The pair of shadows ducked and wove between the treetops, high enough to make haste but low enough that only the sharpest eye would catch even a glimpse.

Wanderer flapped with purpose and drive while Dreamer struggled a little to keep pace. Their flying had improved dramatically over the last few almost-nights, Dreamer's in particular; their recently acquired wing-strength was dangerous to practice while the land had forgotten how to be dark, so this was the most experience and exercise they'd had with it.

With all the time they had spent in the air, Dreamer was beginning to see that he needed to let the air and wind work for him and try not to work against it. An errant gust hit him from the side and he simply angled into it to coast on the lift it provided, while recently he would have banked against it and had to flap to keep altitude. It was learning borne of necessity.

Well before the next sky-fire departed the water, a shift in Wanderer's flying told Dreamer they had arrived. They were gliding into a sort of basin in the hilly terrain, the middle of which was surprisingly devoid of trees considering how densely they surrounded it. As they flew over, it became clear why; the basin dropped sharply into a deep recess in the ground mostly occupied by a large pool of clear water in the centre.

They alighted quietly at the top of a cliff overlooking the hole and melted into the shadows to watch for danger. Upon further inspection, the narrow entrance and exit proved this to be a cove, though quite far from the coast and not currently passing water through. Most of this would probably have been underwater last season from all the rain, but now grass was growing on the loamy ground.

When they were confident it was empty, or at least there was nothing active inside, they glided down and combed the place with their noses; they were alone.

After greedily guzzling down the cool, clear water, Dreamer inspected the high walls surrounding them. They had little visibility of anything sneaking up on them from up there, but then what? Land-hunters could not reach this place, not easily.

Wanderer was still nervous so Dreamer play-tackled him, and they rolled around in the grass until they both only smelled of content and weariness. They then floated in the cool water until the sky-fire showed its light directly to the trees above.

Without much in the way of a nice deep cave, they made do with nestling into each other behind some boulders under a tall rocky overhang. Wanderer crooned protect, safety and deep sleep while nibbling at the itchy-can't-reach spot just behind Dreamer's wings.

Dreamer huffed even while stretching and squeaking his approval. It made sense, he'd had to fly harder to keep up and the hunting would go better if he was the one to rest, but he didn't have to like it. At least Wanderer wasn't trying to fight for the right to groom him, he wasn't sure either of them could spare the energy.

Wanderer's tone shifted to condescending and he started cleaning Dreamer's face – as if for a hatchling! – but a few quick bats to the head put a stop to it. Wanderer rumbled his amusement and shifted to get a view of most of the cove from around the rocks while Dreamer pointedly cleaned his own face.

The sounds and smells and air and ground were all new so when Dreamer did sleep it was fitful, but still much better than he'd had since leaving their cave. He came to a restless awareness when the sky-fire was still quite high, and soon gave up on sleep.

He pulled himself to his paws with a yawn and smacked his chops; Wanderer didn't even stir, they were so familiar with each other that they no longer triggered each other's alertness. He rumbled "explore close" at him, then purred sleep and protect. When an ear flicked disapprovingly, he leaned his forepaws onto Wanderer's back and kneaded the itchy-can't-reach just above his tail to happy, sleepy yowls.

Dreamer considered repeating the condescending joke on his friend, which would be a good reverse-version of the joke as he thought about it, but left him to sleep instead. When they were not hungry and wary they would play more jokes and he would make up for it then.

This place didn't smell of safe-nest yet so Dreamer set to work; rolling on the loamy banks, running and tumbling on the grass, marking territory, and splaying out on the big tall rock to bathe in the warmth of the sinking sky-fire while it burned through a gap in the foliage. It was very important work.

But his hunger was making him antsy, and when he found himself absently sharpening his claws on the rock he decided it was time to wake Wanderer. The pair were then bounding through the forest, as much to search for signs of prey-things as to familiarise themselves with their surroundings. He often lost sight of Wanderer, but easily knew where he was by knowing where he was not; everything he could see was not a Nightstriker.

