A/N:
If, as you read the first section, you say to yourself, "Hey, didn't I read something very similar in Hookfang's Tale?" Well, my only response is "Shh!" Besides, I changed a few words.

Thanks to Deadly-Bagel for being my beta buddy. He had the gall to call my story hilarious! Can ya believe it? Go check out his "Gift of Wings" story sometime as it's quite cuddly.

Dragonrider's Fury, thanks for the kind words! You just made me squeal like a pig in the mud on a hot summer day. That was definitely one of those mini climax moments, a profound point about the characters that I intentionally throw out there without any fanfare for those who can really connect with it.

7sky, Toothless says he's offended that you think it'd take 3 days to set everything on fire. I'm feeling kinda nervous about that look in his eyes.

Epclaymore, yeah, sorry, this one took 3 weeks to get out. I can't write without my TP and rice, so I had to wait for some to appear on the shelves. :P I should be back on the 2-week schedule until I get caught up again to increase the pace.


Out of Control

For his whole life, food was always simple for Toothless, and when he was hungry, it was always incredible. The only thing better than a fish plucked from the sea a moment ago was many fish. The rear quarters of an elk, bones and all, always went down a treat. When Toothless was hungry and felt drowsy, he might find himself gorging on the fatty meat of a bear or boar still warm from the kill.

Once, he'd cracked open the skull of a bear and offered the delicious contents to his rider who politely declined by gagging.

The dragon never could understand why land-striders would always go to such great lengths to ruin perfectly good food. They would trim off the fat, pluck the feathers from chickens, stretch out the disembodied hide, smear the meat with oils and bits of plant matter, smash it with a stone, drown it in water, strangle it with thin vines, burn it over a fire, suffocate it with smoke all day long, impale it with a stick, set it out in the sun or near a fire to dry out and shrivel up, pack clay around it… the list went on. By the time land-striders declared the stuff ready to eat, it would be impossible to discern what that substance used to be, whether that dripping, plant-riddled mush was a fish or a sheep or an elk.

It was horrible! It was disgusting! It was… unnatural!

Toothless could recall the first time he saw a land-strider stoop down to uproot some sort of orange plant thing with green leaves sprouting from the top of it, brush off the dirt, and eat it. What did he think he was, a goat?! At least they had the decency to eat what grew above the ground. Why not just be lazy and eat dirt like some sort of… worm or… death-eater!

Of course, over time, Toothless learned to accept such eccentricities with his Firefly and the other land-striders. He learned to develop the habit of waiting before tearing into a fresh kill as Firefly found great value in painstakingly removing the flesh and sinew from the carcass. Firefly learned to accept the brain when Toothless was in a generous mood, but instead of eating it, he would wrap it up in the hide and take it back to the village where they would do very unnatural and smelly things to it. However, once Toothless learned that this sort of stuff was part of the process for Firefly to make the tailfin and the flying gear, allowing the meat to cool off a little before digging in was a very acceptable sacrifice.

When his life winds blew over to Firefly's body and he was forced to learn to walk on two legs with no tail for balance or claws for grip, he went those first couple of days without food. He became quite hungry at first, but that feeling passed, and he wasn't too worried about himself since he knew land-striders occasionally went days without food with no ill effects.

However, unlike land-striders, dragons didn't carry around layers of fat sufficient to last days on end. With the amount of effort it took to fling such a large body through the sky, and even on days spent lazing around, eating daily was a necessity. One day without food resulted in a gnawing hunger. Two days was asking for trouble. Three days was begging for death.

The little bits of dried fish that they had with them in the saddlebags came up very short in trying to ebb Firefly's ravenous hunger in his Night Fury body, and hunting or catching fish was out of the question with how clumsy they both were in their new bodies. Had the group of dragons and riders, led by Stormfly's capable nose, arrived one day later, they might have found only a dragon-turned-land-strider slumped over his dead dragon in despair.

Needless to say, the relief he felt on seeing them was immeasurable.

When Stormfly regurgitated some fish into Firefly's mouth, it was very amusing to see his reaction when instincts took over. The only thing more hilarious was the way he tried to shy away from the half seal that the dragons conjured from the sea for him, but the urges of the body would not be denied. Toothless had then obstinately tried to eat a fresh fish, only to suddenly develop a little sympathy for what Firefly went through way back when he was offered the regurgitated tail end of a raw fish.

Since then, Firefly had learned to accept raw fish in his maw, and Toothless learned that it was a bad idea to try to swallow a chunk of bread or cheese without chewing for an inordinate amount of time. In fact, except for water, everything required a lifetime of chewing – that was what it felt like.

