Ambushed

It was only yesterday that Ragnar had ended up on the enemy island of Berk, and against every scrap of sanity and reason, accepted as a guest. Even though their leaders knew that he was a part of the attack force set to wipe out all dragons and dragon huggers not too many days ago, he was still allowed to freely roam the village and island.

He knew that he had absolutely no options to take advantage of the situation, though. He was under constant watch, he had learned, from many dragons and any Vikings that happened to be nearby. The most damage he could do was to stab a few people before every nearby dragon converged and bathed him in fire.

No, that was not his style; he was a soldier, not an assassin or a martyr. Upon returning home, he could hold his children, look his wife in the eyes, and honestly report that these people represented no real physical threat and were not worth the effort to conquer, at least for now. The attack had failed, but that was only because they had the home advantage and employed some dirty tactics that would not work if attempted again. The most damage they could do was what they had already done, inspire fools to try to befriend wild dragons and die as a result.

In the morning, when he attempted to purchase an old, rusty, battered arming sword at the smithy, he was honestly surprised that he was allowed – at a steal-of-a-deal for only eight silvers considering it was even freshly sharpened. When he had asked about purchasing it, the rotund blacksmith named Fishlegs muttered, "Was wondering when you'd find your way here." Regardless of whether he would end up using it, it was still a comforting weight on his hip that he had been painfully aware of missing every time he saw what every other villager was carrying.

In his less than two days on the island, he was snubbed by the acting chief, mocked by a lass, threatened by a rider, swindled by a Terrible Terror, rudely woken at the crack of dawn by two loudly mating Monstrous Nightmares outside his tent, and taunted by a prankster talking about dragon inventors. The merchant ship promised to be his fastest option to get back home, which meant he had two more days of enduring their barbaric ways

It was for this reason that he decided to wander the forests outside the village to swing his blade around. Not far in, his ears pricked up at a voice carrying through the foliage. As he drew close enough to discern the words, he instantly recognized the tail end of a rousing song about slaying dragons. It was being sung in Italian, a common tongue on the mainland, but none of these barbarians spoke that language…

A moment of silence after the song ended, followed by some idle whistling of the tune.

"Yes, my old man made sure I had that one memorized before I could walk, I swear," the man said from somewhere through the trees and brush. "He always said to me," In a forced baritone, "Words to live by, my boy, for the alternative is death by dragonfire."

Ragnar quietly wandered towards the source of the voice of what sounded like a fair young man, along a game path that led into the dense woods from the edge of the village.

"Another one? Or maybe that's your way of saying, 'Stop, my ears are bleeding!'" He chuckled loudly. "Nah, I bet this is your way of garnering anything you can about life down there. No harm in sharing these tavern songs, I figure, but you really want to hear songs about killing dragons? And you realize that means yes, right? You are a strange one. Fine, one more, though I warn you I may vomit for how often I've heard this on the voyage up here."

Through the foliage, Ragnar caught glimpses of the man who was speaking, his back turned as he slowly wandered the path. He had black hair, a slim build, and a Terrible Terror perched on his shoulder. He had a decent voice, though, as he started to sing.

"Dragons descend,
Soldiers arise!
Strike down the demons
That strike from the skies!

Blind them with a flash-boom,
Strike them 'till they're dead!
Kill the demons quick,
or they'll bite off your head!

Pierce them with arrows!
Lop off their head!
So that our children,
may sleep–"

"Oy!" Ragnar called out as he took a few more hurried strides forward, easily sliding into the common Italian tongue. "Perhaps singing about killing dragons while on an island full of dragon huggers isn't wise, kid."

The lad turned, and his features made him look like he was more along the lines of a young man, complete with a light blushing of stubble attempting to become the beginnings of a beard. "Relax, friend, I'm only speaking Italian, and everyone here speaks Norse. It's not like–"

"It doesn't matter!" Ragnar hissed, stepping into the boy's face and slapping his chest to send him back with a light gasp. "We have a hundred eyes and ears on us at this very instant, at every moment of the day!" He gestured to the Terrible Terrors roosting in the branches above, and the various larger dragons soaring in the sky. There was even one perched on his shoulder for God's sake!

Ragnar picked up a hand-length stick. "There is no such thing as privacy anywhere on this island!" Without looking, he threw it to his right, and it bounced off of thin air, eliciting a startled hiss. The head of a Changewing materialized and pushed forward, jaw parted–

Ragnar spun on the dragon, sword in hand, and the dragon hastily scrabbled backward. "I vowed I would not attack unprovoked," he ground out, "but if you touch me, if I so much as feel your breath on me…" he let that hang. The dragon could understand him, he had no choice but to acknowledge that.