Dreamer's hunger had not abated but it no longer gnawed at him, now that they were hunting it was sharpening his claws and honing his senses. This way, however distracted he was, they both skidded to a halt as they picked up a solitary smell. Dreamer recognised it as a tall-prey-thing like the last one, and the wound on his chest flared. A silent growl rose in his throat, this time I will feast on its organs and crunch the marrow from its bones!

The trail was fresh and they moved swiftly, eyes and ears focused ahead but watching and listening everywhere else too. A devious plan hatched in his mind and he pulled ahead a little to signal to Wanderer that he would lead this hunt. There was no argument.

They moved slower as the scent grew stronger. A flicker of movement ahead didn't slow them down, they split up to circle it at a tiny signal. Dreamer felt like he had two bodies, both responding to his whim.

Silently, carefully and quickly, they circled their quarry. A juvenile tall-land-prey, its long legs moving slowly over the dry ground. It was thirsty and tired, but wary; its large ears flicked around, and its head swivelled to small sounds. There was little undergrowth to hide in, but they could trust their scales – if only briefly – in the long shadows of the thick trees.

The quarry caught their movement but they were just flickers at the edge of vision; it didn't yet know its peril. And they were in position.

Dreamer wasted no time and had his Wanderer-body charge out. He watched as the quarry dropped a few paws and sprung away from the threat – fast! – and towards Dreamer.

This tall-prey-thing was slightly larger than their last quarry, but this time he was ready. This time he knew better than to jump behind those thundering hard-paws. This time, when he lunged from his hiding place and the quarry banked away from him, he leaped high with his claws out and raked a row of bloody gashes down the thigh presented to him.

The quarry was badly hurt but not down. Perfect. He held Wanderer back and they took up flanking positions, chasing it back up its own trail. If it went any direction but forward it would expose its side to claws and teeth, and it could not let down its guard of thundering hard-paws, so it ran as fast as it could.

The two snapped and snarled at the quarry, forcing it onwards. It stumbled but Dreamer didn't want to strike yet, it was still big and dangerous to young Nightstrikers. It tried to veer away but sharp snapping teeth reminded it that it went where they wanted it to.

They ran, muscles screaming for rest, but it was nearly over.

Dreamer knew these trees on this incline, and why the quarry was suddenly pulling up despite death snapping at its legs. He was veering to cut it off even before it started turning and was presented with the unprotected side of the quarry. With a flap-enhanced leap he sank his teeth into the back of its neck and rolled over it, twisting and dragging it down, as Wanderer crashed into its injured flank.

Ensuring none of himself was under its main body, and that his wings and tail were out of harm's way, Dreamer suffered only a mild battering as they rolled, and then they were falling. He let go and snapped out his wings, for a few panicked moments the wind just slid over him, but then he wrested control and glided around their cove. The quarry hit the ground with a thump, and Dreamer swooped in for a merciful kill.

Breathing heavily to catch his breath and savouring the hot liquid in his mouth, he let Wanderer catch up before roaring his defiance and triumph to the sky. Wanderer joined in beside him, if a little more subdued.

Then they were tearing off furry pelt and gulping down meat. The meal was huge, bigger than the both of them combined, and it was trapped here in their nest where they were safe from land-hunters. A large wing-hunter could take it from them, but they were rarely even seen soaring high overhead let alone close enough to smell the easy meal.

With the food right there they had no reason to stuff themselves to bursting, so with bellies only as full as their wings would carry they licked their claws and chops clean and went to float in the cool water to recover from the long chase. Wanderer rumbled recklessness and concern over such a big energy investment but purred success and clever. Dreamer would be the one to feed them for a long time now, but while he mumbled back contribution and not-burden he knew his body was yelling pride and elation.

When the sky-fire burned away the almost-night and some of their energy had recovered, they managed to drag their kill out of sight. Retiring to their sleeping-place, they licked and kneaded each other's aches until they dozed off in a rumbling pile.

Dreamer was cloaked in cool, blissful darkness. The sky-fire was growing weaker by the night, and he could almost forget the nasty much-light season when it had never truly been dark and they had flitted from shadow to shadow like scared prey.

