenzy the nest often roused itself into being easy to lose his kin in even with their distinctive scales. He occasionally 'accidentally' batted some of his own food over in Small-Claws direction, who snapped it up without seeming to think or notice it.

They hurriedly ate their fill, before once again retiring to their nest, flapping and hopping up the rocks back toward their small cave in the mossy greenery. Small-Claw seemed to want to complain, but again stopped himself, waiting until they were once again wrapped around each others scales and wings and tails before voicing his concern.

"Tooth-less, why so… tired. Want sleep, so much. Small-Claw ill?" He said worriedly, their position allowing him to look directly up at his larger scale-kin, who chuckled and nudged their snouts together gently, shaking his head to get rid of that thought for his friend.

"Ice make all scale-wing tired. No good for fly, or hunt. So we rest much, grow and recover." Toothless murred thoughtfully, shutting his eyes and then stretching his maw, thinking a little and Small-Claw mirrored him a little playfully, snapping his jaw open and shut quickly. The two had been getting closer by the cycle as things went on and this made Toothless' chest soar and his life-fire burn brighter than ever. He'd hated being alone for so long and now he had something of a hatchling charge he was wont to let him go, even if his dreamed up two-leg plans would get them deep into trouble, he would follow Small-Claw all the way. The fates had given him someone and he wouldn't let them leave him now.

In his dreaming, he'd rather ironically lost his kin, who had suddenly headed outside without speaking, sniffing the air intently. He'd scrambled up and was prepared to dash out of their nest, but came to a very graceful stop just behind Small-Claw, who was growling stranger, intruder, scared back to him, his hackles raising a bit, and Toothless took a moment to scent the nest again. The flurry of feedback rushed into his mind and he deciphered each piece carefully - what would Small-Claw pick up that he didn't first?

A resounding roar from one of the cave nest entrances cut him off from his thought, and wordlessly they took flight. Toothless led Small-Claw towards the sound, for once both of them landing well on the warm, wet rocks that led to the drier parts of the nest cave, the entrance spinning off in front of them for unknown lengths, the roar coming from it again and the larger Night One braced, standing tall in front of Small-Claw, who instead had started to creep towards the sound.

If it was an intruder, or a worried mate of nest-kin, his friend would be in much danger. Alternatively, it looked like Small-Claw knew of the risks. His usual relaxed posture, dragging tail and wings was the picture of a wary night-one kin, creeping low to the ground towards the offensive scent that got stronger by the moment. Other kin were warily eyeing them but kept to themselves; Small-Claw having unwittingly offered himself as guard for this particular intruder who finally made himself seen.

A fire-skin-horn-kin stormed into the nest, roaring anger, challenge into the massive icy depths of their nest. Toothless looked over it, noting how it had to be just coming into its fangs as a mature kin, and was most likely seeking his own nest to live in; but it looked… wrong. This kin looked wrong. It did not stand to the challenge as a call of his needs, he was doing it out of fear. Looking closer, he saw how scars criss-crossed it's wing membranes and all along its underbelly - how it's horns, while lengthy, looked dulled and lacked their shine that any proud male would have. Something about this made the Night-One feel ache in his mind, before shaking it away, fixing his eyes on his friend. He would watch, for now.

Small-Claw wasn't shivering, in spite of the situation, which made him chirp pride. He was angling himself carefully, making sure he was creeping closer to the scale-wing before him who was impatiently roaring into the sky his need for challenge, before settling his eyes on the smaller Night-One that was coming closer. He nodded his head; this was much like the intruder to their own den, but for the good of the nest instead. He trusted Small-Claw would know what to do here, and eagerly awaited his answer to the call of challenge.

But none came, and instead of bracing to fight, he watched his brother do the most absolutely reckless, stupid thing a scale-wing could do before any other, friend or foe.

Small-Claw rolled onto his side, then his back, and exposed the vulnerable under scale of his belly and throat to the much larger fire-scale, who paused, silenced at the incredibly out of place display of submission.

"Much food, good Alpha, many scale-wings. Safety, rest!" Small-Claw chirped, a gummy smile on his face and this seemed to knock the other out of his pause, roaring and barreling headlong at his kin, snapping his jaws as driplets of saliva leaked from his maw - he was to eat his nest-kin.