The threat fulfilled its purpose, and the dragon withdrew silently, fading from sight. Well, it was mostly invisible, as its scarred wing produced a noticeable blur if one was paying close attention.

"Easy, there," the lad said placatingly. "No need for ruffled feathers."

"You just don't get it!" Ragnar ground out as he sheathed his sword. "These dragons… they can hear us, understand us somehow, and many of these barbarians can hear the dragons. It sounds crazy, I know, but it's true. Italian, Greek, I even tried the few Latin insults I know and got some reactions. The dragons hear what you're singing about, and if one of the Vikings asks, if a dragon tells..."

"Yes, yes, I get it," the lad said, appearing far more at ease than he should. "This Terror was actually asking me to keep on singing, at least I think that's what she meant by her gestures."

"It's a male, by the way," Ragnar quickly said. He could tell by the set of the hips and the lack of horns This lad knew nothing about dragons!

"Oh," the lad said sheepishly, looking sideways at the Terror. "And you let me go on with that? You little tease!" He looked at Ragnar. "That's why they gave me him." He lightly flicked a fingernail along the dragon's little snout and grinned. "I'm a simple ploughboy, I don't speak Norse, so my parrot can somehow translate for their dragon whisperer soothsayer whatevers whenever I need to ask where I can squat or where to find some food. And I know that everything I say will no doubt be parroted back, but all they're getting out of me is songs like that and my gram's recipes. Let me tell you, the food here is ugly and gamey, but it is filling and cheap."

Ragnar let out a forced exhale. He supposed it made little difference now.

"You were on the merchant ship I joined," he suddenly realized as he looked at the lad. "I'm Ragnar–"

"The Ravager!" the lad lit up with a smile. "Yes, I overheard you talking to some other sailors at that last port. I was smart enough to not challenge you to Hneafltafl, but I really enjoyed sitting around and overhearing your tales."

He looked over at the Terror perched on his shoulder and made a chopping motion with his hand. "And then I lopped off its head," he grunted in a pitiful attempt at imitating Ragnar's gruff voice, which instantly broke into laughter. "That was a good one.

Ragnar stared in thought for a moment, but things suddenly clicked. Just as he had joined the merchant ship to escape his own burning ship after a battle, this lad must have been part of the same armada and made a similar escape sometime earlier. Until now, he had assumed that this lad was one of the merchant crew or one some adventurer with more coin than sense to sail all the way up here to satisfy his curiosity about these dragon riders.

"Well, you know my name, so what's yours?" Ragnar bit out.

The lad ducked his head. "Sorry, my manners. Henry, at your service. I had served on the Clatter, one of those fancy new ships with the iron-plated hull and that massive gong. God was that thing loud! When those Bewilderbeasts came along, she took on too much water. We thought we were fine, but as we were sailing onward towards Berk, a large wave did us in and she sank like a rock."

"Uh-huh," Ragnar idly said. "And the rest of the crew?"

Henry winced. "They, too, sank like a rock. Despite all our shouting, not a single ship raised sail or turned around for us. I'm a strong swimmer, though, and made it to shore. Some of the dead there weren't squished into a puddle by the attacking Bewilderbeasts, so I figured they wouldn't mind me using their coats to warm up. I think I got a fever, and got in a fight with a rider and his Night Fury, but that must have been a dream as Hiccup and his dragon didn't go that far South from what I've heard. At least, I hope it was a dream. It's a bit foggy."

Ragnar stared at him dubiously.

"Really, it's true, I've seen horses swim better than that lot!" He chuckled nervously. "The next day, a merchant ship dropped anchor at the island's docks, one of those that bounce around the tribes up here, but we had wiped out this one of course. They allowed me on, as they did you."

He gave an inquisitive look at Ragnar. "How about you?"

Ragnar scowled at the reminder. He had been stuck with the most miserable lot to crew his ship, but enough death threats kept them in order when the dragon riders attacked. The enemy had managed to take out a few ships, but they lost a lot more than they took. The entire armada was very well-equipped to deal with dragons, with an abundance of flash-booms to stun dragons that flew too low or landed on a ship, or dragon root arrows to knock them out of the sky. Henry's iron gong ship wasn't the only one to sink in that scuffle with the Bewilderbeasts, but there were plenty remaining to raise such a racket that made the ears bleed and the dragons practically faint.

