"Well there's really nothing better to do than to get started. New inductions to the tribe tend to go to the kitchen, it's simple work but rewarding, so I'm thinking we'll head there first." Astrid kept a wary ear on the footsteps behind her, light and sure, but it only served to tell her that Heather was barefoot. "Ah… actually, maybe we better stop by and get you some shoes first."

They emerged into the overcast daylight, the gods granting them an acceptable middle-ground between washing away the smell or baking it in the sun. She offered Heather a hand to steady her for the last few steps – the sheer drop just to their side could be daunting – and quickly revised her plan again as she got a better look at the girl. "Shoes, then the bath house, then a hot meal, and then we can show you around." It would be better to keep her busy, keep her from thinking. Not only would it make it harder to keep any lies straight but it was also a small mercy; exhausting her first would allow her to rest more easily the first few nights.

"Okay… Thank you," the thin girl acknowledged quietly. Her eyes furtively scanned the village as they ascended, and her hands wrung more tightly at the bustle around them.

"So, how'd you end up here, during all… this?" Astrid asked as they walked, trying to sound casual and curious. It helped that she really was dying to know.

"I… They attacked our boat on the way past, held me captive on one of their ships. When it caught fire I escaped and got swept away, but managed to swim to a beach." Astrid nodded, there was a current that swept around the main island, on rare occasions a sheep would fall off a cliff and usually be found on a beach not far away. Everyone was taught about it, just in case they or someone else took a bad fall and were lucky enough to survive it. "Then I made my way here, and… here I am."

Astrid clamped down on the dozen questions she had, trying to quell her eagerness to poke holes. She had been given the time to be subtle. They approached the leatherworker's, the counter manned by a young apprentice Astrid didn't recognise, and in moments Heather's unsettled hands were occupied with carrying a sturdy pair of shoes with a couple pairs of fresh socks wedged inside.

"Great! Bath house is a little ways up, you can get some clean clothes there too."

"You… don't need to pay for these?" Heather asked uncertainly.

"Huh? Pay? Oh right, some places do that. Nah, everyone just chips in and takes what they need. It's a lot easier this way, and everyone–… nearly everyone learns pretty quickly that you don't live long without trust and consideration. 'A hungry neighbour can't protect your back.'"

A shadow flashed in the corner of her eye, and she abruptly remembered something she should probably explain sooner rather than later. "So, what's your attitude towards dragons?"

Heather blinked and gave her head a little shake, as if to clear it. "Dragons? My village got the odd raid, but we never kept much to attract them. Are they a problem here?"

"A problem? No," Astrid laughed. "You could say we've made our peace with them. Just don't freak out, okay?" She whistled, a short high note, not knowing why it would work but knowing it would, then grinned as two small curious faces peeked out from under a nearby wagon. "Heeey little guys, what'cha been up to today?" She beckoned, crouched low, and they approached cautiously with noses twitching.

Hiccup chirped and relaxed, his eyes dilating. Toothy inspected Heather a little closer, about a pace away, before relaxing himself. Good, that ruled out any hidden weapons, though the bath would have done that anyway. Astrid couldn't help slipping her fingers between Toothy's frills to give him a scratch, grinning at his little happy noises.

"W-w-what… are th-they…?" Heather stammered, taking small steps back.

"Dragons," Astrid supplied cheerfully. She turned back to watch for a reaction. "Night Furies."

Confusion and surprise crossed her face. Understandable. "Night Furies…?" She shakily knelt to the ground and inched forward, going still as Hiccup showed renewed interest in her. "They're so…"

"…Innocent? Sweet? Adorable?" Astrid offered, giving Toothy both her hands and melting as his purrs vibrated through her wrists.

"Small."

"…Huh. I guess, but they're still young. Aren't you? Yesh you are, yesh you're adorwabwe." Toothy crooned at her, then snapped his head away with a growl when Hiccup nipped his tail. He took off after him at a second challenge and they ran circles around the wide path, nipping and chasing each other.

"They're… certainly playful," Heather said, finding some of her composure.

"Yeah, Hiccup's always playful around new people." Astrid leaned in with a conspiratory whisper, "I think he likes to show off." Heather giggled. "Hey, maybe they can take a bath with us? They'll probably like warm water." Neither of them could help laughing – Heather a little nervously – as Hiccup tripped over his own feet and slid to a halt on his face. Credit to him, he just picked himself back up and resumed his chase with renewed vigour. "Oh relax Heather, I'm joking," she teased, though didn't totally discount the idea for herself. She was curious, it might be fun.

