REVIEWS:

Tim2060: Exams are stressful, but leave a massive hole in your schedule when they're finished. Glad I could help fill it.

Obiben27: I'm okay with missing a week if I really have to, but I don't like doing that. It's really annoying when a story I'm following suddenly misses a week, and it makes me scared that the author is about to put it on hiatus or abandon it. I don't want to do that to anyone reading this.

Silverleone: Define 'win'...

Shaonics6: Great!

Stardust333: Bit busy, what with Easter and procrastinating on some Japanese homework, but my weekend's been good so far. Did some D&D yesterday, which was super fun.

Nick Savage: I think the term you're searching for is Flame-vision. Here's a second chapter, and it's only six more until FV is going to be explained to Hiccup himself.

I must walk this road alone

"Hiccup?" Fishlegs whispered, edging closer to me in the Kill Ring. I blinked in surprise, before noticing that Astrid and Ruffnut were already paired up and Snotlout and Tuffnut were standing side by side. We either did it with each other or alone, which sounded like a stupid idea.

"Do you—do you wanna pair up?" I asked hesitantly, and he nodded quickly.

"Buckets!" Gobber yelled, pointing at the pile of water-filled wooden tubs. There was a mass movement towards them, every teen scurrying to be the first to get one.

Tuffnut shoved Ruffnut out of the way and grabbed a bucket, and Ruffnut tackled him. Astrid rolled her eyes and pulled the crazy twin away, thrusting a bucket into her arms. "You can murder him afterwards," she said in exasperation. Ruffnut settled for glaring at Tuff.

Snotlout easily lifted a heavy bucket in one arm, but when I tried to do the same I almost ripped my arm out of its socket.

"Support it from underneath," Fishlegs whispered, lifting the bucket like it was a feather and holding it steady until I had a good grip.

"Thank you," I grunted when he let go and the entire weight of the bucket was in my arms.

"Today is about teamwork," Gobber bellowed at us, staying well back. A door burst open in front of us with a loud clang, and I had a split second to try and figure out which dragon we were facing that day, before grey-green gas spilled out of the door. Zippleback! "Now, a wet dragon head can't light its fire. The Hideous Zippleback is extra tricky." We all backed away from the gas, and Fishlegs twisted so that we were back to back. "One head breathes gas, the other head lights it." A tendril of gas snaked between us and the girls, then we were swallowed by the thick cloud of foul, flammable gas. "Your job is to know which is which."

I peaked over my shoulder at Fishlegs, hoping he would know a way to tell the heads apart. Instead of useful information, he started to spout terrifying facts that I really hoped were exaggerated.

"Razor sharp serrated teeth that inject venom for pre-digestion." Pre-digestion?! "Prefers ambush attack, by crushing its victims—"

"Will you stop that!" I was strung tighter than a bowstring, uselessly scanning the thick grey smog for any sign of a Zippleback head. Thor, I hated it when I couldn't see where the attack was coming from! My method for surviving was to run away from danger and avoid things that wanted to hurt me, but now I had no idea where to run to. I felt a prickling on my back, and it took enormous self control to keep watch over my own space and not check to see if the Zippleback was right behind me.

"Your butts are getting bigger." Wow Tuffnut, that was incredibly appropriate and timely. Those muttonheads were going to get us killed. Snotlout said something, trying to turn the situation around, and both boys crashed to the ground, presumably tackled by the girls. The gas was starting to clear by now, and I could see the silhouettes of Astrid, Ruffnut, and Snotlout standing in front of us. A moment later, a green tail knocked Astrid's feet from under her and the water in her bucket spilled across the floor. Tuffnut vanished, pulled into the fog.

He emerged screaming from the gas cloud and I almost jumped out of my skin, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure the dragon could hear it.

"Oh, I am hurt!" He was scrambling on all fours, almost animalistic in his hurry to get away. "I am very much hurt!"

