Author's Note

It's been brought up with me a few times, enough that I might as well address this here for any new readers – I am aware this type of colour deficiency is not normal for reptiles. In fact it's not normal for anything as far as I can tell, and I've put a fair amount of research into it because it's the type of colour deficiency I myself have. The upcoming scene is my own description of events.

I'll admit, this is mainly for convenience. I honestly have no idea what colour any of the canon dragons are (as I quickly forget), and colour is one of the last identifying features of anything for me, so not only do I not need to run to someone every time I want to mention colour but I'm given an excuse for why it's not often used to describe things. It does give me quite good night vision though, and I can easily see through many types of camouflage that others can't, so in some ways I consider it an advantage. Enough to give me some realistic ground to give it to my Nightstrikers.

Dreamer's eyes were narrowed to slits, legs responding to the path through the trees that his mind was constantly calculating, paws flexing to grip the icy ground as they made impact. The smell of greenery wormed its way through the chill snow, and the only sounds were the occasional breeze whistling through the frozen trees and Wanderer bounding along ahead of him.

How they had missed this… Being fed was simply not the same as hunting their own meals, and with the other dragons all off on their warm egg-nest, as Wanderer had called it, they safely had free reign of the forest. About the only thing that even could give them trouble here was a pack of wolves, which would steer clear of their fellow predators now that they were almost the same size.

Wanderer stopped suddenly and Dreamer pulled up beside him, both nosing at the small thicket with mouths watering. Breakfast. They prowled around the thicket, probing it, mapping its exits, trying to determine how many prey-things were inside; at least two. Dreamer let instinct take over, but left a small portion of himself to observe. Wanderer silently took the lead of the hunt, and with miniscule movements had Dreamer take up a position and wait to ambush. Just by reading where Wanderer was looking, Dreamer already knew the plan.

Wanderer started clawing at the shrubs, and the first rabbit shot from the foliage to be immediately snapped up, but a second and third got past him. That was good, Dreamer had been hoping for a proper hunt. He tossed the rabbit dangling from his teeth at the thicket, hoping it would still be there when they returned, and took chase after the closer one.

Rabbits were very, very fast and agile prey, so special tactics were needed to catch them. From a little distance behind Dreamer could cut corners to catch up, but the closer he got the closer he had to follow its path and the less he could do to gain on it. A body-length behind – that included his long tail – and he could gain no further.

But behind them, Wanderer could gain. As the rabbit darted and swerved through the trees, Dreamer pulled a little out to the side, encouraging it to turn the other way and into Wanderer, who then took up the lead to herd it into Dreamer. They tag-teamed like this several times, until finally Dreamer got in front of it and its fluffy white fur met Wanderer's sharp white teeth.

Panting, they returned to the thicket where Wanderer noisily crunched his catch in half, but Dreamer just stared at his own. It was the first thing larger than a mouse that he'd killed since regaining his memories, and he'd done it without thought. He was no ignorant child, and he knew that the moment he unsheathed his teeth he'd be able to keep biting and shredding, but this first step… It was an intellectual one, a conscious decision to join the wild forces of nature.

An enquiring warble brought him back to reality. "I thinking," Dreamer replied and tore the rabbit in half, finding with mild surprise that the long fur didn't really bother him.

"Night you not thinking is night you need new name," Wanderer teased as he cleaned his claws.

Dreamer stuck his bloody tongue out at him, then gulped down the other half of his catch. His mind had gotten in the way of his enjoyment of it, but he just needed time to process. Next hunt he would not waver. The whole 'turned into a dragon' thing still occasionally tripped him up, even as used to it as he was, but he was slowly finding a balance between the Viking and the Nightstriker.

It was curious that he enjoyed hunting now when he had not as a Viking. Granted, they were wildly different experiences, and comparing his old body to his new one was like comparing a rusty hinge to an oiled bearing. The gnarly bark on a nearby tree caught Dreamer's eye, and he had a sudden urge to climb it; part of him was curious about his body's limitations, but mostly he just wanted to climb for the fun of it. Wanderer watched as he tentatively gripped the bark with his claws, did the same with his hind-claws, and crept up the tree. Nightstriker claws were shorter and thicker than other dragons', and he found them handling his weight with ease. The pull on them even felt good, sort of like stretching a stiff joint.

Before he knew it, he was a few body-lengths from the ground and had reached the lowest branch. It had been so easy and took so little effort that he angled around to the lowest branch and climbed out along it, upside down. That was only marginally more difficult, his forelegs not being quite as strong, but with his claws dug in firmly he could sort of half-walk, half-swing along the branch.

Wanderer nipped his tail, apparently having followed, then slung his own tail over the branch and hung upside down from it. Ooooh, I gotta try that… Dreamer pulled his hindlegs up and snaked his tail over the branch, but it was nerve-wracking trying to get it to support his weight without it pulling his claws out. Below him, Wanderer chirped and waved, but Dreamer took little notice. He was busy trying to–

With a squeak, his top half fell away from the branch and wrenched away his hind-claws, leaving him to… swing. He was swinging by his tail! He let out a happy croon and spread out his legs and wings, dangling high off the ground like a giant black fruit. Nearby, Wanderer reached up to grab the branch and shuffle closer so that they could just about reach each other, then swiped at Dreamer with a playful growl.