Though, Heather seemed to be taking it all pretty well. She was watching them attentively, but didn't seem overly frightened. Huh. How do people normally react to this stuff? Johann had apparently not fared well, but he'd previously had some bad experiences. It sounded like wherever Heather was from wasn't troubled all that much by dragons, maybe this was normal. They didn't really have a lot to go on.

"We should get a move on though. I've got a few friends who'll want to meet you and then we won't get anywhere."

Dreamer watched the newcomer depart with his eyes narrowed at her back. Astrid had called her Heather, definitely not a Hooligan name, and he would remember a girl his age with long dark hair.

So why did she seem familiar?

He couldn't place her, but something about her was tugging at his mind, some memory that refused to surface. For that matter, where had she even come from? And now, of all times? He growled frustratedly at the questions he had no means to get answers to, other than hope Fishlegs would know.

Wanderer gave him an enquiring warble behind him. "Hurt?"

Dreamer was yanked from his thoughts by a lick across where he'd been nipped earlier on his tail fin, a jolt of sensation that lanced up his tail and made him jump with a small yip. He glared back with a huff at Wanderer, who just looked pleased with himself. "No. That Long-Paw strange, like I see her before, but she not from nest."

"I not know her. Maybe when you Long-Paw?"

"Maybe…" Dreamer shook his head. "It not matter. Maybe I remember later. We go find Fish-Legs."

He was not difficult to locate, Meatlug's wingbeats could be heard from across the village as she made trips up and down the cliffs to what used to be the docks. They waited for them to haul up their load of various loot – cloths, weapons, and scrap iron mostly – collected in a salvaged sail hanging from Meatlug's claws. It lowered to the ground and spilled its contents, quickly set on by a dozen villagers to sort through.

"Tell him about new female if he do good," Dreamer suggested, and Wanderer shook an affirmative as he took the lead. They had agreed a couple of weeks ago, after the incriminating book had been destroyed, that Wanderer would handle most of the talking now. On top of appearances it would also be better for Fishlegs to have no way to cheat the communication, and truthfully it was a relief for Dreamer to not need to deal with him.

This time there didn't seem to be any real communication issues, and by Fishlegs' expression he got the bonus. Dreamer grinned, knowing he'd blurt out something about the Furies telling him which would both improve Heather's opinion of dragons and give Fishlegs a good first impression.

"We look for Long-Paw claws in grass," Wanderer said as he trotted back, and Dreamer's grin turned into a grimace. Arrowheads, weapon shards and discarded daggers would pose a risk to foot and hoof, but it would mean sniffing out iron through the stench of day-old blood. He sighed, supposing there was no reason he should be spared the gruesome jobs, and they were a perfect fit for it. Didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

The smell, he mused to himself as he crossed the sloped field for the fifth time, was not the worst part. He pulled his paw free of the ground with a wet squelch and a scowl, feeling the muck ooze between his claws. At least it was just an uncommitted dark colour that he generally associated with brown, and not the dark red he knew it must be. He could pretend. The whole field smelled of blood, but it was simple enough to pick out other smells so he could avoid stepping in… anything worse, so there was also that.

He felt out the edges of the puddle and skirted around it to the hard metallic smell on the other side, an arrowhead lodged into the ground and snapped off. He tried not to wonder if it was responsible for the wet patch. He easily dug it from the hard ground with his claws – noting they were getting a bit long – and half-hopped-half-flapped up to the small pile that was accruing at the top of the field.

Not for the first time, he had to stop himself from automatically trying to clean his paws. He had no desire to ever know that taste, and he had to admit to himself that part of it was a fear he wouldn't find it revolting, just like the smell. Anyway, he was only going back out there, there was no point in cleaning them now. Gliding back down to where he'd left off, he resumed the search.

Something sharp jabbed into the soft pad of his paw, causing him to flinch back, and he teased a shard of wood out of the hard ground. Probably a piece of shield, the splinters would soften and rot before long. He lay it down flat and continued on, nose twitching.

Was it some instinct he no longer possessed that made gore revolting? Or was he just used to blood from having eaten so much raw meat? Though there were the other smells as well, just as unpleasant, and that wasn't triggering a reaction either. It still stank, but he could ignore it. Maybe tolerance just came with a sensitive nose.