However, tonight, he was presented with a perplexing combination of both liquid and solid food, drink and chew. Seated in the Great Hall, as he looked at the substance in the bowl in front of him, he felt caught in an intense battle between disgust and desire. The food – if one would call it that – was hot and steamy. His mouth quivered and filled with drool.

He had already sipped at some foamy brown liquid that Astrid called "ale" that was in a clay vessel called a "mug", which tasted horrible, both the ale and the mug.

While the stuff in this bowl smelled good, it was just mushy... stuff. Gobber called it "lamb stew", apparently so named for the lumps floating in what appeared to be watery, brown, runny… well, it reminded him of what came out of Stormfly that one time she learned a valuable lesson that eating cooked bones was a terrible idea because they splintered inside her the way raw bones didn't. It was a very messy, smelly, and unpleasant recovery for her.

Toothless took a sip of ale and cast a pleading look at Firefly, who only huffed and rolled his eyes.

{If I can eat regurgitated fish, you can eat this.}

He lowered his head to the "food", but… well, he couldn't. There was a massive design flaw in the clay bowl that contained it because his head was too big to fit inside, and his tongue was far too short to lap it up. He ended up sipping some more ale; at least that was something he was physically capable of consuming, but that did give him an idea. He tried tipping the bowl and sipping along the rim, until he suddenly became acutely aware of just how sensitive a land-strider's face was to heat, and an involuntary jerk sent half the contents onto his lap. Fortunately, his false outer hide was sufficient protection against such an assault.

Great, now my food is trying to kill me. Someone tell me how land-striders survived us attacking them for so long, let alone surviving on their own?

Toothless groaned and sipped at his ale. He still didn't like it but at least it didn't bite him in the face when he tried to consume it.

Astrid grinned at Toothless' frustrated scowl from across the table. "And I thought my little guy was helpless."

She then pointed to a wooden thing next to the bowl – a spoon – grabbed one of her own, and demonstrated the motions of introducing the food to her mouth. Several clumsy attempts later, Toothless succeeded in sticking it in his mouth instead of his eye, where he learned another lesson. For how sensitive his face was to the hot food, the inside of his mouth was even more so. It took a bit of observing those around him – and trying to ignore Astrid's giggling – before he figured out the routine of scooping, blowing, and carefully slurping and nibbling.

After a couple of successful bites, he took a sip of his ale to cool his mouth down and asked, "Why make food hot if hot bad?"

"It's only hot for a little bit," she said. "Food tastes better when hot." She fished out a piece of cheese from a slit in the chunk of bread floating in her bowl. "Here, Hiccup," she said, placing it on her shoulder, "How's your favorite cheese on your new tongue?"

The dragon carefully nibbled it off her shoulder, and though Toothless couldn't hear him without any physical contact, the delighted smacking was enough of a response. That was one thing land-striders did right with food, turning an uninteresting white liquid into cheese. As a dragon, he had found that a slightly queasy stomach was sometimes a worthwhile trade to enjoy a little nibble of the stuff.

"Seems you're taking a liking to ale," Astrid quipped as Toothless took another sip.

He shook his head. "Not like. Not know why land-striders like this. But it not burn me."

He took another sip, but the mug was empty. He had filled it himself once before, managing to keep half of it from sloshing out, so he got up to do it again. Perhaps more of this would satisfy his rumbling stomach until the too-hot food was less painful to eat.

Astrid grinned. "Nope, ale definitely doesn't burn you. At least not immediately."

Toothless turned to look back at her and saw a grin. Firefly was slowly shaking his head, eyes downcast.

"What you mean?" Toothless asked as he sat down with a filled mug, proud of himself for losing less than half of its contents on his way over. "Ale burn me later?" He took another sip. "Not feel burn."

"Nevermind," Astrid said, still grinning.

Toothless didn't like that grin.

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Toothless smiled at the sight of his dragon, his Firefly, sprawled out on a table, groaning around a bulging belly. He knew from experience how satisfying it could feel to gorge on so much greasy, fatty food.

Aside from lamb stew, Firefly was able to secure a heaping pile of lamb fat and gristle, and his instinctive urge to eat everything he could did not relent until after he was stuffed. He had seen the immense power of Toothless' adorable puppy eyes routine and decided to try it for himself now that he was a Night Fury. However, at a nest that was raided by dragons for most of his life, he was used to manipulating others in subtle ways, surviving and minimizing his beatings for being a weak runt in a flock where weakness could not be tolerated. When such skills were exercised in a Night Fury's body, well, Toothless never knew he could look so adorable and culpable.