Fishlegs jittered behind me, trying to hide behind his numbers and statistics. "Chances of survival are dwindling into single-digits now."

A single head on a long neck snaked out of the fog like it was weaving its way through an obstacle course only it could see. With a long thin neck and two little horns on its head, my confidence in my plan 'dwindled into single-digits'. It was so different to Toothless, and what if fear of eels was only a Night Fury's weakness? I clung tightly to my bucket, partly because it felt like a pitiful defence against a fire breathing reptile, and partly because it was starting to slip from my grasp.

The green head sniffed at Fishlegs' waist and he leapt back, his water jumping into the air and landing in his bucket again. Circling around, the Zippleback started to herd him away from me, until Fishlegs panicked and threw his bucket of water on the head. The dragon gurgled in an amused sort-of-way, and let Fishlegs see the green gas leaking from its mouth.

"Oh. Wrong head," he stuttered nervously, then got a face full of gas, and ran away screaming. The head turned back to the next nearest target, which happened to be me. I backed away from one head, only to almost bump into the other one.

"Now, Hiccup!"

The heads were high up, out of reach, but I tried to follow Gobber's orders. I tossed my bucket. The water flew through the air like a silvery snake, glittering in the light—and fell back to the ground, never getting near either of the heads. The Viking way had failed me, yet again.

"Oh, come on," I whined in frustration, desperately hoping plan B would work. The heads snaked towards me—I swear they were laughing at me—then leapt towards me suddenly, wings outstretched in a scare tactic. I fell over and scrambled backwards on my butt, and Gobber started to panic again, running towards me.

"HICCUP!"

I hurriedly tore my tunic open and displayed the eel I'd tucked in there at the last moment. I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting to see the razor sharp teeth if the Zippleback wasn't scared by the eel. It was barely inches from my chest, hot fishy breath ghosting against my cheek, when it finally froze and backed away slowly.

My legs felt as flimsy as paper, but I managed to get to my feet and slowly step forwards, my hands outstretched to ward the dragon off. I heard Gobber's footsteps tap-thump to a stop, and I could practically see the slack jawed look of shock he must be sporting. Skitr,* what was I going to say?

"Back!" I started to talk big, herding the dragon backwards. It really wasn't so scary once I saw how terrified of the eel it was. "Back! Back!" Getting tired of saying 'back', I quoted one of Gobber's favourite sayings. "Now, don't make me tell you again."

They were closer to their cage, but it was making an effort to stay free, only retreating the slightest bit with each step. I could feel the teens' stares boring into my back, and I tried to hurry it up before I messed something up.

"Yes, that's right. Back into your cage."

The Zippleback crammed itself into its cage, and I pulled the eel from my shoulder. It was soggy and slimy and cold, and if anyone slapped me on the back—or punched me in the stomach for showing them up in front of 'the divine being known as Astrid Hofferson'—then my secret would be out.

"Now think about what you've done." In went the eel, back went the dragon, and clang went the doors as I pushed them shut.

Thump. Fishlegs' bucket fell to the floor, and I turned around to see all the teens and Gobber staring at me in shock.

"Okay! So, are we done? Because I've got some things I need to, uh…" I gestured weakly to the gate with forced casualness and optimism. "Yep. I'll… see—see you tomorrow!"

Thor, I couldn't get away fast enough! As I slipped out the Kill Ring, I was confronted by four Vikings who either stared at me suspiciously, or like I was Odin himself.

"Hiccup, how did you do that?" Mulch asked excitedly, and I ducked under his hook.

"I honestly don't know." Unfortunately, I twisted straight into Bucket.

"Hiccup, can you do that again so I can paint it?" His eyes gleamed with excitement, and I backed away nervously.

Thump. I hesitantly looked up at who I'd bumped into, and gulped when I saw Uncle Spitelout, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed.

"S—sorry…"

He blinked and looked down at me, lips twitching. "My boy will have some real competition now."