He had to chuckle at how ridiculous he was being, practically chastising himself for not throwing up at the scene. Every Viking on Berk was probably wishing for exactly what he had. Hmm, did that mean he didn't have to feel guilty about it?

Guilty. The realisation slammed into him like a physical force, pressing the air from his chest and halting his advance. That was what he felt, that was all he'd felt since his 'rude awakening' with Fishlegs, but why? Because he was actually enjoying being a dragon. He didn't want his miserable human life back, but Fishlegs expected him to and he felt he needed to meet that expectation. The same thing he'd done all his human life.

He gave his wings a single, defiant shake. Well, he liked being a dragon, and he would continue liking it. Being free of expectations, that all he needed to survive was his own body, the ability to fly.

The anxiety welled in his chest at the declaration, but he growled at it. Now that he knew what he was up against, could recognise it for what it was, he could fight back and separate it from himself. Maybe some part of him already realised this, and he thought proudly back to his little joke on Fishlegs earlier that morning.

A myriad of wild and occasionally macabre ideas flew through his head, taking his declaration of freedom and running with it, but he stamped them out; he wasn't abandoning his humanity. He only pondered on taking advantage of his anonymity and joining the girls in a bath like Astrid had suggested, but more than anything he only held intellectual curiosity of what he might one day have had.

…Wait… Did that make it okay?

…

He was too sleep-deprived to be thinking about his moral compass today. He shook his head and resumed his search.

A pawful of slender fragments of something that had shattered were the last things he found before meeting Wanderer in the middle, the pile of dirty iron and steel about big enough to fill a bucket. Dreamer shuddered to think about children playing there, rolling on the grass, sheep munching away unawares. He wasn't even confident enough to say it was safe, but it was certainly safer.

They did a quick loop of the field just to be sure, finding nothing, and returned to the dry ground at the foot of the village.

Wanderer, frills stiff against his neck, tried to wipe his paws on the grass as Dreamer was doing. Neither of them had any success. "We fly to old den? Swim? We small fledglings, need much rest," Dreamer offered impishly, and his friend perked up and gave an approving croon.

They didn't bother going back to Fishlegs to report, just leapt into the air and soared over to the cove. There were no games on the way, no distractions, they were both just looking forward to being clean and wasted no time in diving straight into the cold lake, involuntarily sucking in a breath and flattening their ears as the water rushed up to meet them.

Dreamer's insulated hide masked the expected shock from the change in temperature, though the pads of his paws, fins, and wing-membranes ached from it. For a moment he just let himself hang still in the water, listening to the muffled world and the hum of his own pulse, but then the air in his lungs floated him back to the surface.

Wanderer was nowhere to be seen, so he refreshed his breath and dove again, tucking his wings and legs in tightly and weaving up and down to propel himself. The water glided over his smooth scales, there was a little tug on the folds of his wings but his flared tail fins gave him more than enough power to surge forward. It wasn't something they did often, at least since nesting in the village, but the motions still came naturally.

He noticed a cloud of sediment rising from the bottom to be slowly carried away by the faint current, and Wanderer shot out of it before he had time to worry. In a moment he was back at the bottom of the lake, kicking up another murky cloud.

Peculiar. Dreamer settled on idling around while picking at the muck on his paws, meticulously working between his claws and where they met his scales. It was softer in the water and came away easily, though he vividly remembered the feel of it. Maybe Wanderer was onto something. He swam down and dug his claws into the bottom, feeling the sandy mud scour them clean. Frills perking up – his ears remained flat to keep the water out – he kicked up his own murky cloud rubbing his paws, and then the rest of him, against the lakebed.

Lungs finally starting to ache for air, he gave himself a shake to free any loose dirt and then rocketed up to the surface. He tried to clear it, but couldn't quite get his waterlogged wings out in time and dropped back into the water.

Wanderer surfaced a moment later, gasping and heaving for breath as he floated. Silly dragon was still testing the limits of how long he could stay under. Dreamer idly cruised circles around him until the panting slowed, then surged under the surface. He wrapped his forelegs around Wanderer's hindquarters and gave a great push with his tail, dragging them both down into the lake.

He quickly let go and kicked off, delighting again in feeling the water glide over his body. A glance back showed Wanderer in pursuit, eyes focused. With a twist and a firm push of his tail, Dreamer spun around and streaked underneath him, silently giggling as the grapple slid easily off his flanks.