The Night Fury's rider, Hiccup according to what Ragnar had heard, had directed his beast to disable a gong on a ship just off of Ragnar's starboard side. The dragon got off a shot, but it bounced off the deck, struggling with the cacophony. It was Ragnar himself who downed it with the bola from his belt. He had to slap the bows out of the hands of his inept crewmen who would have shot the beast with dragon root. It was fatal to Night Furies, and the bounty for that dragon – alive – was sky-high.

They had secured the beast in ropes, and as they were dragging it through the hold to a cell, the large, bulbous form of a Hotburple crashed through the deck and into Ragnar's men. Its rider, some fat and angry stick-legged man with an ax mounted on his stump of an arm, had managed to free the Night Fury from its bindings before he was killed. Something loud boomed outside, the ship shook and was thrown about. Ragnar was thrown against a wall, the breath knocked from his lungs, and a sliding cage tore his sword from his hand and pinned him there. In the brief instant it took to wiggle free, the dragon had already torn through his crew like a shadow of death in the dark hold.

Something had whacked his head, and he had a blurry memory of the dragon's teeth snapping in front of his nose, and something clamping down on his leg and dragging him up the ramp to the deck. He recalled that he kept on shouting for his first mate, Torvid, over and over again. He also could have sworn that he heard someone shout, "Toothless, that is disgusting!"

All went black, but when he came to, he found Torvid's hand in his, the body it was once attached to nowhere in sight. Torvid was the one good crewman he had, but such things happen. However, the fact that the dragon could have killed him but didn't, that it mocked and taunted him in such a way, it unnerved him.

He rose to his feet and found that, by some miracle, he had no broken bones. The armada was nowhere in sight, and any sailors who didn't jump ship were torn apart and strewn about the deck and down in the hold. A rope and a bucket allowed him to put out any fires that were spared the spray of the sea, but even after that, the smell of smoke and burned flesh hung thick in the air.

"Same as you," Ragnar growled at Henry. "Except I didn't have an island to swim to, and my ship was half embers, so I was glad that the merchant ship veered in to look around and pick me up."

That Night Fury still bothered him. Dragons always went for the kill, but this one didn't. It killed the others, but Ragnar got special treatment. A couple reasons came to mind. Maybe the dragon realized that he had saved it from dying to dragon root? Or maybe it saw that he was unarmed at the time, so–

No, ridiculous! Intelligent, sure, more than a dog, maybe even enough to understand the situation, but civil and honorable? A goddamned dragon? Ha!

"I just don't get it," he muttered.

"Uhh, what?" Henry asked.

Ragnar was about to impatiently dismiss him with a wave of his hand when something made him whirl about. He didn't know what he perceived, a shadow, a shift in the wind, a rasp that wasn't part of the usual background of the wind through the forest, but instincts built up over years of defending against and hunting down dragons instantly put a knife in one hand and a sword in the other as he faced a Night Fury. It was perched on a sturdy tree branch above him, its clawed paw had been reaching out, but the dragon suddenly coiled back like a petulant child caught trying to steal something.

No, not just one Night Fury, Ragnar realized as the knife he instinctively threw flew through the air, but five.

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It was two days ago when Firebrand had flown out with Toothless and Firefly for what appeared to be an opportunity to sink his claws into those cowardly land-striders that were trying to escape the consequences of their failure. However, that confrontation ended up being disappointingly peaceful.

He had no desire to stay behind when Firefly wanted to visit some island and look at a big, dead sea dragon, so he had flown straight back in search of something more interesting to do. For now, he was stuck on these islands, far removed from the large land he had come from by a span of water that could not be flown. He was considering going back down there, but it would have to be on a land-strider sea vessel, and not in the company of those cowardly ones who were tucking their tail to limp back to their nests.

Since his return to this island, he had already enjoyed an invigorating tussle with his kin and the lightning dragon. He wasn't feeling sleepy yet, so he set out to find something interesting to do on this boring rock

Well, maybe this rock wasn't so boring after all. It attracted a very large pack of land-striders who traveled a long distance to fight.

Oh, how much fun that was!

What led up to it, though, was so boring. The enemy land-striders had already killed the great sea dragon, so Firebrand flew to his nest where he correctly assumed the majority of his flock had fled to. The dragons were afraid to go anywhere or do anything, but with a bit of roaring, flaming, biting, and slashing, they were convinced to finally settle down and think for themselves for once in their lives. Confident had even reunited with a dragon named Intrepid, the larger sort that could set themselves on fire, and Firebrand was ecstatic to let her carry Confident.