Everyone was almost tripping over themselves to give him what he wanted. When he learned to perfect his hurt hatchling croon, some land-striders came close to fainting.

Now that he was full and drowsy, he trusted himself to let Astrid sit on the bench in front of him with their child in her arms, and Firefly was desperately fighting to summon the willpower to lift his head so he could nuzzle the child.

The shock and awe of the chief in a Night Fury's body was starting to fade. A couple of villagers had approached Toothless to settle a dispute, something about a sheep and coin, having already forgotten that their chief was in the dragon's body and that Gobber was handling such stuff as the beta. Toothless shrugged at them, grabbed a couple maces that were hanging on the wall – cackling at his ability to hold two things at once – and tossed one at each villager.

That did not end well. At least that was what Gobber said, but Toothless thought it was very amusing to watch. It was the dragon way to settle any conflict.

Gobber managed to intercept anyone else seeking out the chief before any more damage could be done, leaving Toothless to do as he pleased, which ended up with him sitting on the floor with his third mug of ale next to him. The stuff still tasted unpleasant, but the effect of it was like slithering around a field of dragon nip, back when he was a dragon. Gathered around him was a large flock of young land-striders – kids – who had a much easier time than the older land-striders in treating him like they always have, except without climbing all over him since he wasn't a dragon anymore.

However, these kids were full of so many very silly ideas and needed to be set straight.

"That not so" Toothless said to the one name Hildegard. He took a sip from his mug and said, "You land-striders say world flat. That *HIC* stupid."

Hildegard crossed her arms and gave him a stern look. "We're not stupid. Everyone knows that Midgard is a plane. My daddy said so!"

Toothless shook his head, which made the world spin a little. "He wrong. I know. When Firefly make fancy tail *HIC* fin, I not need rider, I fly high. High as the clouds and then again that high. High as Firefly feel light-headed and still *HIC* more high."

That was a scary flight. It wasn't long after Firefly fully recovered from the fight with the demonic queen, back when he was deaf to dragons. He had encouraged Toothless to fly as high as he could, and Toothless was happy to comply. As the air started to thin out, Firefly felt light-headed, but in the rush of excitement, he urged his dragon higher still.

Then he passed out.

They tumbled without any control over the false tailfin, and no matter how loud Toothless shrieked and roared, his rider didn't wake up until after they passed below the clouds. By the time Firefly woke up and realized where he was and what was happening, well, suffice to say that it was a very close call.

Then, once, Firefly made a very fancy tailfin that allowed the dragon to fly without a rider. Toothless didn't want to leave his Firefly, but he felt the sudden urge to do something he hadn't done since back when he was a thrall to the demonic queen, before he was shot down. He flew upward hard and fast, past the height at which Firefly fainted and higher still. The more he rose, the weaker the air had become and the more difficult it was to breathe. Onward and upward, the sky became darker, the moon and stars brighter, the harder it became to ascend even though he felt lighter. His labored breath came out as faint wisps of icy mist, and the cold was so intense that it stung even him.

He too passed out, but not for long. When he woke up, he straightened his descent, basking in the warmth all over as the wind rushing past him grew in strength. He knew to be very cautious when extending his wings at that speed so they wouldn't be torn from his body. It was a very satisfying flight, but he knew what he was doing when he destroyed that tailfin so he would have to continue flying with Firefly on his back. He knew what he really wanted in life.

One thing he recalled quite vividly from that experience, even now with his murky land-strider mind, was how the world stretched out beneath him. The islands were tiny pebbles floating in the water. Distant glaciers that he knew were very large seemed so small at that height. Past the islands where the weather was warmer for longer, he could see the coastline of a very large landmass that had to be hundreds of times or larger than Berk.

"So what?" Hildegard demanded. "You flew high. I do that all the time!" Toothless gave her an unamused stare. She eventually started to fidget and finally capitulated. "Fine, Dad says I'm too young to fly. There, happy? Now tell me what you saw."

Toothless thought about that as he sipped at his ale. How would one communicate how the ground seemed to fall away in all directions? An idea came to mind and he reached up to grab a now-empty bowl from the table.

"Like this," he said, placing the bowl on the ground upside-down. "Put eye close, see how it look."

Hildegard pressed her face against the bowl. "So, you're saying the world looks like a bowl?"

Toothless leaned in and looked for himself. "Hrrr, not have flat part on top, more like turtle shell."