Dreamer freely admit he was proud of his speed and nimbleness, he felt it suited him better given his human body had also been thin and wiry. Maybe if someone had have helped him, worked on his strengths instead of trying to hammer out his weaknesses, he would have found something that worked for him. Maybe one day he would have worked out who he was on his own.

Well, it was all senseless to ponder now, and only served to set a scowl on his face. Lungs crying for air again, he launched himself back at the surface and managed a flap for a little height, but his wingtips slapped the surface of the water and pulled him back down.

Before he could dive down again, Wanderer surfaced a body-length away. He too launched himself from the water, throwing out his wings and shedding a spray in a great arc around him. A second layer of spray flew out as his wings pushed down, lifting him clear of the water and into a hover.

Dreamer gaped, even despite the smirk he got back. Tiny droplets pittered down around them, and the water streaming down Wanderer's gleaming scales and trickling off his dangling tail gave him an almost ethereal quality. Dreamer shook himself and set his jaw, then ducked under and pushed his way back down to the lakebed.

He'd seen part of the trick – Wanderer was big on teaching by example with little explanation, much like Gobber come to think of it – and as he surged up he pushed his furled wings forwards. It created a little more drag but he fought through it, and gave his tail a final heave to push him from the water.

His wing-elbows straightened as they hit air, stretching his leathery appendages out slightly quicker than before. This time when he flapped down, it was enough to push him completely clear of the water and allow him a second flap, a third, a fourth – an easy hover. YES!

Wanderer's eyes were wide, his frills and ears standing out in awe. With a pang, Dreamer realised this was probably the first time he'd ever seen another manage it, at least for a very long time. He'd been alone in the nest. Alone.

With a warble, he glided over to the dry bank where he dropped down and shook off the excess water, Wanderer doing the same next to him.

"Dreamer, you good?" came a tentative enquiry.

"That… hard explain. But yes. Why?"

"You look… angry." Dreamer was a little startled by the word, and took him a moment to even realise it was a word and not Wanderer just baring his teeth and looking, well, angry.

He considered the observation while the gentle breeze slowly dried his scales. "…Yes. I angry at me. I think something this light, now know why I feel bad…" Wanderer encouraged him on with a slight forward nod. "It because I… sorry for want be Nightstriker." Expressions flashed over his friend before he could elaborate; surprise, hurt, sadness, but then thinking and confusion. "I want be Nightstriker, but know Long-Paws want me be Long-Paw. I angry for let that make me feel bad." He scowled internally at the mincing of words, but it should have got his point across.

"Angry not good also… but better than sorry. You still have much bad Long-Paw thinking. One night we leave this nest, live a sky-ice-cycle like Nightstrikers. Maybe that help you think good."

Dreamer perked up. "We can go to your old nest? I think that before. Want know about…" he scowled at the lack of word for 'dragon', "…scale-wing-hunters." Close enough for now. Maybe he should invent a word for them.

Wanderer's ears went up. "You want see my old nest?" Dreamer chuffed an affirmative. "…You need know how fight, for nest there."

Oh… He knew it was something he should learn, but felt horrible about it. He enjoyed their tussles, but the moment the fight started even looking serious his stomach turned and just wanted it over. He hadn't even realised he was doing it until Wanderer had told him he needed to learn.

"I… I try. Not yet, but I try, if you teach me." It was only a precaution anyway, right? Not like they'd have to fight their way into the nest, he wouldn't really want to live there for any length of time if that was the case.

"We still fledglings, need grow. But should start soon."

"Yes…" First, he needed to stop feeling sorry for himself about everything. And on that wind… He sized up Wanderer, reading his stance, his position, how those big green eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dreamer didn't give him a chance to think, darting to the side and lunging.

The Nightstriker was just fast enough to leap out of the way, but Dreamer bounded off the ground and latched onto his soggy hindquarters, dragging him down. He pulled forward to touch his teeth to his friend's neck, and had to feel proud with his fastest win ever. Even if Wanderer wasn't trying, he could take the achievement.

And it was an important win. He had two forces at war inside him, and he needed to show himself which side he was on. Clamping down on his stupid guilt of enjoying his new life, he began to address the much more deserved guilt of neglecting his friend by running his tongue between the wings pinned beneath him.