Now he was stronger, and the night hid him from all eyes so he could soar almost wherever he wanted. He was in his favourite perch, a tiny alcove on one of the island's higher southernmost cliffs where he was hidden from the wing-hunters that nested on the flats. Here, Dreamer liked to gaze at the uncountable sky-sparks above. He couldn't remember ever really looking at them before the much-light season, and now he couldn't get enough. So bright, but so impossibly far away that they barely touched the ground with their light.

He had recently asked Wanderer what his name meant and was a little indignant to learn that it implied he was sleeping all the time. With a strangely pained amusement, Wanderer explained – with no small difficulty – that he could see the world as it was not.

So he still didn't know what his name meant, but here, staring up at the twinkling sky, he could almost get a sense of it.

While not nearly as impressive, below was also interesting and the reason of his preference for this perch. A tiny little island, separated by only a thin line of sea, sported little green lights. Some were stationary, others occasionally appeared and wandered around for a little while. There also didn't appear to be a single tree on the island, but there were a lot of strange humped shapes all over it. He was excruciatingly curious, but Wanderer had very loudly and firmly attached danger and death to the place when they had first been able to fly more freely.

For now, he was content with staring from afar. Perhaps when he was bigger and stronger they would investigate.

The position of the sky-sparks told Dreamer the sky-fire would soon kindle, so he extended his wings and stepped out into the wind. Feeling a bit mischievous, he tilted his wings and let the wind flip him onto his back and into a dive.

He squinted a little to let the shape of his snout push the air over his eyes instead of letting it blast into them, and felt a tiny whistle build in his tucked wings. Wanderer could make a better whistle, maybe because he was bigger.

The treetops were beside him when he pulled out of the dive, his protesting wings flipping his momentum back up into the sky. Freefalling up was one of the best feelings in the world and he revelled in it, spinning and mumbling happiness to himself as he defied the fundamental law of the sky.

Once the momentum had bled out, he flipped out his wings and coasted idly back to the cove, taking the scenic route. The sky-sparks were beginning to dim as the sky-fire kindled, but he was thankfully still hidden in darkness when the cove came into view and he spotted the intruder.

Dreamer's blood turned to fire in his veins, there was an intruder in their nest! How did it even get in there? It was much bigger than he or Wanderer, but it did not have wings. Beyond that, he couldn't see much, it was perched on a rock near the water and hunched in on itself. What was it doing? Waiting for him and Wanderer?

…Where was Wanderer?

Panicking, he scanned the cove but there was no sign of his friend, no unmoving black blob in the darkness. A tentative relief settled on him, it was unlikely the intruder had time to fight Wanderer, take him away, then return, and Wanderer had no reason to return early on such a beautiful night.

What should he do? Fighting was unwise, but he couldn't stay in the sky with the sky-fire burning in the water.

He eyed one of the higher cliffs overlooking the cove, it was a safe distance up and had a nice cover of ferns, he could hide with a good view. Not wanting to risk being heard, he glided behind his chosen watch-place and flared his wings to descend slowly and quietly.

Only a pawful of heartbeats passed without sight of the intruder, and it had not moved. Crouching low and peering over the edge with the dry leaves stroking his back, he got a much better look. It seemed to mostly have a very flat fur, except for the very long fur on its top, with a few large grey scales here and there. It was curled in on itself, denying Dreamer a good look at its body.

As the last of the sky-sparks faded, but before the night had really lifted, it looked up. Its eyes both faced forward suggesting it was a hunter, and its face was strangely flat. Dreamer was reminded of some of the bugs he'd found, even more so when it uncurled; its forelegs were freakishly long and thin for its body, and its hindlegs seemed to move at weird joints high in its hindquarters which were covered in long spiked segments.

It got even more bizarre as the hunter-thing slipped down the rock and balanced – not precariously, but surely and confidently – on its two hindlegs, though it had no tail. Forelegs dangling by its sides, it walked towards Dreamer. Had it seen him? No, the entrance to the cove was in that direction, that must be how it got in; its bizarrely tall and narrow body must fit through the crack in the wall.