"A turtle shell?" Hildegard stared at Toothless as though he grew a second head. She put her hands on her hip and asked, "Then what's the turtle standing on?"

Toothless shrugged and took another sip of the ale. "Another turtle?"

"Then what's that turtle standing on?"

"I not know," Toothless said nonchalantly. "Not see from above turtle shell. Must be turtles all the way down."

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Spitelout smiled as he crested a rocky climb to the top of a ridge. He had finally caught up to his dragon.

Again.

"C'mon, Kingstail, enough playing hard to get," he grumbled as he walked up to his dragon. Kingstail lifted a talon and leaned over the edge for the fifth time that night, but he froze when Spitelout gave him a sour look. He knew the dragon could have made himself impossible to reach if he wanted to. The silly lizard was only playing hard-to-get.

"Nevermind," Spitelout said, turning around and walking back to the Great Hall. "You can be alone as long as you want. Keep on pouting like a petulant child." He threw his arms in the air. "You make a wonderful mindless slave, obeying Toothless' every whim like an unthinking animal broken to his master."

The leathery sound of flapping wings sounded out behind him and he could anticipate the precise moment the dragon thudded down in front of him to squawk indignantly.

Spitelout crossed his arms. "What, I thought you wanted to get away from me? Well, go on. He gestured with his hands as he walked past the dragon. "Shoo!"

The dragon took a hop to stand in front of him again, hissing in frustration.

"Whaddya want, ya sparky lizard?"

He ran past the dragon, who took a hop and a flap to land in front of him again. A hop to the side was matched by the dragon. Spitelout dashed forward and ducked underneath, but he tripped over a sweep of the tail.

"Ohh, you wanna play dirty, eh?" Spitelout scrambled to his feet. "C'mere ya little newt!"

He lunged at the dragon and they twisted around each other in a maelstrom of snapping teeth, striking fists, whipping tail, and kicking feet. They ended up sprawled out in a heap, heaving for air.

"Well, I'll admit," Spitelout said between pants of air, "that never gets old." They both wobbled to their feet. "Really, though, I may not be the dragon hugger Hiccup is, but you know that I don't see you as some dumb animal. If I used your dragon methods for securing a mate, or if I treated my children the way you dragons treat yours, I'd probably be executed. Being different isn't a bad thing. Trying to be alike would be so much worse! Right?"

The dragon studied him for a moment, then gave his arm a lick.

"Like that," Spitelout said, pointing to his arm. "I'd be attacked if I ever did that to someone. But you're too twitchy, bending over backward at the merest suggestion from Toothless. That's not the dragon way; it's the spineless way."

Kingstail grumbled at that.

"I know, I know, you love him more than you love fish, Red Death and whatnot, but I demand some respect from you. I've raised my fists to protect you and your honor, and I expect the same from you. Otherwise, we might as well part ways. I'll say, 'Farewell, Kingstail, and thanks for all the lifts.'" In a horrendous falsetto, he mockingly replied, "So long, Spitelout, and thanks for all the fish." He looked sideways at his dragon. "Is that what you want?"

The dragon chittered discontentedly and dug his snout into Spitelout's chest.

Spitelout sighed and started walking towards the Great Hall. "I'm glad the feeling's mutual. I know I'm pushy and blunt, I've got my quirks as much as you've got yours, but if you're convinced I'm trying to respect you as you deserve, boyo, return the favor. Deal?"

The dragon twitched his head towards the Great Hall, then briefly tilted his head up to expose his neck. It was a gesture Spitelout had seen dragons perform to Hiccup and Toothless, a dragon equivalent of bowing.

Spitelout threw his arms up in frustration. "I don't know, and that's all I was saying! Is there an appreciable risk to us with a Night Fury as a Viking chief? Would our allies freak out and rally to burn us to the ground? If an armada floats in to raid us and we're all running to our chief who speaks another language because he's a dragon, would good people die from the indecision and chaos that results in?"

He stared at his dragon. "Do you think I've completely flown off the handle, that there really is absolutely no basis for doubt or concern?"

Kingstail stared at him, unmoving. Eventually, he gave a subtle shake of his head.

Spitelout stared deep into the dragon's eye that was tilted towards him in thought. "So, when Toothless bleeds all over you and says, 'Hey, be mean to your rider,' and you obey without a second thought, does that sound like a fair way to treat anyone you care about?"