Firebrand was still willing to act as a translator for Confident, though, since he was familiar with the muddy and weak thought projections of land-striders. Confident was almost draconic in how he addressed them, not even bothering to plead or pander to them as other land-striders might. He simply stated that, unless the invaders were defeated, every dragon would live a life of one constantly fleeing death until there was nowhere to flee to, and they had no chance of winning such a fight without every able body cooperating with him.

The dragons were persuaded. Well, there was a lot more biting and flaming involved to encourage them along, but that was all part of the fun.

What was not fun, though, was flying all around to different islands, one dragon out of many, in one flock out of many, spreading all over to deliver Confident's warnings. Firebrand knew that it was worth it, though. The more dragons that the enemy land-striders had to shoot at, the less likely he would be that dragon.

When they arrived at Firefly's nest, it was pure pandemonium. The land-striders were running around like hunted rabbits, mourning those that died in their failed attempt to dissuade the enemy from proceeding, loudly arguing about whether they should flee and hide, and then flee and hide again when inevitably found, again and again, until there was no longer anywhere to hide. That instantly turned to awed silence when Firebrand and a thousand dragons landed outside with deafening roars to make all the land-striders shut up.

Confident had the insight and the plan that they needed, and he knew it, but when he started to give them orders, they squawked and grumbled, of course.

One of the larger ones with black hair on his head and chin tromped up to stand nose-to-nose with Confident, hand resting on the grip of a shiny claw on his hip. "We don't need no mainlander to tell us how to fight, even assuming we could trust you!"

Confident graced him with a bored expression. "Clearly, judging by how you managed to kill one enemy for every two riders or dragons you lost. If you value your life above your pride, then you will accept my help. Otherwise, you can enjoy one final act of spite before you all die knowing that I came up here for nothing."

So, Confident became their alpha. Firefly was the first to support Confident, and the rest followed. However, Firefly grimaced and paled more and more at every gratuitously brutal and "dishonorable" tactic that Confident laid out.

They had three days to prepare before the enemy made it here, and Confident made use of every waking moment. He tasked the land-striders to make oily, waxy plugs for their dragons to deafen them. The effectiveness of these ear plugs was tested and proven with such a loud, clanging, clattering racket the land-striders were tasked to make around these dragons that Firebrand could almost feel his ears bleed from the other side of the island. The ear plugs proved to be quite effective, but they threw off the balance and situational awareness of the dragons, so they spent time running, flying, and play-fighting with each other, even deaf against the hearing, and they adapted well… enough.

Hundreds of mink dragons – these islands were bursting with them – were eager to play an important role. Confident knew his enemy very well, how they organized in ranks, and where to lop off the head to disorient the body. The plan was for them to fly in low at night, slink around the enemy sea vessels, and wait for a signal – a command that Firebrand could project from afar – to take a nice, meaty bite at the throat that land-striders habitually exposed when unconscious and defenseless.

To prepare, the little dragons were tasked with sneaking up on anyone they could, humans and dragons alike, trying to lightly nip at their back or tail as a measure of success. Confident had land-striders lay down with their eyes closed, and when they felt a close-mouthed maw press against their neck, they tried to grab the "attacking" mink dragon to train them on how to avoid capture. It helped to stand above the land-strider's head instead of next to it, and it was also amusing when some discovered that urinating on the heads of their targets during the attack added extra confusion. That was put to an end very quickly.

The land-striders were able to make clay vessels by shaping and flaming them, and many dragons were willing to donate enough fuel to fill these vessels as fast as they could be made, since it would be replenished in the dragons over a day. These would be dropped onto the enemy vessels during the fighting, and while they wouldn't self-ignite – unless there was a fortunate torch nearby – it would still create glorious fire when barely brushed by a dragon's breath.

For two days, the enemy endured a rain of rocks. It turned out that rocks of any appreciable size, even as small as a land-strider's fist, could smash through enemy land-striders and their sea vessels when dropped from a great height. The bulbous, bee-like boulder dragons could carry plenty of rocks within, all melted down to magma that could be globbed out, but for all the other dragons, holding rocks was tiring at best and impossible at worst. The land-striders were able to help, though, as they could use bits of vines and dead animal hides to secure the rocks to a dragon's torso.

The enemy had no way to retaliate, as they quickly learned when they tried shooting their wooden quills straight up. The screams of pain when said wooden quills fell straight down was very entertaining. Many of the falling rocks missed – Firebrand's always hit critical parts of the sea vessels as black dragons never missed – but many did kill land-striders and disable several of their sea vessels.

The enemy knew that haste was absolutely critical, so those who fell behind were left behind. Few in number, isolated, these limping stragglers were easily quelled one by one before they could gather and present any real threat.