What followed was a very interesting game of tag, where neither of them could move and they had four limbs to strike with instead of one or two. Dreamer frantically slapped away paws darting at him, nearly losing his tail's grip on the branch a few times, but managed to get in a few strikes of his own. Including, he was quite proud to accomplish, landing a strike on a startled Wanderer's nose. The fact that Wanderer had been biting his other foreleg at the time was beside the point.

This was another curiosity, he was now enjoying rough play. It went back to his wondering of how much of thought was influenced by the body, such as with his sudden drop back behind puberty, and he suspected having a body that liked being exercised was the biggest part of that. He hoped so, anyway; there were more disturbing reasons his thoughts could be different.

Wanderer got a good kick in with his hindlegs while he was spacing out, and for a crucial moment Dreamer forgot to use his tail – his heart leapt into his throat as he slipped from the branch. Without thinking he reflexively twisted in the air and flared his wings, and quite to his own surprise he landed squarely on his paws, if firmly. He could pretend that was all planned, and that he hadn't shrieked on the way down. He glared up at Wanderer who looked back at him innocently, still hanging upside down.

…We are so adorable, Dreamer thought to himself. It was a pity everyone was so accommodating by default, even his sire, he almost wanted to try his arsenal of cute on someone. Wanderer had certainly had no qualms practising on him while trapped in the cove, and the adult dragon's pleading eyes had been near impossible to resist. Now that he was also tiny? That would be very dangerous.

They took wing and let the wind carry them up onto the flat above them where they perched to watch the sky-fire kindle in the water. Dreamer shivered – there was no shelter from the cold wind here – and wrapped himself in his wings while Wanderer did the same next to him.

He dreaded going back to their den, what they would find when they got there, but did his best to shove the thoughts from his head, they only served to boil his blood. Think about something else. Slowly, surely, the sky began to glow, and colour returned to the world. Some of it. Gone from the sky were the passionate reds, majestic oranges and fiery yellows, all replaced with a smear of cool green across the horizon. He couldn't even remember what a sunrise had looked like before, not that he had watched many.

"What word for look different? Sky, grass, blood. Sky, sea same. Grass, trees same."

"Rrmm… Colour. Why ask?"

"Long-Paws see more colours. Fire not colour of grass, it other colours."

"Fire not blood-colour, grass-colour?" Wanderer warbled in confusion.

"It more blood-colour, but no grass-colour. It… other colours." This was difficult to explain. How could he describe a colour he couldn't see or remember? He couldn't even say their names anymore. For that matter, how does one describe a colour at all?

Wanderer unwrapped himself, then nosed his way under Dreamer's wing and sidled up next to him, draping one wing over his shoulders and wrapping the other in front of them. Dreamer mirrored him, one wing draped over their rumps and the other in front of them as well so that they were a single bundle of warmth with only their heads and tails sticking out. It was much easier to talk like this. "Sky-fire-kindling blood-colour, two more colours, like fire. Trees different colour, but leaves grass-colour. More, rare colours in plants, small-wing-things."

"That too many colours," Wanderer remarked flatly.

"I not remember them. I know fire not grass-colour, but I not remember what look like. It strange." He couldn't stop picking over his memories, he could remember thinking about the beauty but the memory of the sunrise itself was distorted and wrong. Just as he couldn't describe the colours, his mind could no longer comprehend them even though it had the memory of it.

As he had talked, the sky-fire had appeared from the water, a little speck, and was now swelling and blazing brighter as they watched. Dreamer felt his eyes automatically filtering out the light, not quite the same way his human eyes had. Strange as it was, his sight was the biggest difference; he still had muscles, skin, teeth, nails, ears, a nose, and they all worked in the same way if usually better, but these eyes were alien.

The sight in front of him changed – the flat, dirty green across the horizon slowly gave way to a warmer green, and then a blazing green. The sky around that brilliant light shone in a vast array of tones that he wouldn't have thought possible, he didn't even have the words to do it justice. The sky-fire seemed to engulf the sky above it, like a plume of fire from an enormous dragon, and the ocean stretching out far below them was set ablaze. There even was a bit of red, if he looked closely, but it was lost in the overwhelming and vibrant shades.

There was a familiar sensation in his head, not painful this time, and he watched the memory of the sunrise twist into focus. No longer an explosion of colour, but now an explosion of tone and no less beautiful. Maybe this was why it had apparently taken so long for his memories to surface, on their own they were just too foreign for this mind to understand.

Those thoughts never led anywhere good so he put all that aside for now, focusing on the view, and the bits of his mind that weren't content to sit idle were set to thinking of the upcoming Thing. How he'd love to go, help convince the other tribes that dragons can be friendly, helpful creatures and show how amazing they were, but he had no way to suggest it without throwing Berk into chaos. He toyed with the idea of going along anyway, but there were too many wildcards. Best case scenario, his father would tell the truth so as to not appear hostile, that the Nightstrikers were wild and had simply followed him, but that would make them fair game to the other Chiefs.