Kingstail's whole body drooped as he hung his head and slowly shook it. Spitelout put a hand under the dragon's chin to lift it up and smiled. "Thank you. Life throws some strange stuff at us, and we don't always like it, like when we had to learn to see dragons as friends instead of unthinking and evil monsters, but we'll figure things out. We'll adapt and thrive in the end. That's what Jorgensons do, right?"

The dragon trilled cheerfully and gave him a playful shove. Spitelout picked himself up off the ground with a grin and shoved his dragon back.

"Though, if the lamb stew is all gone by the time I get back because of you, you won't be getting up anytime soon from what I'll do to ya."

The dragon gave him a light push forward and sprinted off with a lilting warble. Spitelout took off after his dragon, laughing and shouting, "Get back here, ya sparky lizard!"

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Toothless was thoroughly enjoying himself. The kids surrounding him were giving him their full attention with looks of amazement and awe as he recounted for them a time when he fought off twenty land-striders with his wings and legs bound up tight in rope. Some or all of the details may have been altered, but it was close enough.

"Sah, the' ledeh hash meh curn'd, an' he grinn like he *HIC* know he win," Toothless said, recounting a fight where he had dispatched forty land-striders while bound and muzzled… or something like that.

One of the older kids, Gustav, handed Toothless his fourth mug of ale. No, this would be the fifth. Or sixth?

"Did he kill you?" One of the little boys asked, eyes wide in fright.

"'Course noh' *HIC*." Toothless took a sip of the wonderful ale that he hated so much. "Heeee, he should'a know I had tail. I spin *HIC* 'round an–" Toothless spun around in his sitting position in demonstration. Well, he tried and ended up laying on the floor. "Look," he said, pointing at a brazier, "fire so purdy. I make fire, so I purdy."

Firefly groaned, but Astrid put a hand on his shoulder. "Best way to learn why this is a bad idea and you know it," she said.

Toothless smiled up at her head. Both of them. "Ale... good, yes, good. Not burn me. Good. Yes."

Astrid smirked. "Just wait until morning."

"What about the other twenty dragon hunters?" a girl asked. "How did you take care of them?"

Toothless waved it off with a chuckle. "Ha! I, I looks at *HIC* him an… an' I goes, RAAARRR–" he coughed in his stupid narrow land-strider throat. "Then they, then they jus', jus', fffffall over an' drop dead."

"I thought you were muzzled."

"Ehhhh," Toothless mumbled, flicking a hand in irritation. Details. So many questions from these snippety land-striders.

A large land-strider stomped up to them and Astrid turned from where she sat to look at him and said, "Spitelout, I see you got things straightened out with your dragon. Still plenty of stew in the cauldron."

Spitelout stared at the ground for a moment. "Thank you, Astrid," he said after an uncomfortably lengthy pause. "I don't know how this will all pan out, and this," he gestured between Astrid and Firefly, "feels all sorts of strange. I still don't like it, but I don't speak for all the council, and from what I've heard, I'll just have to bite my tongue for a few more days at least."

He held out a hand and Astrid slowly extended hers. "Thank you Spitelout, and if it helps any, I don't like this change any more than you."

With that, they grabbed each other's wrists and pulled in to pat each other's backs. Toothless snorted at one of the most delicately measured pissing contests he had ever seen.

Spitelout then took a deep breath and turned to Toothless. "And I have a bone to pick with you." The land-strider reached an arm down, grabbed Toothless' tunic, and hauled him up to sit on a bench at the table. Firefly growled at such handling of his rider, but Spitelout merely rolled his eyes. "Are you going to turn into Toothless, Hiccup? Take a knee and submit, or die?" He crossed his arms. "You're better than that."

The growling subsided. "Wha' ya'want?" Toothless slurred.

Spitelout scowled at that. "I've had enough of your attitude, Toothless, trying to turn Kingstail against me. We've talked about it, and you're clearly abusing your sway over the dragons. There is no honor in using past deeds as leverage towards unruly ends."

"Bah!" Toothless waved it off. "Saysh you. Head hotter *HIC* than, rrrr, Nadder ffffire. Need learn to control... *HIC* ssself."

"Control!" Spitelout spat. "You are in no position to lecture me about self-control!"

"Sure I *HIC* am. I always in, in, control."

Spitelout bridled at that. "Like when you murdered my brother?" he growled.

"..."

Silence.

Toothless never realized how loud it had been with everyone talking and laughing and belching and shouting until they all suddenly stilled.

The silence was quickly broken by a loud, shrieking roar.

"Spitelout!" Astrid scolded, "that's not fair! Toothless was under the control of a Bewilderbeast and you know it!"