The night the enemy force drew close – Confident revealed that they would be forced to wait for dawn before approaching – hundreds of mink dragons flew in low against the waves and infiltrated the sea vessels – something land-striders would have never guessed any dragon would ever do because it was usually a terrible idea. Confident and Vicious – Toothless was nowhere to be found, the lazy lizard! – were specially adept at projecting their thoughts in far-reaching bands, and their sensor lobes could also allow them to discern the position of land-striders as well as their emotional state, since they all constantly emitted a passive mental hum without even realizing it. With that insight, communicated silently and instantly as only dragons could, the mink dragons were able to avoid detection.

Well, until one was found and killed, and then a few more on another sea vessel, but when Confident sensed that the state of alarm was starting to spread among the enemy flock, he told the mink dragons to strike and flee. Instantly, a hundred land-striders were choking on their blood as they woke from sleep. Fires were started, and many of the large, flat, iron "gongs" fell to the deck as the vines holding them up were burned and bitten. Thousands of land-striders sought out their dead alphas, and the widespread despair and confusion was the signal to start the real attack.

Some of the dragons were quite large, and acting on Confident's advice, they had learned that if they flew into the top of the trees sticking up from the sea vessels, the whole thing would tip over, spilling all the land-striders and weaponry into the unforgiving waves below. The trick was to avoid impacting the tree so hard that it snapped, but two or three could tip over one sea vessel in no time.

Many dragons dove in tightly-packed flocks, a lure the enemy could not resist. Land-striders had learned that shooting quills at dragons was effective, and in raids, holding their fire and shooting all at once to drop several dragons instantly was so much more effective at scattering a flock than simply firing at will. With Confident and Vicious focusing intently on the land-striders calling out orders to the quill shooters, the dragon flock split at just the right moment so that the quills flew through empty air. Another volley would take time to prepare, so they found themselves in melee combat with dragons that could not be disabled by noise, fighting with their riders who were used to fighting alongside dragons.

It was bloody!

It was brutal!

It was glorious!

With the option the dragons had to focus the majority of their numbers on one small cluster of sea vessels before moving on to the next, fortune favored the defenders that night. The other dragons were busy keeping the rest of the enemy force occupied. A storm had rolled in to provide unlimited shots for the three lightning dragons, and flashes of crackling death lit up all around. Many sea vessels had a lot of iron carapace plates, and they did a wonderful job of directing lightning into its occupants.

Vicious ended up being the one to stay high above the fighting to advise the dragons on what angles to attack from and what areas to avoid. Firebrand was far too busy having fun. At a suggestion from Confident, he dove in to shoot a fireball right between two vessels that had drifted close together. A lighting dragon shot out a big bolt at the fireball, and even though they both knew to curl up into a very tight ball, the resulting shockwave was so powerful that it still flung them violently into the air. It also toppled the nearby sea vessels and hurled its occupants over the side.

Firebrand wished he had unlimited shots because that never got old!

Yes, it was a fun fight, but it was over now. It was six days ago that the enemy force had been broken up and started to flee, and ever since then, everything was so peaceful and boring. He was left with the company of dragons and land-striders who unanimously wanted a peaceful existence of licking their wounds, repairing the damage, and mourning their dead.

Perhaps, for a while, he could tolerate it, maybe even enjoy it, but he just knew that he would start to itch for something to rend. Maybe, by then, his adolescents would have developed enough to present an actual challenge. They did get a few swipes and nips in when Firebrand greeted them after his long flight; he would have to start taking them more seriously.

In the meantime, he decided to prowl the forest for anything interesting. There were some prey in the area, and hunting them down on paw would be exciting. He was feeling hungry, so he set his nose to the forest floor and set off.

A land-strider voice attracted his attention. He had an audience of one as he did what land-striders called "singing", where he thought with his lips in an especially melodious way. It was nothing special, the usual message about killing dragons that Firebrand had heard while listening in on land-strider nests from the shadows on the large land across the sea. However, it was unique enough that this land-strider just earned the name "Singer".

It took a moment of studying the land-strider's scent and passive mental projections before Firebrand realized that he had seen this land-strider before. The first island he had landed on was the one where a great sea dragon lay cold and dead. The enemy land-striders had already moved on, but one was still alive on that island, dripping wet and shivering in his false outer hides despite the relatively warm day. His attempt to kill Confident and Firebrand was laughable even before he tripped on nothing and sprawled out on his face, moaning about a headache. He had a fever, delirious, Confident had explained. Confident showed mercy and found some more dry hides and a full water skin for him before they left him to his fate, which seemed to have brought him here.