Dreamer listened to it scuffle its way through the forest until he was sure it wasn't doubling back, then carefully dropped down into the shadows.

The trapped smells of the cove confirmed the land-hunter had been alone, but he couldn't get a good read on its scent. It was as if five different hunter-things and prey-things had been mashed together, he even recognised some of them, and there was a weird sharp earthy undertone. He was still sifting through it all when Wanderer returned, who immediately picked up on the smell with a low growl.

"Here, land-hunter nest-place?" Dreamer offered, if one could get in and out it offered good protection and clean water, but Wanderer flicked a negative with his paw and refused to say more. He seemed very conflicted as he traced the smell from the entrance to the rock, and back again.

Regardless of Wanderer's reaction, Dreamer didn't like it either; this hunter-thing had just wandered into and out of their nest, it could do so again. But should they move? There weren't any good caves nearby, and they didn't know of any other reliable source of water; there had been light showers, but no good rain to replenish the land. He didn't want to fight the land-hunter if he could help it, it was totally alien to him.

For a pawful of nights after that they observed their nest from hiding while the sky-fire kindled and started to fly, and for longer after that they alternately slept in alert almost-sleep under a fern on a small ledge; they were familiar now with the sounds of the cove, but they kept an eye open as well. The land-hunter did not return.

It clawed at Dreamer's insides. What did it want? If it wanted to take their nest he could handle that. If it wanted to steal their food he could handle that. If it wanted their water he would hide and let it drink, as they did with the wing-hunters that sometimes visited during the light, but it had wanted none of those things. Was it specifically after them?

He had to know more, night after night of this was driving them crazy. Wanderer had only repeated danger and death when he had suggested it, so he would just go – carefully – on his own.

As usual he rose with the sinking sky-fire, having been his turn to sleep deeply, completed his morning routine including a tussle with Wanderer, and set to the sky. This night however, when the sky-sparks covered the sky between the sprawling clouds, he swooped down and landed on one of the lower ledges on the north-west side of the precarious spire that topped the small island.

He'd never been this close before, and strange sounds met his ears. Loud barks and cries mostly, wildly varying in pitch and tone without sense or reason, punctuated with regular wooden banging noises. What kind of pack was this? They actively announced their location, though the sheer number of them was daunting; perhaps that was their way of warding off threats.

Slowly, carefully, Dreamer rounded the spire. The eyes of the hunter-thing in their cove didn't look good for night-seeing, and there was so much noise he could crash land here and they wouldn't notice, so he was confident. He tried not to let his curiosity stoke, tried to convince himself that this was purely to put his mind at ease, but part of him was giddy at finally getting a closer look at what he'd stared at from above for so long.

The more he rounded the spire the more light was visible, like the green ground-sparks he would watch from his perch but much stronger. It gave him a good view of one of the nearby humps which appears to be many trees woven and flattened into shape. Very strange.

A little further showed him the light came from a cave in the very rock he crept upon, and spilled down the rocky teeth below. Fires burning at the top of tall rocks flanked the entrance, creating numerous shadows to hide in, but he was wary of approaching further. Dreamer watched a much bulkier tall-land-hunter walk from the cave and down the rock-teeth, and at one of those strange barks it turned around and barked back. It was close enough that he got a very good look at its features and the things it draped itself in.

Then pain lanced through Dreamer's head and his world went black.

Stoick stared sombrely at the fire. It was not doing a very good job of lighting the house, but it didn't matter. He could see his boot, the only one he was wearing and was halfway through undoing. The one he had started undoing half an hour ago.

He sighed, his pillow calling to his weary, sleep-deprived body and mind. Staring at the fire all night would not stave off the inevitable forever. The boot finally removed, he stumbled to bed and stared at the ceiling, praying for peace.

Peace, like Hiccup and Valka had wanted. I don't want to fight dragons. That had been what his son had said a year ago, almost exactly now. He hadn't listened, he had never listened. I promise you dad you can't win this one!