So that particular dream was shot down, but perhaps circumstances would change and he'd be able to go another year. If not, maybe the other tribes would come around on their own when they saw how successful Berk was with dragons, in time. Or he'd come up with some other plan, when they were bigger and Wanderer stopped mothering him about danger all the time.

With the sky-fire resolving into its usual painfully bright ball, there wasn't much else to sit around for. Dreamer cracked a wide yawn and stretched – the cold had seized his wings somewhat – before dropping from the cliff to soar back to their nest. His sire would probably be leaving soon, and he wanted to see him off. It had nothing to do with not wanting to go back to their den, no, they had decided to take a stand and show it wasn't bothering them.

They took a bit of a detour when Wanderer nipped his tail, starting an impromptu game of chase, and arrived at the docks just in time to see the Chief's boat raise the sail and stow the oars. It was a beautiful thing, narrow and sleek with a well-polished hull and a clean sail proudly sporting the Berk crest, and the prow still featured a fearsome dragon though Dreamer felt its symbology had changed.

Thankfully the distance of the boat out to sea meant little to one with wings. He dove, feeling his heart skip as his weight vanished, and pulled up just before the water to shoot out across it with Wanderer on his tail. They reached the boat in moments and wheeled around it to the enthusiastic roars of the Vikings on the deck.

Stoick himself stood facing the ship from its prow, his expression unreadable between his helmet and facial hair, and as he turned and leaned on the railing he seemed… not quite happy, that wasn't the right word, but satisfied. He stood well and held his head high. There were fewer cracks in his shell, and while he undoubtedly still hurt underneath it all this meant he was slowly healing. As much as anyone could from such loss. Not for the first time, and unlikely for the last, Dreamer wished things could be different.

He decided to send them off with some style, and laboured up high into the air in front of the ship. Wanderer pulled up next to him, but Dreamer didn't need to say anything. Like with the hunt, they could read each other quite well in many ways, and Wanderer's look said approval.

When the boat was a mere speck far below, they let their momentum die. It was strange being this high in the light, and a little daunting, but he felt reassured being this close to their nest. With a glance at Wanderer, he tucked his head down, pulled his rump up, and launched himself back towards the sea. He felt as much as heard his whistle build, now steady and a bit deeper, but Wanderer's was still better. The slightly different notes mixed well and sent an exciting shiver down Dreamer's spine.

He eyed the water as it approached, making slight adjustments to bring them down right in front of the boat. At the last moment they threw their wings out and screeched past either side, maintaining their harmonious tones, to skim the water back towards Berk with woops and cheers on their tails.

Fishlegs put away his book – not the disorganised mess of notes, this was a first draft structured compilation of knowledge and it was time to test its value. Meatlug shuffled excitedly at his side, her great body radiating warmth against the chill and her claws clicking on the path only recently visible through the melting snow.

He entered the training ring to find Tuffnut sat cross-legged and playing with the Furies. "No. No! Give it back," he playfully chided, wrestling Toothy for something. Hiccup was sprawled across his lap, on his side and playfully but lethargically waving a paw at the tussle. "Wait your turn! Hey!" Toothy snatched the thing and scooted back, watching Tuffnut with his chest to the ground and hindquarters in the air.

"Hey Tuff, having fun there?"

"Huh? Oh, hey Fish. Yeah, something's up with these two today... Having trouble putting my finger on it…" He stroked his own chin with one hand, and Hiccup's with the other, ignoring Toothy strafing around him.

"Sure there's not just something up with you?" Fishlegs tried, it seemed good in his head but lame the moment he spoke it.

"There's always something up with me," Tuffnut replied thoughtfully. "Right now, I can't, leave, this, ring…"

"Why?"

"…Erm, there was a reason for it. Hang on." He gently set Hiccup down and casually walked towards the entrance, but in short order Toothy was winding between his legs and Hiccup pounced him from behind so that he tripped and fell. The two Furies then sat on him. "Oh yeah, that's why. Little help?" Toothy dropped the thing on his head, a slimy brush.

Fishlegs revealed the two salmon he'd brought and slung them across the ring, Tuffnut groaning painfully as the dragons leapt from his back. "That's weird, they're not normally this clingy… Are they?"

"They're not clingy," Tuffnut replied matter-of-factly. "They just don't want me to leave. Hel if I know why, but something's had them spooked for a little while now." He leaned in closer and spoke quietly. "I think Ruffnut's ugly face might be getting to them… Sometimes, it even gives me nightmares…"

"Hmph!" Fishlegs stalked past him indignantly, then addressed the two Furies with a short sound to get their attention. Moment of truth… He jerked his chin a little towards his chest, then at the Furies, made a twitchy shrugging motion while flaring his arms out a little, and then tilted his head to the left and remained still.