Had he just complimented me? I tried to escape the weirdness, but there were about six Vikings standing around by now, wanting to know how I'd frightened the Zippleback away.

"Uh…" I was surrounded by people so much bigger than me, and I wasn't used to the scrutiny. A hand clamped on my shoulder, and I jumped in surprise.

"All right, all right!" Gobber's familiar voice rang through the air and I took the opportunity to scurry out of the group while he tried to calm them down. "It was just a fluke, okay! It happens every so often, a trainee will have a good day at the same time as the dragon has a bad one! Don't pressure him!"

I emerged unnoticed from the press of bodies and sprinted off into the woods, abandoning Gobber to the questions he couldn't answer. Guilt niggled at my mind, but there was no way I could tell anyone that it was an eel, because then they would want to know how I knew dragons were afraid of eels—

I slithered down the slope and through the crack and into the green cove. It was peaceful, and my worries shrunk to insignificant details on the edges of my consciousness with a few deep breaths of the cool air.

Toothless was napping on the far side of the pond, but when I accidentally kicked a stone into the water, he woke up straight away. Stretching in an exaggerated motion, he glared at me.

"Sorry!"

He rose, head low and wings high, and took careful steps toward me, stalking. I backed away slowly—no matter how much my head thought he wouldn't hurt me, my legs didn't agree when he was acting like that—and somehow didn't trip over backwards.

Then he pounced. About two thousand pounds of muscle and energy, flying through the air towards me. I spun on my heel and sprinted for the entrance I'd come through, the one place I knew he couldn't reach, heart pounding out of my ears. He easily landed in front of me, and I barely skidded to a stop in time to shoot off in the other direction. He lolloped beside me, easily keeping pace, and I caught a glimpse of a stupid grin on his face, his lips pulled upwards and revealing his pink gums.

It was a game!

Grinning, I stopped as suddenly as I could. He flung his wings out and came to a stop a few metres in front of me, then whirled around and leapt at me again. I ducked, and he flew over my head. Landing with an indignant huff, he glared at me as I started to laugh. His expression—it started as confused, then changed to half exasperation, half pride?—was priceless!

A tackle couldn't stop me from laughing, and the soft ground didn't hurt when I fell under Toothless' 'wrath'.

I half-heartedly tried to push him off, and he rolled to one side like I'd actually managed to do it! Thor, if yesterday had been good, then today was pure awesome!

oOoOo

After about three hours of playing, my legs shook every time I tried to stand on them and I was completely exhausted.

"Tooth—less," I panted, bending over and resting my hands on my knees. On top of everything else, I had a stitch. "Can we take a—a break?"

Huffing in amusement, he swept his tail round and knocked my feet out from under me. The world was a blur of green and blue for a second, then I hit the ground again.

"Come on," I fake-moaned. "This fishbone can only take so much."

He licked me. And when I say licked, I mean a big pink tongue almost the size of my head emerged from his mouth and liberally applied sticky saliva. "Ack! Yuck!" I spluttered, desperately trying not to swallow the slimy stuff.

Wiping it out of my eyes, I reluctantly walked over to the lake and tried to wash it off. It came off my face in thick strands, but my hair was a completely different matter. Even after a good ten minutes of washing, awkwardly bent almost upside down to reach the water, it still clung to my hair. Eventually I gave up and stood up again, closing my eyes against the sudden head rush.

"You're evil, you know that?" I wagged my finger playfully at Toothless, and he looked away, turning his back on me and sitting down.

"You're not going to insult me back?" Yeah, I knew he couldn't talk, but I was pretty sure he understood me by now, either through Norse, or maybe tone and gesture. And it was surprising how effective body language and gestures could be.

"Ooph!"

I found myself face first on the ground again, half in the pond. A sneaky tail was just moving back into place when I turned around, spitting water out of my mouth. The cold sliced through my wet clothes, and I started to shiver. Even though it was only just past the peak of summer, the sun was about to go down and its rays of warmth and light were more light than warmth. Toothless watched me with his intelligent eyes, then walked over and lay down on the ground behind me.