He could, in his mind's eye, only watch as his son flew on the back of that Night Fury, single-handedly plucking friends and the entire village from danger, and then bringing down the immense dragon they had roused.

No… Please Odin, not again... The pair fired directly into the beast's mouth and pulled up just shy of the ground, the beast crashing into it behind them. The shockwave nearly knocked everyone off their feet, and when Stoick looked up he saw it had thrown Hiccup from his dragon which was desperately flapping to reach him again.

Please… A fireball followed moments after, and the pair and the crumpling queen were hidden from view.

"…For a great… man… has fallen…"

No more… He was stumbling through the wake of the dreadful blast, great flakes of ash floating peacefully in the air. "Hiccup! Hiccup!" he shouted into the smoke, but there was no reply. "Son!"

"…a warrior…"

Not again… A black shape materialised in the gloom as he neared, the Night Fury curled on itself and breathing raggedly. He half ran and half staggered to it, finding its saddle, tail apparatus and part of its wing were all twisted, broken and ruined beyond repair.

"…a son…"

No… He was barely aware of a gasp behind him. "Oh son…" He kneeled in front of it and it roused, opening an eye to fix him with a glare. You did this, it said. It was right.

"…a–… a friend."

Stoick was roused by unholy screeches and shrieks from just outside. Pulling himself out of bed, he hastily donned his shoes and coat, then crashed through the door. His mask of chiefly authority was already settled over his face.

By this point, shouting had been added to the din and villagers were streaming from the Great Hall and their houses. He waded his way through the crowd to find Astrid and Snotlout wrestling with something at the base of one of the large torches by the entrance to the Great Hall, the fire casting eerie shadows over them.

"What's going on here?" he bellowed.

"It's not what it looks like sir," Astrid said hurriedly over the shrieks, "we found it like this."

Stoick approached cautiously to see they were wrestling with a shadow, and his breath caught in his throat as his eyes adjusted to its features. "Is that…?"

"A Night Fury? Yeah. A little one." Murmurs behind him spread like wildfire.

What on Midgard…? They'd brought Toothless back with them and kept the listless dragon warm and fed for the winter, but it'd disappeared as soon as the snow started melting. They'd searched as far as they'd dared – the dragon wasn't ever flying again – but hadn't found him.

And now this. Stoick reeled with questions, but they could wait. Had to wait. He reached down and wrapped his hands around the fledgling, making sure to pin its forelegs so that the claws couldn't scratch him, and picked it up.

It thrashed in his hands, beating its head against his wrists, then very suddenly went limp. He quickly loosened his grip, but the little dragon was still breathing if raggedly.

"I call di–" Snotlout started, but was cut off by Astrid elbowing with enough force to drop him to the ground.

"Someone get Fishlegs!" Stoick roared and motioned to Astrid to follow, but found himself facing a wall of villagers. Astrid actually had to wave her axe to give them room to reach Stoick's conveniently close and quiet home.

It wasn't until he was inside that Stoick realised how loud it was out there, people falling over each other for a look at the legendary dragon – though even as he held it Stoick couldn't get a good look in this low light.

He kicked a discarded garment to the fireplace and gently laid the dragon on it, then grabbed some wood and coaxed the fire back to life. Astrid fetched water for two bowls, one she laid next to the dragon and the other she dipped a clean cloth in to wipe at its head. It came back red.

Trying not to jump to conclusions, he let out a slow breath. "From the start, lass."

Astrid nodded while she worked. "We were just hanging out in the Great Hall when we heard the screeching, I grabbed the nearest Viking – Snotlout, typically – and we bolted for the sound. Took us a moment to realise it was coming from on top of the Great Hall, when it damn near fell on us. Once we realised we weren't under attack, we got a closer look and found it clawing at its own head. Just got it pinned when you arrived."