The little frills on the dragons' faces went out, and they shared a quick glance with each other, but then stared at him with their heads tilted to the left. Left, wait which is left, ugh why do I keep mixing those up… He pulled out his book again and flipped to 'head motions' to check. Left was… 'general query'. Whoops.

He repeated the actions, but shrugged twice for present tense and then tilted his head right at the end to indicate he was asking a question. He was just so nervous, and he didn't have wings so was making do. But then, Stormfly didn't have forelegs so hopefully they were used to interpreting.

Clearly something had got across, they were chittering excitedly between themselves. Hiccup then took a step forward and repeated him, except after flicking his head to his chest, meaning I or me, he swept it across towards Toothy. That must mean we or us, Fishlegs thought excitedly, and pulled out his Dragonese notebook to draw the symbol he'd invented for 'head' and a crude line indicating the direction of movement. It wasn't a perfect system, but it made notes a lot easier.

He realised he'd forgotten to answer as he stashed the book, and shook his head; not laterally like the human no, but in a quick rolling tilt to each side. He felt like he was violently sneezing and it was Hel on his neck, but it had the desired effect.

Hiccup flapped his wings and bounced impatiently while Fishlegs mounted Meatlug, but Toothy went to Tuffnut and tapped a paw on the ground in front of him. "Uh, I think that means 'stay'," Fishlegs offered.

"Yeah, kinda got that." Tuffnut leaned backwards, and Toothy growled and slapped the ground a little harder. "See? Think when you come back, you can ask what's going on? I'm gonna sneak out, I'm starving."

"Huh? Oh, yeah…" Fishlegs was busy scribbling again, and barely noticed when Meatlug lifted them into the air.

It had only been to initiate contact, asking if they would fly with him was the most complete sentence he could currently say in Dragonese, but it felt like a huge step forward. Stoick was constantly on his case about training the two Furies, Thor only knew why, but as Astrid had said it was proving very difficult to coax them into doing anything they didn't feel like doing. Looks like they'd trained Tuffnut better than anyone had been able to train them. Hopefully being able to talk to them directly would completely circumvent the need for training, or at least open up new methods, either was good as long as it kept the Chief happy.

Toothy and Hiccup swooped around him, much faster than Meatlug but darting back and forth to stay close. Fishlegs thought of Hiccup flying on the back of Toothless, and the sheer speed they had been going in the fight with the Green Death as they were now calling it. They had been so practised, so sure in their twists and turns. Nothing like safe little Meatlug, simply being a mile in the air was adventurous enough as far as Fishlegs was concerned. Hiccup had clearly been crazy.

As crazy as this one, he thought as the smaller Night Fury folded both wings and rolled several times in the air before shakily catching himself. He watched Toothy perform the same manoeuvre flawlessly, then repeated it a little better.

They did a lap of the main island, Fishlegs frantically scrawling in three separate notebooks for much of the flight. He kept a wary eye as best he could, but no adult Night Furies came to meet them even when the pair dove with Night Fury screeches – much more timid than Toothless' – and roared happily at each other. He had so many questions.

When they landed back in the now empty ring – Toothy huffed and grumbled at the gate before returning to his stable – Hiccup barked to get Fishlegs' attention, a sound that Fishlegs had so far interpreted as 'want to say something', then made a sinister pose. He was crouched low, his forelegs padded on the spot, and his teeth were bared. Huh? Fishlegs tilted his head to the left, what?

Hiccup looked at him blankly for a moment, then bounded towards Stormfly's stable, and with a glance back at Fishlegs he crept inside. He only crossed the threshold before turning back, then twitched his chin towards his chest and made the same motion as before.

Fishlegs scratched his cheek. "You're… in Stormfly's nest… You're intruding in her nest! Oh wow, this is going to be so much easier with you guys on board… Wait, the only reason you would be telling me this…" He wanted to be sure, so motioned I, then an approximation of intrude, and walked just inside the Zippleback stable. Hiccup replied yes with a shake of his head.

Hiccup made the motion again, but this time at the entrance to their own nest, then turned to look at him with his head lowered – about half as far as apology – and eyes wide, pleading him.

That explained everything with Tuffnut, but they quickly found Fishlegs' limits with the language trying to go into more detail. It was so frustrating, neither of them could communicate properly like this, Fishlegs couldn't ask who it was or what they were doing, and the dragons couldn't explain to him anyway.

He approached Hiccup and crouched down, laying a hand on his head. "I will find out," he said as reassuringly as he could, and Hiccup crooned and nuzzled his cheek. Hmm, that might be 'thank you'… He hopped onto Meatlug and guided her back to the village, still scribbling.

Stoick was at the Thing, but while technically Gobber and Spitelout were in charge this was more in Astrid's boat. She tasked Fishlegs with learning more Dragonese, and would try to keep an eye on the stables when out flying with Stormfly, the rest of the riders were then brought up to speed and they promised to keep watch as well. Or close enough to. Tuffnut had actually promised to booby-trap the ring and personally do a number of unspeakable things to anyone caught anywhere near the place, and had only stopped when Ruffnut clobbered him.