The other land-strider was foreign, though, and since he and Singer seemed to be getting along, perhaps both of them were from the enemy flock? His hackles were raised, but there were several dragons keeping watch over them and were able to fill him in. These two land-striders were allowed on this island under close watch as an experiment to try to change their enemies into allies, something Firefly appeared to be very good at, but he hadn't returned yet.

Vicious and their four adolescents prowled up to Firebrand from behind, absolutely silent, and he flicked his head in approval. It was always fun to give land-striders a scare, to see how high they would jump in fright when they turned to see a dragon, teeth bared, calmly standing behind them. However, while Singer seemed to be faint of heart, the other land-strider was one to be wary of. The look in his eyes, the tone of his body, the way he held himself, it all spoke of one who was a living dragon snare ready to snap. "Twitchy" was a fitting name for him.

The six black dragons silently crept towards the land-striders from behind, bodies low to the ferns, each paw delicately placed just right. One of the adolescents, aptly named Climber, ascended up a tree close to the land-striders. He ended up upside-down, claws gripping a sturdy branch, advancing one paw at a time, as silent as the tree itself.

Suddenly, something alerted Twitchy. Whether it was a barest hint of sound that wasn't the wind whistling through the trees, or the faintest rise in temperature from Climber's body radiating outward, or simply a hunch, Firebrand didn't know. What he did know was that he saw a small shiny claw flying at and sinking into Climber's neck.

Climber howled and thrashed, falling the short way to the ground, clawing at the embedded shiny claw to flick it out. Firebrand and Vicious were over him instantly, teeth bared. During all this, Twitchy stood there, eyes wide, staring at his outstretched hand that had thrown the shiny claw as if inspecting some strange curiosity.

Vicious was about to leap at Twitchy, but Firebrand warned her off. He enjoyed a good fight as much as her, but there were expectations and consequences for one's behavior on this island. While rending this land-strider to shreds might be seen as justified, it would be a shame to find himself at odds with all the land-striders and dragons he had just saved by flying up here in the first place.

Twitchy suddenly snapped his attention to Firebrand and Vicious. "It was reflex!" he frantically barked out. He held his longer shiny claw in one hand, and the other was held out defensively in front of him. "That Night Fury startled me!"

Firebrand prowled a step closer, growling menacingly.

The land-strider started to take a step back, then realized what his body language was saying and took a step forward instead, nose-to-snout, shiny claw held back and low but at the ready, bearing his own little, blunt teeth.

"If I somehow snuck up behind that dragon and grabbed its tail, would it have done any less to me?!"

Firebrand paused in thought. The land-strider had a point, he would have claws in his sides and teeth in his neck if he had managed such a feat.

Firebrand held the land-strider's fiery stare for a while before he relaxed and licked his lips, and the land-strider also relaxed his stance. It was simply a lesson for Climber to learn that land-striders wouldn't always be as ignorant or harmless as they may appear. It was also a lesson for Firebrand as he didn't realize land-striders could be so perceptive or strike so quickly.

And speaking of Climber….

Firebrand turned to his adolescent, whose injury was receiving licks from his dam. {Climber, how badly are you hurt? Show me everything, withhold nothing.}

Firebrand looked at the cut on his offspring's neck as he received a flow of impressions. In an instant, he received every perception from that experience, a memory he could recall as if he himself was Climber. He felt the prickling sensation of the injury as the shiny claw sunk in, the panic, and the abashed realization that, if he was alone, this land-strider could have killed him.

The injury was minor enough, the bleeding insignificant. The small shiny claw that had stuck him was heavy and very sharp, but it missed anything critical, hardly worth all the howling and yowling that was assaulting his ears.

Firebrand lifted a paw and struck Climber's snout, instantly silencing him. {It hardly hurts. Your pride has suffered much more damage than your neck. Find something else to do, something that doesn't risk making us enemies of all the land-striders and dragons on this island. You, Vicious, everyone.}

Vicious gave a toothy snarl at the land-strider, but she and their offspring turned and trotted off. Firebrand turned towards Twitchy, who was staring at him intently, thoughtfully. He was known to have had a terrifying run-in with Toothless, back when he was part of the invading flock on his sea vessel, but this encounter seemed to have snuffed his fear. Perhaps seeing a black dragon bleed, even a reckless adolescent, was all it took, something to keep in mind.