He nodded slowly, and they stared at the dark lump on the floor until there was a nervous knock on the door. Stoick sighed. He would never understand this boy, but at least knew how to deal with him now. With Gothi refusing or unable to treat dragons he'd become the unofficial dragon expert, and they needed his services regularly for the few dragons that had come back with them to Berk and for a few wild dragon problems.

Stoick planted his boot in front of the door and turned the latch. It immediately burst open but only as far as the boot, which allowed him to reach out and grab Fishlegs over his mouth to stop the word-vomit before it could start. "Fishlegs. Serious," he growled, and the boy nodded with wide eyes.

Stoick stepped back and allowed Fishlegs into his house. The boy could be serious when he needed to be, if he sometimes needed reminding, as Stoick observed him checking over the dragon with concerned noises. He and Astrid took a seat as he worked.

"Interesting," Fishlegs murmured at one point, and the three of them jumped as the dragon then screeched and thrashed for a moment before going limp again.

Finally, Fishlegs delicately adjusted the Night Fury on the garment, moved it a little closer to the fire, and kneeled next to it facing Stoick and Astrid. "Well, physically he seems fine by average dragon standards, aside from the scratches on the head." Astrid received a look that said she would be interrogated later. "But, we know next to nothing about Night Furies. Only what Hiccup jotted down in his journal and, well, I hesitate to use what we know of Toothless as a baseline."

"The point, Fishlegs."

"Right, uh, from his reactions I'd say this is some sort of psychological trauma. His mind is being overwhelmed by something. He was found by the Great Hall?" Astrid nodded. "This is weird. He doesn't seem old enough to have been through the sort of experience that would cause… this," he gestured to the dragon, "then somehow make his way here.

"For now he needs to rest. We'll know more when… if he gains consciousness. I'll monitor him and keep this fire stoked."

"It's not staying here Fishlegs. Take it up to the stables."

"All due respect Chief, we are not moving him."

"No."

"We have no idea how fragile he is right now, it could cause permanent damage. And it's much easier to keep him warmer in here, pluuuuus I don't want to introduce him to the other dra–"

"Alright, alright, fine," Stoick interrupted. "Astrid, hand him a blanket from that cupboard. You," he rounded on Fishlegs, "are going to follow your own advice. None of your… dragon nonsense until he's stable."

"But-"

"That's the deal. Unless you have a very good reason, keep your hands to yourself." He turned to see Astrid out before there could be any argument. "Must be Thor's Day," he grumbled to himself while rolling back into bed, "never could get the hang of Thor's Day…"

He grit his teeth when the boy started whispering, but he was reminded of listening to Hiccup furiously scribbling away at the desk in his room above, and let it slide.

The nightmares weren't so bad that night.

Hiccup worked the pedals by Toothless' shoulders and they almost seemed to flip in the air, screaming towards the ground one moment and away from it the next. The thin, smouldering leather had just barely held for the manoeuvre.

The creature behind them had been travelling just as fast however, and they only just got clear of it. Toothless was trying to angle them up and away, but something slammed into them from behind and they were unexpectedly ripped apart and thrown straight up.

Dazed, Hiccup watched Toothless twist in the air and flap to reach him, and then he was enveloped in a tight leathery embrace. The world went dark, but he could hear the fire roaring past them, felt it even through his friend's fireproof hide.

Then there was pain. Hiccup couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, his right arm was gone and he couldn't feel anything further down than an excruciating pain halfway down his back.

He felt oddly calm about it, seeing everything with a cold detachment as if from a distance. He had no reason to panic, to do anything other than wait for death to claim him and see where it led. He let go of his broken body, and the world crackled and sparked away.

Dreaming.

He was dreaming. A long, happy dream, but he was waking up now. He knew because he could remember himself before the dream, unlike a dream where you knew nothing of your waking self.

His head hurt, both a deep throbbing ache inside his skull and a sharp pain on his scalp. Is this Hel? Guess I was never a great Viking after all… Didn't even have a dagger to go out with.