The Furies seemed keen on teaching him their language. They would go for their early morning flight, return for a nap, then meet him at his house for an hour or so. They had originally used the training ring, but on the second day it had rained and this was easier anyway. He quickly picked up that almost everything relating to actions was body language, while abstract concepts were generally sounds which proved much more difficult both to understand and to speak. Objects could be either or both, so were hit and miss.

He was shown how to count, which was as simple as holding claws down, and used it as a fraction for the time of day. Holding forward two claws on one paw – out of four – while making the motion for sky and the sound for fire – which could only mean sun – meant halfway through the day. For more accurate times they might indicate both paws for a factor of eight. They were then able to tell him the intruder usually appeared at mid-morning, maybe once a week or so, but left nothing tangible.

After a particularly exhausting language lesson a few days after their first conversation, Toothy and Hiccup left only for Hiccup to return a few minutes later, yowling unhappily and scratching at the door. Meatlug had probably gone back to her stable, but Astrid had Stormfly and should be brought along anyway so Hiccup quickly tracked her down and the four of them made the short flight to the ring.

Toothy was snarling at his stable, and when they peeked in it was evident why. Fishlegs made to go in but stopped and tilted his head, remembering to the right to ask a question, and was given permission to retrieve the fat eel. The way Toothy was reacting, Fishlegs was holding the physical manifestation of the most offensive insult to his mother, and Hiccup was gagging. Even Stormfly, settled near the entrance to the ring, bared her teeth and shied back. They really didn't like these things. If only they'd known that decades, centuries ago…

While things had clearly escalated, this still didn't give them a single lead to go on. The knowledge had been passed to farmers and anyone else still having problems with wild dragons, mostly those with property on the island proper, and they could have told anybody. The eels themselves were easy to get hold of, simply being part of the distribution of food to everyone in the village.

Fishlegs exited the arena to sling the eel into the ocean, then returned to confer with Astrid. They were both very protective of the little Furies and what – who – they represented, and their faces were cold and hard. The Furies themselves seemed remarkably calm about it, though the perpetrator seemed more interested in scaring or making them uncomfortable than going for actual harm.

"Can you smell the intruder, track them?" Astrid asked the pair, but just got blank stares back.

Hmm. Fishlegs motioned you, smell, intruder, question.

He apparently needed to learn a new word first, as Hiccup trotted to their stable and motioned I, then made a word by angling his head and tail out to the same side while humming calmly.

"That's your stable, your– your nest!" He pointed towards Berk and repeated the actions.

Yes, Hiccup replied, then we, no, smell, intruder, nest.

There could be a lot of reasons for that, but Berk's most vocal anti-dragon activist didn't live in the village. "That's very helpful, thanks little guy," he said as he approached to give the little Fury a firm two-handed scratch behind his ears, and Hiccup crooned and stretched into the gesture. Of course, he didn't forget to jot down nest, though that was trickier as he was still having to describe sounds.

It took him a few moments to notice Astrid looming over him. Well, Stormfly was looming over him and flexing her tail spines, though he wasn't sure which of the two was more intimidating. "Uh, they can't smell the intruder in the village," he blurted out.

"Well, that makes a certain rat muncher a lot more interesting, but we still need to find something solid. Not that we weren't already keeping an eye on him, so really we're no further." Astrid's voice was tense and frustrated, and Fishlegs could only nod glumly. It was a breakthrough, but nonetheless they were no further than they had been. "Still, we can confirm it's him, though it won't be considered proof. I'll… obtain something and we'll check with the Furies that it's the same scent."

He probably should have thought of that, but he was still excited at practically applying Dragonese. As long as one of them thought of the important stuff, right?

Astrid found him later that evening and brought him to the training ring to translate, where she gingerly pulled out a scrap of cloth that had been cut from something. It turned out she didn't need him to translate, the growls spoke for themselves. Fishlegs and Astrid stared darkly at each other, not needing to voice the name; Mildew. It was only confirming their suspicions, but it posed a problem because his isolation meant nobody ever knew where he was. He was an intelligent and careful man, and the best dragon hunter in memory for some thirty years before age left him hobbled. Reaching old age itself was unheard of for such avid fighters.

They talked it over while the Furies wrestled, and decided the best thing they could do was ensure that at least one person or dragon was in the stables at all times. It would dissuade him from further harassing the Furies in their nest, and if he changed tactics he might slip up.

Now they could only wait and see.

Stoick stared over the melting ocean from the prow of his ship, concern set into his features. At last year's Thing, many had scoffed at his claim that the dragon raids would slow if not cease completely, particularly the Berserker aids if not Oswald himself. At this year's Thing, everyone had taken him much more seriously.

Berk hadn't suffered a single raid, and the other Chieftains had confirmed similar stories. There were still wild dragons that would occasionally attack fishing boats or travellers, but they now had no interest in the Viking settlements. Stoick hadn't been sure what that would mean for the non-aggression pact, but all the Chiefs there had agreed to maintain it. There were others they could raid, and none much felt like fighting each other.