"And what is that supposed to—" The tail came round again and pressed me tightly against his warm side. I stiffened, afraid to do anything that might be uncomfortable for him. He twisted his head around to look at me, grumbling at something.

"Hmm?" I asked, my exhaustion gradually morphing into a sleepiness that filled my entire body like warm yak milk. He lifted a wing and laid it over me, and the resulting blackness made me relax and twist a little to get comfortable no matter how hard I tried to keep still. Crooning in a satisfied way, he rearranged his paws a little and laid his own head down.

"Nap time, huh?" I smiled. Curling up against his side, I rested my head just beneath where his wing met his strong shoulders.

Thump. I marvelled at his strong heartbeat, shuddering when I remembered how close I'd been to silencing it forever. Thump.

It was strangely therapeutic, the warmth and steady noise. I knew I couldn't stay for much longer, but I didn't have to go just yet…

oOoOo

"Skitr! I'm so late!" Bolting upright the moment Toothless' wing lifted off me, I stared in horror at the sky. It was almost completely dark, the moon barely lighting the dark woods. My stomach grumbled at me, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since yesterday, and I suddenly realised I'd forgotten to bring him any fish.

"Thor, I'm sorry," I gabbled, making a last, half hearted attempt to get the slime out of my hair. "I promise, I'll bring you some fish tomorrow."

He crooned, I'd swear he was saying Don't worry about me, and watched me carefully as I hurried through the crack in the rocks. Just as I'd feared, the woods were almost pitch black and I stumbled countless times on my way back. One good thing was that the twins and Snotlout would be safely in bed by now, and I was glad Dad wasn't home to ask questions I couldn't answer.

The Great Hall was dark and seemingly abandoned when I reached it, so I sighed and turned away. If I went to bed early and woke up in time, I could have something to eat before Dragon Training.

Thinking about Dragon Training reminded me of the Zippleback and the eel. I was so tempted to just leave, go to the forge and build something to let me ride Toothless—a saddle, probably—but I couldn't leave the Zippleback with the eel all night. Staring up at the dark sky, I groaned. Why do the gods hate me?

The Kill Ring was far away from the village, something I hated when I had to walk all the way there, but was extremely thankful for when the doors opened with a noise that could have been heard in Valhalla. Wincing, I let go of the opening lever and walked into the ring. The Zippleback's door had been the third—or was it the fourth—from the left—or was it the right? Shaking my head in confusion, I pulled a random lever.

A brown blur with humming-bird wings burst from the cage, and I only just closed the main gates before it escaped. Oops. An angry Gronckle was the last thing I wanted now. I hurriedly pulled another lever, luckily getting the right one. There was no explosion of gas, and I could hear small noises coming from inside, but it was definitely the Zippleback's. Guilt wrapping itself around my ribs, I hurriedly walked in. Purposely ignoring the confused Gronckle outside, I picked up the eel. The Zippleback was still crammed into one corner of a cage that was only just big enough for it to begin with, and I backed out into the main area, the eel—which was starting to decompose—dripping in my hand.

"Yeah, sorry about that," I muttered, talking soothingly to the Zippleback. "I should have come back sooner."

The two heads chittered to each other, then reached down towards me. I backed away hurriedly, reaching for the lever that would shut them away again. "Uh—uh—you have to stay in your pen for now. If you got out I'd be in big trouble."

The heads kept coming until they were inches from my stomach. Stuttering in panic, I shut up when I felt their scales—harder and rougher than Toothless'—touch my hands. "Uh… you're welcome?" I rubbed their heads tentatively and they gurgled happily.

Smiling a little, I stroked their sharp horns. They were smooth and sharp, a bit like the horns on the twin's helmets, but less twisted. One head nuzzled my hand while the other one explored my chest. Almost absentmindedly, the right head let a little green cloud of gas fill the air. I backed away quickly, until the gas dissipated. With a questioning burble, the left head—the spark head—butted against my leg.

