Darling woke up.

It was dark again, and her eyes instinctively sought out Grimmel. Where was he? Nowhere. The Night Furies' dying grounds were as empty as they had been for years. She searched the cliff faces to no avail. He had gone.

Where was her pack? Gone, too.

She pushed herself to her feet and shook herself with a devilish rattle and something slipped on her head. Her harness, crooked. Had she slept on it wrong? Had the Light Fury's fireballs shaken it loose? She tried to right it by swiping at her own head and only succeeded in taking it all the way off. Its ends were scorched and mangled and the vials of purple liquid had been smashed. She stepped away from it, feeling the dart in her body. She writhed into the ground to get it out and shook her head, groaning angrily at the pain. She let out a shriek to call her pack and heard nothing in return after her echoes faded out.

She flapped her wings and rose up to the top of the rock walls, climbing the last few feet as she landed too early in her confusion. She looked around at the sea in the moonlight. The last order she remembered was to track the Night Fury, and she still had his scent in her nose. She roared and took off again after him.

—

Grimmel had gone with his dragons past a town he had once been acquainted with, and landed in the town to be greeted. They were a town once plagued by Night Furies and dragon raids, for whom he had done a great service. The bright red, green, blue, and yellow roofs of the clay-and-log cabins were pointed and draped with a layer of snow which was melting into pools on the poorly-cobbled streets, trickling down towards where the five Deathgrippers landed in an attempt to keep up with the blue-robed villagers who rushed to greet him.

"Grimmel the Grisly," said one man warmly, approaching him. "Night-Fury-Slayer. How goes your quest?"

He shook the man's hand as he dismounted from Darling's back. "Only one left, my friend. Only one left."

"One!" The man chuckled. "How impressive you are."

"Pray that I can find it before it finds you—its flight so far seems to be erratic, with no clear destination in mind. It's certainly presenting a challenge." He laughed. "But I have been challenged before, and I have prevailed. I trust your village has been all the more safe due to my efforts?"

"Oh, yes," the man said, glancing angrily back at his teenage daughter, who cast her eyes downward. "If only the youth would stop this nonsense about working with dragons rather than fighting them!"

"It's a phenomenon I've seen across the lands," Grimmel said. "Unfortunately, the children of every town seem prone to sympathy for the beasts. Make no mistake," he raised his voice so that it could reach her. "The only good dragon is one controlled! Mine are perfectly safe, due to my own ingenuity—see these collars keep them docile and receptive to my command. No other dragons should be trusted, child."

"That's not true," she spoke up with childlike stubbornness. "You're mean to your dragons! I've heard stories of—"

"Stories?" Grimmel laughed as the girl fumed at being interrupted. "Those are merely that: tall tales to fool impressionable young girls like you."

She balled her fists. "You're all horrible, old men!"

"Moira!" her father scolded, glancing in fear at Grimmel and going over to grab her arm. "Watch your mouth."

"It's quite alright, it's quite alright, my friend," Grimmel said, not quite comforting. "Come here, child. Come on, it's alright. I'll let you see my dragons up close, to see what happens when I release them from the sedative."

"No, that's not necessary," the man said hurriedly, but Grimmel insisted.

"Let her come here, if she believes dragons aren't to be feared."

Moira pulled her arm from her father's grip and he followed her over to Grimmel and his dragons. Grimmel put a hand on one of the Deathgrippers' collars and loosened one of the syringes.

"Do you think you can talk to dragons, girl?"

She held her ground. "Anyone can, if they're kind!"

"Alright, then," Grimmel said, and loosened the second syringe. The dragon blinked heavily and shook his head, and the other villagers began backing away. The girl's father put a hand on her shoulder as Grimmel tugged the Deathgripper's head towards them. "Say hello, then."

He loosened the last syringe and its pupils dilated to see the horde of unfamiliar people surrounding it. In an instant, the Deathgripper panicked and reared up on its hind legs, and Moira let out a yelp.

The sudden, close-by noise spooked the already confused dragon and its tusks shot out, and it slammed back down on the ground and spun, sending its acid spraying everywhere. People in the crowd screamed and lurched backwards as it burst into flame. Moira's father picked her up and ran just in time to escape the sludge, but the Deathgripper caught sight of them fleeing and lunged after them in chase.

"Grimmel!" the man yelled, shielding his daughter's eyes and ducking under it as it launched itself at them. He lost his footing and regained it quickly as the dragon's weight kicked up the cobblestones and broke them into a cloud of sharp-edged dust. It slammed its insect-like knuckles into the ground and pushed itself after them again. Grimmel watched calmly, taking out his crossbow.

"Come to me!"

The man raced back towards Grimmel, holding Moira in his arms as she watched over his shoulder as the dragon gained on them, faster and faster.

The Deathgripper pounced over the two of them with a final shriek, Grimmel raised his crossbow at it, and in a flash that no one could keep up with, all three fell to the ground with the dragon's huge bulk on top of them. They skidded and kicked up dust into Grimmel's face, making his long coat billow as they came to a stop just in front of him. He didn't even have to move. Villagers screamed, and some rushed forward, some away, shielding their loved ones' eyes.

The dust cleared, and the Deathgripper lay still on top of them, the man and his daughter trapped under its weight. Grimmel leaned over and plucked the tranquilizer dart from his own dragon's neck. Lifting the dragon's head by its tusks, he freed the man's and his daughter's faces and shoulders, and then knelt down by them.

While the father's face was painted with relief, his daughter was sobbing.

"You see?" Grimmel asked, reaching over her to tighten the syringes again with a hiss as they clicked back into place. "A free dragon is a dangerous one. You must trust me to rid you of the most dangerous."

"Let me out, let me out," Moira managed through her ragged tears.

"Say it," Grimmel said. "Do you see that you were wrong?"

"I was wrong," she wept.

"And who was right?"

"You were."

"Very good," Grimmel said, standing up. "And are you sorry for interrupting a warm welcome?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll never talk back again!"

Grimmel nodded, satisfied, and whistled to his other dragons to lift the unconscious one off of the two unfortunate villagers. Already walking away, he called over his shoulder, "May I stay in my usual quarters?"

As the man picked himself up, he coughed, "Of course, of course! Stay as long as you need."