All else that was said by the land-striders was lost to Toothless, though. His vision blurred, his ears rang, his lips quivered. The next thing he knew was that he was thumping his head against the table, fluids leaking out of his mouth and eyes and nose.

For the past year, he had lived with the burden of knowing that he killed Stalwart, or Stoick as the land-striders called him. Firefly always loved his sire, and over time, Toothless had developed a deep respect for the land-strider. The flawless memory innate to dragons would never allow him to forget how it felt to completely lose control as that great sea dragon took over his mind. He never forgot the thrill he had felt as he released his fireball and took a life, feeling satisfied because the monster that controlled him told him that he did a good thing. He would always remember the gut-wrenching feeling when Firefly woke him up from that mind snare so that he could think and feel for himself, and he realized he killed someone he loved.

Stoick's last words as he jumped to intercept the fireball, though unheard by Firefly, were a consoling part of Toothless' memories: "It is better this way."

The ashes had cooled down, but now the fire instantly flared into a raging inferno that was burning him to cinders. All he could do was curl up and whimper as his traitorous land-strider mind thrust him back in time to that terrible moment, but he could not stop remembering that moment, each time a little different and a little worse. He lived through the trauma again, but this time, the fireball hit a little differently, and instead of glancing off of Firefly, Stoick's blasted body smashed him into a rock, the impact killing him. He saw it again, but this time, Stoick was too slow. His precious Firefly was blown to bits, and the monster released his control long enough for Toothless to feel the full, crushing weight of his grief. Again, he saw Stoick take the hit, but Drago wasn't satisfied. He commanded Toothless to tear his rider to shreds, and the dragon's mind was in a constant and futile struggle to control himself until the deed was done and all hope was lost.

Again and again, he impotently watched himself kill everyone he ever loved. The grief and feeling of helplessness clawed at his mind and dragged him into a shadowed maw. He knew it was only his imagination, and that this ale was a big part of the problem, and he hated himself all the more for placing himself in this situation. He knew that Spitelout was absolutely right, that he was not in control of himself, not a year ago when he killed Stoick, and not now.

Something shook his shoulder. "Toothless?" It was Astrid's voice, but he heard it as if he was underwater.

Something shook him more roughly. "I'll admit I took that a bit far, but c'mon, Toothless." Spitelout's voice.

Something large, warm, and wet lifted his chin and licked his face. Toothless spluttered on the saliva and looked up to see his Firefly standing on the table, which was littered with deep gouges and wood chips that must have been from his claws. Toothless lunged forward and clung to the maw, frantically grasping at the toothless gums and tongue and nose, clinging with a death grip to his precious Firefly, his light, his guide. He snorted, choked, and coughed, laughing at his relief and how silly he knew he must have appeared. This ale was even more potent than dragon nip.

As he clutched his Firefly, he struggled to recall why his mind had gone down that dark path. He had genuinely wanted to kill himself, to simply stop breathing, but looking back, he knew that would have been a silly thing to do.

He eventually sat against his dragon's side and let out a sigh. He had no idea why everyone was wobbling so much, or why Spitelout's cape had a few long, ragged tears down most of its length. However, he had a really strong suspicion as to why there were several toothmarks around a corner of the table that was clearly bitten off. As a dragon, when his blood was boiling in a good rage, the resulting destruction could not be averted, only redirected.

"Feeeul goo' now," Toothless said. "Hrrr, no' *HIC* good. Less no'goo'. I Love him. Miss him. Sad I *HIC* kill him."

"Yes, and you made that very clear," Astrid said. She turned both of her heads to Spitelout "And if you can accept Kingstail's friendship, then it is for the same reason that we cannot blame Toothless for having been controlled."

Spitelout scratched the back of his neck. "Ya can't blame me for being upset, but Astrid's right, Toothless."

Toothless favored ignoring the land-strider. There was nothing to say to soothe him nor any desire to do so. Spitelout would never understand what it was like under the grip of the mind snare. He could become a dragon whisperer and live through the memories shared by every dragon on this island, he could spend the rest of his life hearing about what it was like, but he could never fully understand to what degree such enthrallment was worse than death. No accusation or biting remark could ever sting more than the frustration and guilt from within, and recognizing that actually helped him feel better.

Spitelout eventually wandered off, grumbling about being ignored. Sleeping suddenly felt like a good idea, so Toothless curled up on the table, then hummed happily as his dragon curled up around him.

The table suddenly cracked in half where the claws had weakened it and they both tumbled to the ground. Toothless was too sleepy to care. The dragon he had landed on was so soft, anyway.