Which would have been all well and good, had the Berserkers been one of those present.

Oswald the Agreeable lived up to his name, but there were rumours of rumours. Something had happened, everyone agreed on that, but nobody yet knew what. It had made everyone nervous; the Berserkers were notoriously bloodthirsty, and though they were a splintered tribe they would be formidable if united.

He looked forward to seeing the Furies again, to feeling something akin to warmth in his heart, and to remind himself that Berk wasn't defenceless. Hopefully they would have their fire soon, there was a very real chance Berk would need that incredible ranged firepower, though training them was apparently not going well. Hmph, if Hiccup left 'such detailed notes' then Fishlegs should be able to work it out.

Sighing, Stoick pinched the bridge of his nose. This spring would be just as tense as usual.

The skies above Berk were a patchwork of clouds and misting rain, the tiny drops glittering where the sunlight struck them. From up here it was fascinating to watch the rain fall down to the ocean and islands, so different to fly through and around than to stand in.

With a flick of a wing before tucking both in tight, Dreamer quickly rolled several times in the air before gracefully catching himself, then did the same in the other direction just as flawlessly. Yes! Finally! He'd been having much more trouble with the clockwise roll.

He wiggled proudly at Wanderer, who perked out all his frills in a Nightstriker smile. Then Wanderer's mouth curled up into a mischievous grin, and he flapped ahead a little to perform the same manoeuvre – during a backflip. The drag pulled him back, and he tidily caught himself dead even with Dreamer. He still had the exact same smile, as if it had never left his face, but now it was smug.

Dreamer glared at him. Show off.

In the distance he could see the sea stacks they had wildly careened through during their first real flight together, where they had cemented their strange friendship in a medley of trust, adrenaline, and fear. He was confident with catching himself now, time to try something he'd always been curious about…

He took a deep breath… and folded his left tail fin.

…

Nothing happened. His tail was a little heavier, but he remained level in the air and could compensate for the twist his lopsided tail was trying to pull him into. Huh. His mind was frantically searching for what he was missing, Wanderer was a much better flyer and it had completely crippled him.

Automatically, without thought, he flapped – that was when things went wrong. His body rose, but his tail didn't. The unbalanced drag twisted him to the side where his wings couldn't compensate or hold the air properly, and the more he flapped to correct himself the worse it got until he was practically in freefall. He wrestled with the air trying to get his wings upright, but they wouldn't work properly without that one tiny fin, his heavy tail kept dragging him down.

He saw Wanderer diving next to him, wings flared a little to keep level with Dreamer and concern all over his face. Oops, he probably should have warned his friend what he was doing. It was quite clear he wasn't getting anywhere anyway, so he opened all his fins and easily regained control.

Bleeding some of their momentum into elevation, they levelled out next to each other. "What you do?" Wanderer asked.

Dreamer angled a little so Wanderer could see him twitch his left tail fin. "Fly with one tail-fin." Wanderer barked a laugh at that, and threw himself into several complex manoeuvres. Well, at least he found his personal maiming amusing.

The guilt bit Dreamer harder than ever. It had been a time of war, they were on opposite sides and Wanderer had done far worse to them, but he still felt bad. It seemed a good time to go through some things; teaching Fishlegs their language – Dragonese, he'd called it – had improved his own fluency.

So after rolling on the damp stone of the training arena, more for the pleasant sensation than actually cooling off from their flight, he broached the first topic eating at him. "Before we friends… when you attack this nest… when you grounded–"

"Yes, I know that you. I see you in that dive, smell you on… thing that hit me." Wanderer was giving Dreamer his attention, but he spoke nonchalantly. This really didn't matter to him.

"I know it silly… our nests were fighting, but feel bad for your tail-fin. I very sorry."

Wanderer barely let Dreamer's nose touch the floor before nuzzling under his chin, lifting it in forgiveness and purring happy, safe. He'd known in his head Wanderer wasn't angry or upset about it, but this helped him to accept it in his heart.

Belatedly he remembered to check for Fishlegs – their conversations were no longer private behind a language barrier – but it was just paranoia, there was nobody peeking over the rim of the ring and none of the Long-Paw smells were fresh. Only Meatlug dozed lazily in her den, her back to them, and Dreamer had learned that their language was much simpler than the Nightstrikers' and she wouldn't understand even if she did eavesdrop.

It still had him a little rattled, so he motioned to their den to take the conversation there. Feeling a bit more secure, tucked away as they were, he had something else nagging at him. "Need know… I… same Dreamer? Not Nightstriker with Dreamer memory? How I change?"

Wanderer paused to think before speaking. "I not know what me, what you. I know I Wanderer, you Dreamer. We friends, fly together always. Not need know more." When he saw this was not enough for Dreamer, he continued. "We not can create new life without female, new body… empty. I think you Dreamer."