"Yeah, humans aren't very fireproof. Your gas could seriously hurt me," I told them, and they drew back as though I was about to shatter into pieces the moment they touched me. I stretched my hands out to them again. They were different from Toothless, less intelligent, and I wasn't sure I could trust them. That being said, Vikings were the brutal ones, locking them in such a small cage and using the dragons to train their children to fight other dragons. "Why?" I muttered quietly. "Why do you attack us?"

The Zippleback talked to itself, then turned back to me and let loose an entire ballad in hisses, whistles and clicks.

"I really wish I could understand you guys," I sighed, then turned away. "I need to go now—"

The only warning I got was a collective flinch from the Zippleback, then a glow from behind me, coming nearer and—

I yelped and ducked as a ball of lava zipped past my head. The Gronckle had obviously figured out that I was the only human in the ring, and had decided to attack me. The Zippleback hissed at the Gronckle, flaring its wings, and the Gronckle growled back. My heart leapt into my throat when they broke into roars, each easily loud enough to rouse the soundest sleeper.

"Shh! Someone's gonna hear you, and we'll all get killed!" I hissed as quietly as I could and as loud as I dared. The Zippleback quieted, but the Gronckle only got louder. I didn't have a choice—I brandished the eel at it.

It backed away, growling at me and baring its teeth aggressively. I stood tall with a confidence I didn't feel. "If you go in your cage now, I'll take this away."

The Gronckle hesitated, torn. I forced my knees to stay strong, projecting the image of someone who wasn't going to take the eel away whatever the dragons did.

With a final growl of protest, the Gronckle buzzed into its cage and sat down on the floor like a sulky toddler. The Zippleback heads gave me one last bump with their heads, and docilely backed into their cage.

"Thank you," I sighed, wiping my forehead as I pulled the levers that locked them in again. I resolved to never have a reason to see the dragons at night again. One of them, once a day, was enough. I'd been tense the entire time, and my legs shook as I walked away, absently noticing my scrap of material was still firmly wedged in the wall.

Gobber said he was going to find out who still had their scraps later, as an exercise for protecting something from dragons. Apparently, if we couldn't protect a tiny piece of horribly coloured material from each other, we couldn't defend our village from dragons. If only Snotlout was afraid of eels… I almost laughed at the thought as I made my way over to the forge.

I crept through the backdoor of the forge, checking behind me to make sure no one saw. A hand clamped over my shoulder and I almost screamed in fright, jerking in surprise.

"Gobber! Don't do that, I'll have a heart attack!"

He thrust a plate of meat towards me and forcefully steered me to his own study/dumping-random-stuff room. It was piled with useless materials, old metal that was rusting and useless, piles of the seldom-used leather—which I stared longingly at—and a small table and chair, half buried under more stuff.

"Eat." I looked down at the pile of food on my plate and back at Gobber. He gave the plate a little push, scattering chunks of fish over the floor. "You're skinny enough without missing meals."

I reached down and chose a lump of chicken, biting into the juicy skin. It was very different to the Great Hall's food—normally more edible than Dad's cooking, but by no means a delicacy. This was Gobber's home cooked food, the best on Berk in my opinion. I forced myself to smile at him as I slowly munched my way through a couple of chicken legs and a loaf of bread—not rock solid like I was used to, but fluffy and sweet.

"Thanks, Uncle Gobber—'' I slipped into one of my old habits by mistake and hastily corrected myself. Dad had tried to break me of the habit when I turned eleven, but when Gobber was acting especially fatherly, it was harder to remember.

He carelessly swept an avalanche of trinkets, ruined swords, and bolas onto the floor, and a three-legged stool emerged from the chaos. Sitting down with a sigh, he sat down in front of me. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

I froze, my brain racing faster than my mouth for once. The truth was so far off the table that it was halfway out the door, but I couldn't pass it off with a simple 'I don't know' like I could for any other Viking. This was Gobber, who'd changed my diapers when I was small, who was the only person who'd wanted to take me on as an apprentice when all the other children were being fought over, who knew me better than Dad did.