"See, this," Twitchy hissed, pointing at the departing dragons, "is why you dragons are almost extinct! I can tell that the only reason you didn't try to tear my limbs off is because you need to stay cozy with Hiccup and the riders up here. Anywhere else, though, and you gotta kill anyone you don't like! Can't leave us alone! Well guess what, dragon, piss on the world and the world will piss on your cold, dead corpse!"

Firebrand snarled at that. As if land-striders were any better. He had seen some of the things they did to each other, the sadistic monsters. Dragons were content to avoid land-striders, but they spread out so much and stuck their noses where they didn't belong and got them bitten off.

"Chicken or the egg?" Singer quietly asked.

Dragon and land-strider looked at him.

"If you'll entertain a devil's advocate, we kill dragons because they kill us," he elaborated. "We've seen that dragons are intelligent creatures, so rolling with that, could we assume that," he looked at Firebrand with a raised eyebrow, "you dragons raid our villages because we hunt down your nests?"

Firebrand slowly nodded, a land-strider gesture he had learned. That was true. Dragons were not herding creatures, and though they would often nest in flocks, they did not depend on each other. A flock was always hesitant to accept stray dragons. Only some great threat to all of them had driven them to gather and fight back together.

"Doesn't matter," Twitchy insisted, waving it off, another land-strider gesture that Firebrand wanted to use sometime.

"Maybe not," Singer conceded in a voice that was almost as melodious as when he was singing. "You won the battle a week ago because Tord gave you some dirty little tricks to use, but count on that not working next time. Even if you dragons have a dozen Bewilderbeasts hidden in a hole somewhere, people will die, but unless you can turn every man into Hiccup, in the end, you will all be wiped out.

No! Firebrand snarled at that, causing Singer to take a step back.

But… yes, he was right and Firebrand knew it. There were too many land-striders, spread all over the world. They would always come up with bigger and better ways to defeat their enemies, with thunder makers and wooden quills and shiny claws dripping with venom, and who could possibly guess what new invention would rear its powerful head in the coming years.

Singer seemed to be emboldened by the way Firebrand was simply standing there silently, at a loss for any response. It was tempting to roar at them and fly off, but if there was one thing he had learned from Confident – and he would rend anyone who suggested such a thing – it was often helpful to suppress a natural reaction in favor of thoughtful consideration.

"I cannot say I would mourn a world without dragons raiding villages and plucking up travelers along the road," Singer said quietly, somberly, "But…"

He looked over at the little mink dragon on his shoulder. "I like you. Don't tell the pastor."

He looked at Firebrand. "I've heard enough stories about how you Night Furies fought last week, about the sort of behavior that's normal for you, and I realize that it's nothing short of an amazing wonder that you're standing here calmly, participating in this conversation, at least to the limited degree you can with non dragon whisperers."

He took a deep breath. "So, which came first, the chicken or the egg? Who killed first, dragons," he held out his left hand, "or humans?" He held out his right hand.

Firebrand looked at the left hand, right, left, right. He knew he could nose at one or the other to respond, and he wanted to see what he could glean from this encounter with a land-strider who was once an enemy but decided that he cared about dragons. He looked into Singer's eyes with a long exhale. Even with a perfect memory, dragons never saw a need to pass on such information from so long ago.

"Not that it matters," Twitchy grumbled. "It matters not how a problem is created, only how it is resolved."

Firebrand nodded at that, and both land-striders seemed taken aback at his response. There was no point in denying what he knew. The metaphorical boulder that was loosened from the top of the mountain had been halted, for now, but how long until the ledge on which it rested would crumble and these islands would be attacked again by foes more prepared and dangerous?

Singer opened his mouth, but closed it again, at a loss for words. Finally, he found his tongue. "But does it have to end as we all see it right now? Even if we eventually purge the entire world of dragons, it will still be a long, hard road. These Vikings have demonstrated that–"

"What happens here is an unrealistic fantasy anywhere besides here!" Twitchy interrupted. "I've seen what happens when a fool hears about a Viking from the Archipelago closing his eyes and holding out his hand to a dragon. And then a hunt is launched to deal with the dragon that tore said fool limb from limb, and then dragons raid villages, and hunting intensifies, and we're right back to step one.

He looked at Firebrand. "Right? You would know the dragons on the mainland better than any human."

The dragon nodded.

Twitchy gave a heavy pat to Singer's shoulder and walked away. "Let it go, lad. Get your head out of the clouds and back on the ground."

"But what if we do something different?" Singer insisted energetically, almost frantically. "The wild dragons are different, alright, but maybe there's a better way to handle them, that ends with us leaving each other alone. I lost my sister when she was traveling and her caravan came across some dragons, and then I lost my father on the nest hunt that followed. Could they both still be alive today if she knew of some better response to encountering dragons?"