As reassuring as it was, Dreamer couldn't shake the idea that he was a copy, just Hiccup's memories plastered over a Nightstriker shell. He tried to put that thought aside, but felt it lurking in the back of his mind. As it had been for a while already, he realised.

He shuffled up to nestle under Wanderer's wing, not unlike he had in the last few days they'd spent in the cove before his sire had returned. The nights he'd slept under dragon wing had been the most restful and peaceful he'd ever known as Hiccup, and he needed some of that comfort now. Whoever I am, I am me, he told himself. He could almost believe it.

…

"Wait, we? I can make new body?"

Chuff. "You Nightstriker now. I not see why not."

Dreamer wasn't sure he wanted to know… but… "How?"

Wanderer crooned thoughtfully. "Nightstrikers learn when firelings… You not have hatchling-mind, but you hatchling Nightstriker. One night, when you ready, I tell." That was both frustrating and a relief.

It was still light, but they'd been flying hard, Wanderer was purring sleep and lightly grooming him, and it felt so good to obey his heavy eyelids…

Reclining in a creaky armchair and shuffling to comfortably fit his bones against the wood, Mildew allowed himself a small smile. What he had set in motion for tonight was just the beginning, in a few weeks he would have the whole village riled up enough that he could kill those unholy abominations himself and be celebrated for it, just like the old days.

They had seemed unfazed by having their filthy nest painted in hostile smells, or they were just particularly stubborn beasts. Perhaps the eel had been a bit far, but those brats somehow seemed wary and had been limiting his access. Well, it was a riskless play, no harm done. Ohh, to be ten years younger, he would have simply skewered the scaly rats and tossed the bodies into the sea, but these days he wasn't spry enough to be dodging fireballs.

No matter. He could whisper from the shadows, putting voice to the dark thoughts that everyone still harboured towards the beasts, and have others do the dirty work for him. There would be nothing linking him to events.

He laced his fingers behind his head and watched the door, waiting patiently for Stoick the Dimwit to blunder in with a list of allegations and no evidence.

There was the usual racket in the fuggy Great Hall while dinner was served, but long years of carrying water buckets during dragon raids honed the ability to pick up one very specific word over any din.

"Fire!"

Similarly, the appropriate response was drilled in deep, and even after all this time Astrid had vaulted the table and was halfway out the huge doors before she consciously processed what was going on. The thick smoke was the first thing she saw, lit from below by the torches down the path, and as she neared she could see the hazy light spilling from the open door of a small storehouse.

Grabbing a bucket from the nearest fire station, she muttered a curse as she found the barrel empty. They'd gotten lazy with no fires to fight. She blasphemed at the second station, and the third, but finally at the fourth station she knocked on the barrel and was rewarded by a dull dok. "Water here!" she shouted, grimacing at her shrill voice. Thankfully she didn't need to shriek orders too, everyone had been on fire duty at some point and knew what to do.

She quickly handed out buckets, filling them in moments from the broad tap and there was soon a steady stream of people rushing back and forth. Those in nearby homes were also pulling out any water they had on hand.

After filling countless buckets and all but draining the barrel, the trail of people stopped, and she stretched her stiff back before striding back to investigate. Stoick was already there, towering over a balding man, so Astrid did her best to peer inside at the damage.

Thick smoke billowed around inside, but what she could see of the small storehouse did not look good. It had taken too long to get the water, and the fire had spread quickly. The damage was worst where a pile of weapons had been – now just hiltless lumps of black iron next to a charred hole in the wall – but had spread to the barrels of preserved meats. Some of the barrels had split and spilled their contents to the ground to be ruined by the flames, thankfully there was no shortage these days but it had still been good food.

"Astrid," her name piqued her attention just before Stoick's giant hand rested on her shoulder. "You better handle this one."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but nodded and strode to the man he'd been interrogating, doing her best to mimic Stoick's chiefly authority. She seemed to manage, the man was slightly taller than her and twice as broad but eyed her uncertainly as she approached. She stopped a pace away, folded her arms, and stared at him expectantly.

He didn't speak, just pointed at a nearby house. It took her a moment, but she quickly picked out the four bright green eyes staring from the roof.

"You saw them?" she growled, but he only nodded and remained silent. She continued staring, making a slight motion with her hand for him to proceed, but he stared flatly back at her. This is going nowhere… She stopped trying to mimic Stoick and threw on her own brand of authority, one borne of working with dragons and better suited to the heat starting to boil through her body. "Give me your own words for it," she snarled, setting her stance and bristling.

"I… saw them enter… blue lights… they flamed it," he stammered, thrown off by the sudden change.

"Hah, ac–" Fishlegs started, Astrid hadn't even seen him there, but she whirled her ire towards him and he cut off, going white.

"Anybody else see it?" she called to the crowd, and a few hands went up. "Over here." She waved them all towards a clear space opposite the storehouse with her axe – she couldn't even remember drawing it – and spoke in a slow seriousness but remained offensively postured. "You all give your word that you saw the two Night Furies set fire to this storehouse, as accounted by this man?" She pointed her axe to the first witness.