"It—I—Gobber, I honestly don't know. The dragon came at me, teeth snapping—" I shuddered at the memory "—and it just sort of… happened."

He stroked his moustache, carefully considering my words. I waited, my heart in my mouth.

"Aye… Your father's instincts are finally coming in, eh?" He smiled slowly, leaning forwards to come face to face with me.

Thank Thor, he'd come up with a suitable excuse! I was going to use that if anyone else asked me about the Zippleback incident. "Y—yeah, maybe."

He stood up and slapped me on the back, almost sending me face first into the plate, which was still more than half full. I really didn't eat a lot, even when I was given the chance.

"Do you want to help me finish up here, then go to bed?" Gobber offered jokingly, sure that I was going to refuse.

"Nah…" I started, then an idea struck me. "I'll finish for you." He looked at me suspiciously.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I tried to sound reassuring. "You've been doing all the work on your own for a few days, I figure it's time for me to take some of it."

"Fine," he said, and turned towards the door. "But don't set the place on fire."

My smile dropped and my spirits fell. There it was again. Nobody ever trusted me. It was always "Be careful!" or "Do you know what you're doing?" or occasionally "Get your clumsy fingers off my sword before I gut you with my axe!".

He was gone before I could say anything, something I was thankful for. My eyes scanned the cluttered area, noting that it was even messier than normal. And that's what happens when Gobber is left alone, I chuckled halfheartedly to myself, picking up the nearest chunk of usable metal and heaving it into the materials box.

After about half an hour, the forge was tidy enough to work in and I gathered the small bundle of weapons that people had managed to break even without any dragon raids. It was all simple stuff; a few bent swords, a few blunt axes, and one plough that was missing a couple of teeth. I got to work.

oOoOo

Tossing the finished plough into the ready-for-returning pile, I glanced around. No one was in sight, so I pulled out the leather I had left after making the tail fin. One glance informed me that it wouldn't be big enough, so I sighed and put it away. The scraps in Gobber's cluttered space were all sorts of interesting shapes, and I tried pulling them all out. There were a few that were vaguely square-ish, and others that had huge chunks missing from them. I dug out a pair of shears—ones that were normally used for shearing sheep, but they happened to be lying around for some reason—and started trimming off the parts that were definitely too small.

What I was left with were several strips of leather, none wide enough to make a saddle. At least not the kind that horses wore—and why in Helheim did I want to make that kind of saddle? Because it was the normal, traditional kind? Since when did I do traditional? I would have facepalmed, except I was holding a heavy pair of scissors and didn't want a concussion. Toothless was sinewy, almost boneless, and a stiff saddle with a back would only restrict his movement. He needed something flat to reduce air resistance, something flexible to let him have as much freedom as possible, and something soft enough for both of us.

The leather strips wove together in my mind's eye, forming something that looked like a thick flat braid of leather—two layers, with some sort of padding between them—and attached to him by a strap around the chest. I couldn't find a needle fast enough, accidentally stabbing myself in the finger as I dug around inside an overflowing chest, and the thread practically flew through the layers of leather.

oOoOo

I looked up after working for about ten minutes, only to see that it had been three hours since I started. Blinking in surprise and rubbing my tired eyes, I looked back at the result of my work. The saddle was finished. It wasn't a masterpiece, there were stray threads here and there, and I wasn't sure if the stitching would hold up to strenuous use, but it was pretty good for a night's work, I reckoned.

"Right, time for bed," I yawned, shoving the completed saddle under a bunch of plans for weapons in my cubbyhole—it was tidier than Gobber's, but not by much—and turned for the door.

The hill had never seemed so long, but I got to my bed eventually and collapsed into it.