Waiting for the throbbing to lessen, he felt his memories clicking together like a great puzzle. Pieces fit in here and there, forgotten until they rotated and slotted into–

"Toothless!" he tried to shout and jolt upright, but failed at both. What he managed was a strangled sound and a twitch. That set his head off again, but the pain faded more quickly. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and the shape before him resolved into the main room of his house. I'm… in my house? He rolled and was startled by Fishlegs staring at him with wide eyes, about a foot away. You're… in my house…

Hiccup tried to ask what happened, but his mouth refused to form the words. Groggily he raised a hand to his head – Oh, that's not a hand. Haha, I'm still dreaming. This dream apparently did not want him to do anything right now because his head was blindingly painful, so he just closed his eyes and relaxed. What was it that Tuffnut had called this? A lucid dream? Yeah, that was it. Awesome, he'd love to play dragon.

The memories were still slotting into his head, but he couldn't make sense of them. What had happened after the battle?

As if on cue, that memory slotted into place and his eyes painfully jerked open. There was no way he had survived that. Huh. Maybe his soul was actually that of a dragon? That would explain how he'd connected with Toothless so readily. A lot of other stuff too, as he thought about it. He didn't feel cut out for Valhalla anyway.

So, he was in the dragon afterlife? Which was apparently… his house. Fishlegs was here too. Okay, he was still working out the details.

Leaning on his memories as Dreamer – and how appropriate that name seemed now – he worked his dragon body into rising, finding the large bowl of water next to him. It was a little warm from the fire, but fresh and soothing on his parched throat.

He licked the bowl dry and stared at the fire. Hiccup was pretty sure fires weren't normally green, they were… yellow… The thought sent small shooting pains through his head again, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He could almost see the memories now, not slotting into place but converting to his dragon head. He could remember fire was yellow, but not what yellow looked like.

"Ww ltilte guuuy, youw wree rlelay thstiry. I'lll guht youw smoe mroe wtear."

What? Hiccup recognised talking, and he was thinking in Norse, but his ears were picking up tones and sounds that skewed the words to be almost unrecognisable. He could even hear the saliva sticking in Fishlegs' mouth and throat while he worked them.

As he watched Fishlegs retrieve more water, a thought hit him. As if to confirm that thought, a mountain rose from the far end of the room and proceeded to drape itself in furs. Hiccup froze. Part of him was trying to find solace in that this hulking mass was surely his father, but he himself was by all appearances a Night Fury. The two didn't have the best track record together.

The mountain stomped towards him. He could feel the vibrations through his paws, and his wide panicked eyes soaked in every detail, but he couldn't see his father's expression past that enormous beard.

The walking mountain stopped, grumbled to Fishlegs and was passed something with quiet words, then lowered to his knees and hunched over. Hiccup could see his expression now, half of it anyway, and it was full of wonder and questions and completely devoid of malice. In that pose, Stoick shuffled the last few paces and held out a small fish.

Relief washed over Hiccup. Whatever bizarre reality this was it wasn't one where he would be tortured and possibly killed – again? – by his father. Collecting himself, he eyed the fish hungrily. When it was close enough, he leaned forward, gingerly took it in his teeth and swallowed it in two bites; it wasn't a small fish after all, his father just had ridiculously large hands.

Fishlegs returned with the water bowl refilled and Hiccup gratefully lapped up a bit more, listening to the conversation between his father and Fishlegs but not able to understand it. Stoick's attitude was relieved and – separately – resigned. Fishlegs was bouncing on his heels.

Hiccup froze again. Uh oh.

Wanderer paced anxiously in the darkness. He'd circled the area several times now, but no matter what he did he just could not see any way to retrieve Dreamer. He'd heard the cries and rushed towards them to find him being bodily held down by a pair of Long-Paws with more gathering. Panic gripped him; they were torturing his Dreamer, and every shrill shriek dug icy claws into his chest.

He'd been about to jump in with teeth and claws to allow Dreamer to escape, but the giant Long-Paw was suddenly there. Even with Nightstriker blood in the air, even when Dreamer suddenly went still, he knew he couldn't take on that behemoth. It would do neither of them good to both be captured or killed.