They were all a little less sure, being put on the spot like this, but none of them moved away. She eyed over the four men and two women, knowing their type; old, grizzled, mangy hair, tattered clothes, most sporting missing limbs or hideous scars or both. One of the women had hollow, sunken eyes. Astrid didn't like to be prejudiced, but these people all had signs of being hurt by dragons, and being from smaller clans or no clan at all. The same type she'd been dealing with constantly while integrating Stormfly and the other dragons into the village.

"Everyone who housed the Furies over winter, there," she pointed down one direction of the street, "and everyone else over there," she pointed the other direction. People were confused, but moved quickly enough when they met her gaze.

There were maybe twenty people present who had hosted the dragons, including many of her own family, and she addressed them directly. "Have any of you seen the two Night Furies use their fire at all?" Aside from a stiff shuffling to her side, there was dead silence. "Stoick?" His eyebrows went up and he shook his head. Astrid stole a glance at the 'witnesses' and stifled a sadistic grin. "Has anyone seen them use their fire?" she called, turning to the third group. Silence. "Now, Fishlegs."

"Right, um, well, as many of you know they almost froze in the stable when winter came, Hiccup got very sick as a result. If they'd had their fire that wouldn't have been a problem. We do know from last year–" He had the decency to pause and look abashed at that that, "–uh, other dragons can flame right after hatching or shortly afterwards, but Night Furies are a whole other class. So much about them is just so different, they're developing much more slowly and right now it looks like neither of them can flame anything."

"I know what I saw," the first witness sneered. It was a safe bluff, proving the dragons couldn't do something was near impossible.

She needed to bluff bigger. She took a deep breath, quenching her rage at these blatant lies, and casually spun her axe in her hands. "Look, just make this easier on yourselves. We know they wouldn't do it, and we know they couldn't do it. We also know who's been stirring up trouble for them, and this," she waved her axe at the storehouse, "is a serious crime, as is false accusation even to a dragon.

She started talking more cheerfully. "So, tell you what, you tell us what actually happened, who put you up to it, because I know you guys didn't come up with this, and you'll be scrubbing pots for the rest of spring. Or, you stick to your story, and when this comes crashing down around you we'll float you out to sea on a raft."

Silence.

Ugh. Astrid took a few steps to the side and made a covert signal with her hand, and two and a half thousand pounds of hissing dragon dropped out of the night to slam into a low crouch next to her.

"Mildew!" one of the men shrieked. Works every time.

The woman with sunken eyes decked him. "She threa'ens us with a dragon, the very thing we're fightin', and you sell us out!?"

"I didn't sign up for exile!" he roared back, shoving her away. "And at least we aint dyin' to 'em anymore!"

Astrid tuned out the spat and let Spitelout take it from there, returning to Stoick. "I, er, hope I didn't overstep my bounds there sir…" she mumbled quietly.

"A little," he conceded, "but you got results. Good work. Fishlegs!" They waited for the boy to waddle over. "We're going to pay the old wart a visit, and I might need yeh as witness."

"Now?" Fishlegs squeaked. Astrid shrugged at him.

"Water," Dreamer repeated, dipping a claw into the bowl sat next to him on the table, dimly lit by the daylight streaming in through the open door.

"Sea," gurgled Fishlegs.

Dreamer shook his paw and motioned towards the door. "Sea." He dipped his claw back into the bowl. "Water."

Fishlegs scratched his head and made a few more notes, then successfully repeated, "Water." Finally.

"Yes," Dreamer chuffed, unable to keep the relief from his expression, then lapped from the bowl – this was thirsty work – and said "Drink."

"Water-food."

Dreamer groaned. It felt like they'd been at this for hours, as they had for many days, and while they were making excellent progress overall it was starting to wear. "We rest," he mumbled, and scooted over to annoy the lazy Wanderer.

Teaching Dragonese to Fishlegs had its updrafts and turbulence, Long-Paws couldn't easily make some of the required sounds and in some cases differentiating between different sounds was difficult for the boy. Today it was worse than usual, Fishlegs was antsy about something and kept getting distracted. He was now mumbling to himself, a confusing tangle of emotions saying sorry, concern, uncertainty, resolve, fear. Something had him shaken up. Maybe that thing with the storehouse? He'd left with Astrid on Stormfly, and Meatlug had been gone when the Nightstrikers returned to their den, but that had been days ago and he'd been fine until today.

Not much to do about it, Dreamer thought and busied himself with tickling Wanderer's adorable little paws to rouse him from his dozing; punishment for abstaining from all the work. Dreamer returned the tired glare with an innocent smile.

Wanderer got up to raid the food basket, snapping down some fish and bringing back a few to drop on the table. After gulping them down, Dreamer rested his head on his paws with a sigh and started to doze off. He could really do with a nap, apparently his fledgling body required a lot of rest, but Fishlegs was still talking and something about the trepidation in his voice attracted attention.

"…ard Stoyk whans too dcok yuor tial fnss sohh wee cn trian yoo lihk Too'hsss."

…

Dreamer's eyes snapped open.