Toothless was there, instantly, the threat scrambling to a halt a wing tip away from where he stood, his body over Small-Claws, snapping and snarling at him as he dared the larger male to try and hurt his brother. He let loose his own defiant roar of battle, rearing up and spreading his wings to completely get the attention of the Fire-wing-scale. He called help to his nest-mates, even though he was there barely any cycles, they seemed to flock to his side all the same. Needless to say, the hostile scale-wing was quickly sent away, flying and screeching down the tunnel where it came from.

Sending thankful warbles and croons to his nest-kin, he made sure he was still perched above Small-Claw, who was beneath him, grumbling at him annoyedly and flicking his tail up against Toothless, who waited until the other scale-wings had left before turning on his kin, visibly upset.

"Small-Claw now call small-head. Why you not-" Toothless stomped the ground away from his friend and grunted, letting him up. "He want fight. He want take nest from nest-kin, and you… want him end you? Want lose life, lose-" The larger cut himself off and forced a sigh out, grating his claws against the stone with a pleasing feeling dragging at his paws as he stared at the ground, not wanting to direct his anger straight at Small-Claw, fragile as he could be sometimes.

Hesitantly he looked up, and found Small-Claw's ears pinned back, frowning at him and doing something similar with his claws, except he was lightly scratching at his own scales over his forelegs. Toothless took a second to properly calm himself before padding slowly over to his friend and nuzzling his cheek, which was reciprocated after a moment.

"Why scale-wing want fight other scale-wing? Not know King? And I not threat to him, but he want kill anyway?" Small-Claw whined at him, and he noted how the smaller leaned in closer to him in his presence, sitting just a few paws from him as he was. Toothless frowned a little; and grumbled a little. He kept on forgetting; Small-Claw was more or less a hatchling with his knowledge of his new world.

"He become mature, bigger. Need find nest, all scale-wing do if not live in nest before. Most find others, den, cave, forest, mountain. He too… pride-head." Toothless huffed, and hadn't noticed while he'd been explaining that Small-Claw had wrapped himself up under his wing as they usually were, feeling him shaking slightly.

"Want whole ice-nest for self. But not point. Why you show belly and neck?" The larger grunted, impatiently grooming his friend once again as he waited for the reply, nipping and licking around the back of his head.

"When I in two-leg nest, sometimes… submit better than try fight. Stop fight before fight happen." The night-hunter wanted to smack his friend with a fin, but chose against it, instead counseling him.

"If challenge, or fight, or even play-fight with other nest-mates, never do. They think you weak, think you have no life-fire, want forever-sleep." He spoke slowly, shaking his head and tugging the small scale-wing tight to his chest. Did two-legs really accept submission from each other, when shot down nest-kin were always butchered when they submit on the ground? The more he found out about them, the less he liked, even the one in their nest.

"Sorry. Not want killed, just… not want fight. Hate." Small-Claw spat out the last word as if it were the bad-long-fish, and he nodded his head. This would need to change, but Toothless could be patient.

"We start play fight after ice-season-cycle. You learn some, then see more." Toothless cooed to his friend gently, and they rested there. Again, he felt Small-Claw's denial in wanting to fight in his soft, anxious whines and keens as they breathed, but he ignored them.

"Sorry, Tooth-less. I trying." He heard the sad croon and lifted his head, nudging him and nodding before licking his muzzle, which was quickly reciprocated by the other Night-wing who smiled a little after.

They watched the nest calm down from the small invasion, the ruckus quieting as scale-wings fell back to their sleep and Toothless stood, stretching himself.

"Come den. We sleep many sky-fire cycle before waking." He instructed with a delicate nudge of his kin, who stood and untangled his tail and wings from him. They waited there a second, surveying the nest and listening, before swooping silently and carefully back to their nest, where they slept carefree for days and days, the world moving around them outside the safety of the cavern. They were a tangle of wings and scales and paws, purring and slumbering the cold away.

The prologue will be over soon, while I try rounding out and establishing our characters.

I've been very stressed of late, and the next update may be longer than a weeks wait away, apologies in advance. Life goes on.