Twitchy paused. "I'm sorry for your loss, kid." He glowered at Firebrand out of the corner of his eyes. "Many people have lost those they love, but I'm not going to risk my life testing your silly theories. Knock yourself out. Try it on a wild dragon and get yourself killed and trigger another hunt for all I care. As I see it, you'd only be hastening the inevitable."

"Maybe I will!" Singer called after him. He turned to Firebrand with a pleading expression. "You're a wild dragon, or were, at least, right? Pretend I was walking down a road and came across you on my own."

"Oh, this I gotta see," Twitchy called out, sitting on a nearby log.

Firebrand didn't move. What was going through this land-strider's mind? What was he really hoping to accomplish with this?

The little mink dragon perched on Singer's shoulder shifted his weight and looked expectantly at Firebrand. {I think he is hoping to test how you would expect most dragons where you came from would react. Just please don't kill him. I like him.}

"Oh no, a dragon!" Singer called out, taking a step back in obtusely feigned fright. "Please don't hurt me. I just want to pass through in pea–"

Firebrand decided to play along, so he snarled and leaped at the land-strider, claws outstretched, teeth bared. He flared his wings and stopped just short, not that Singer noticed as he was cringing in much more genuine terror. {How was that?}

The mink dragon took an exaggerated sniff. {Convincing, no doubt. He lightly marked his territory without removing his outer hides, something land-striders usually try to avoid.}

Twitchy was howling with laughter. "Called it!"

Singer stood up again, face red, clutching at his chest, his breathing suddenly ragged. "Alright, so that didn't work, got it," he wheezed out between gasps. "Do it again? I'll try something different."

Firebrand rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he was playing along with this fool. Perhaps it was because he was feeling quite content and complacent after an invigorating tussle with the lightning dragon and then his kin, maybe that was it. He took a few bounds away and turned, teeth bared and growling, waiting for the land-strider to try something different.

"Ah, a dragon," Singer called out. He pulled out his shiny claw. "You do not want to fight me, dragon, so let me pass in peace and–"

He was instantly on his back, a clawed paw prickling his chest, his shiny claw skidding to a stop in the dirt.

"Alright, I'm" *GASP* "Dead," *WHEEZE* "Got it." He took a few moments to collect himself after Firebrand stepped back. "Try again? I got an idea."

Firebrand spared a glance at Twitchy, who was watching from nearby, silently taking it all in. He had to admit he was curious what other approach this silly land-strider would come up with, so he took a few bounds back and turned again, growling defensively.

"No threat!" Singer called out, backing away slowly. "I'll just leave you–"

Firebrand leaped with a vicious snarl.

"RAAA!" Twitchy charged forward, shiny claw out, wild eyes wide. Firebrand instinctively dug his claws in and shot his wings out to stop himself.

For a moment, the three looked at each other, one panting, another casually sliding his shiny claw back into its sheath, and the other content to sit on his haunches and lick at his paw.

"Oh, now you're just playing favorites!" Singer hissed, pointing at Firebrand. "That's exactly what I did last time!"

Firebrand shook his head. Perhaps it would be a good idea to summon a dragon whisperer so he could explain.

"There was a world of difference!" Twitchy said as he sheathed his shiny claw again.

"How?!" Singer demanded. "You didn't even say anything."

Twitchy rolled his eyes. "I said all that needed to be said, in his own language. I told the dragon, as clear as day, that I had every intention to run him through and bathe in his blood."

Singer stomped. "And that worked?!"

Twitchy shrugged and gestured to Firebrand, who slowly nodded. His reaction was not feigned at all. How an actual confrontation would go from there… Most dragons would have just fluttered off to find somewhere else to drink or eat or whatever they were doing.

"Huh," Singer grunted. He turned to Twitchy. "Would you really have killed him?" Firebrand snorted and snarled at that, offended. "Or tried, at least?" Singer automatically corrected. "Even here and now?"

Twitchy started to walk away again. "Would the dragon have… killed… you otherwise?"

Singer looked at Firebrand, who nodded enthusiastically.

"Do you really think you could have won such a fight?" he called out to Twitchy.

Twitchy palmed the end of his shiny claw hanging on his hip and scoffed, then spat. He was far from his most dangerous with that alone, a relatively small shiny claw that he had only recently acquired, probably shaped and weighted differently from what he was used to.

He continued to walk away and said over his shoulder, "Did it matter?"