He could only watch with some relief to see Dreamer still breathing as they carried him into the nearby flat-tree-den. Wanderer had been prowling for opportunity since; it gave his paws something to do.

So help him, if Dreamer didn't return unharmed he would raze this entire small-land to the sea.

The sky-fire was starting to kindle when Long-Paw sounds emerged from the flat-tree-den. He darted to the back of it and blended into the darkness, keeping his ear close to the wall.

His heart leapt when he heard Dreamer, he was making do not want sounds but they weren't panicked; that was very good. Was that a growl? It was followed by hurt and plaintive Long-Paw noises, and Wanderer felt great pride for him.

Carefully, quietly, Wanderer chirped. Not loud enough for the Long-Paws to hear, but by the sudden silence from inside, Dreamer had heard. He chirped again and a commotion started, crashing and surprised Long-Paw noises, then a hard scratching and incredulous Long-Paw noises that quickly turned to panic.

Then Dreamer was beside him, and they were bounding into the darkness and out of sight before leaping from the nearest cliff.

Under the early light they roared their happiness and relief, and looped in tight circles around each other above the water. Sadly, they were soon forced back to their nest by the rising sky-fire, though having run on panic and worry for most of the night Wanderer was flagging.

As soon as they landed in their nest he was all over Dreamer looking for hurts. The smaller Nightstriker was holding himself well, and the only outer hurts were the shallow scratches on his forehead.

Wanderer snarled and grumbled as he licked at them, but Dreamer shook his paw. "No. Dreamer hurt Dreamer." That didn't make sense and Wanderer was sure it was still somehow the Long-Paws' fault, but Dreamer wasn't holding a grudge so he wouldn't either.

Then there was much cuddling and crooning in the sleeping-nest. Dreamer didn't quite share the same enthusiasm for their reunion – it had only been one night, after all – but Wanderer didn't care. He nuzzled in behind Dreamer's head to breathe his scent, separating it from the myriad of Long-Paw scents, and wrapped him tightly in his wings.

He felt the long breath Dreamer took before he spoke. "What… tall-land-hunters?"

"Long-Paw. Very danger. Stupid Dreamer–"

Dreamer cut him off by bumping his chin, and took another shaky breath. "Wanderer, Dreamer friend… before Dreamer Nightstriker…?"

Wanderer went rigid. Dare he hope again? It had been far too long…

"When… Dreamer Long-Paw?"

The wing snapped and Wanderer's emotions burst forth. He keened and whined, grappling to hold Dreamer – the real Dreamer – tightly to him. For so long he had been alone and lost, until this fragile long paw had somehow, miraculously, established a connection between them. Despite everything Wanderer had done to its nest, this fledgling had not seen an enemy. It had seen him, as an individual, and as one it wanted to help just for the sake of helping, and the bond they kindled had grown stronger with each night.

Wanderer had wanted so much for his impossible Long-Paw to live, had grasped at straws and it seemed to work but it was an impossible thing and then it wasn't his Dreamer but that was impossible also, and he didn't know what to think…

Wanderer whined and wailed all of this and more without restraint while Dreamer just held to him firmly, purring happiness and reassurance, until eventually – somewhere between twitching his failure to protect and mumbling guilty regret for not blasting the giant Long-Paw when he had the chance – the exhaustion claimed him, and he fell into a light but comfortable sleep.

Author's Notes

For those who hadn't worked it out already I didn't want to spoil things. Now that the Terror's out of the sack I can give a huge shout out to Brothers of Night, my primary inspiration for this work. It's an amazing fic and I highly recommend reading it if you haven't already.

Of course, this will be my own take on a Dragon-Hiccup story and is (as far as I've written) quite different from anything I've read so far, some of which will be evident in the next chapter. Speaking of, this will update weekly for the immediate future and hopefully I can maintain my buffer to continue posting regularly (may drop to 1-2 weeks due to interference by that pesky 'life' thing).

Constructive criticism is welcome, general feedback and thoughts are greatly appreciated (if you review chapters as you go I will love you forever), and I hope you enjoy! ^_^