It was… more difficult than he'd thought it would be. He couldn't just let himself do it like with hunting, but his anxiety gradually became less crippling as he lost himself in the task. Particularly with the meticulous little bits, delicately working his claws and tongue around Wanderer's wing joints, around his back spines, and gently between his frills. Being dead tired helped somewhat as well. He ignored the baseless paranoia that someone was watching and judging, given the only one who even could judge him was Fishlegs and Dreamer didn't really care for his opinion right now.

He wheezed – barely preventing it from becoming a whine – when he rolled Wanderer over. The scales were dull and the leather between them flaking, triggering recollections of their talk on the beach of the volcano nest. Dreamer was the only one he would allow near his throat, the most vulnerable part of him but also the most difficult to reach or see. Had it even been this bad before the fight with the queen? He couldn't remember, at the time he'd possessed very different vision and hadn't known what to look for.

It turned the internal conflict in a wild direction. The guilt of neglect flared dramatically, but there was a measure of pride and elation at being the only one trusted this much by someone. Especially by such a creature as a Night F–… a Nightstriker.

He carried on until his aching mouth could do no more, and stepped back to clean his own face. There were a lot of fiddly little nooks to reach, too many to do in a single sitting, but that was fine. Dreamer promised himself this would become a more regular thing again.

Wanderer was a lot more relaxed, and only now did Dreamer see how tense he'd been. It was understandable, the battle had been stressful for everyone, and he himself had been a source of stress for the poor dragon as well. It was good he was able to do this now, and it should only get easier if previous experience was anything to go by. He would find his balance again.

For now… he felt tired enough to fall asleep on his paws. Without the hype of his inner conflict, his eyes kept trying to drift shut and he was finding it difficult to remain steady. Yeah, I think I'm tired enough not to care… He nudged his way in between the bigger dragon's outstretched paws, nuzzling into his warm chest. As a black wing absently draped over him a lazy thought drifted through his mind, another piece of the puzzle – he was back in his safe place. And with that, he realised Wanderer was back in his safe place too. He clung to the thought, even allowing a gentle and happy whine as he snuggled in closer, protected from all the bad thoughts by the warm embrace and lulled to sleep by the familiar purr.

"So she can talk as well?" The question was asked with an enthusiasm Fishlegs was not accustomed to outside of his own family, and even more unusual given the subject.

He was more than happy to oblige such a healthy thirst for knowledge. "Of course! But not nearly as well or as much as the Furies. Or quite as much as the Nadders. Huh, you know I'm not actually sure about Hookfang… He might just be grumpy."

It was a lovely day, the sun shining through a light misting of rain that helped to dampen the stench of the days-old battle, though what they really needed was a torrential downpour. Hopefully this summer wouldn't be as dry as last year.

Heather ducked her way around Meatlug, offering scratches and strokes while she appreciated the finer advantages of a Gronckle. "Her skin is so hard… almost like rocks. It feels like it would deflect arrows."

"Yeah, except for her underside. Gronckles were a real problem in raids. It's also really hard to tie their wings up with a bola, takes a lot of practice and luck to hit the right spot. And she's super strong, the strongest lifting power of any dragon, plus endurance is off the scale."

"Wow," she whispered airily. "And she can talk?"

"Perhaps I should demonstrate," Fishlegs said primly, drawing himself up. You, good, question, he asked. The motions were simple, and the word for 'good' was a high hum that tailed up at the end, nothing too embarrassing with Heather's big green eyes on him.

Yes. Belly, hurt, small, she replied.

"Aww, got a bit of a belly ache?" he asked aloud for Heather's sake while he rubbed her jaw. Wait… You, eat, bad, rock, again, question. Meatlug's expression was answer enough. "Meatlug, you know the course granite from that beach gives you gas, why do you do this to yourself?" he chided light-heartedly.

Heather burst out laughing, a light chiming that seemed to sing to him. "You two are adorable! But wow, that's incredible Fishlegs, who knew they were so intelligent?"

"Oh this is nothing, you should see the Furies, they're–" he abruptly cut himself off, remembering exactly how intelligent the Furies were. Had he really forgotten for a moment? "…You know what? If you're staying then you should meet them properly and see for yourself. They're really friendly."

Astrid chose this moment to stretch noisily and butt in. "Maybe later. We should… probably get Snotlout out of the way. I don't want him cornering you while I'm not there. Oh don't worry he won't go too far, he's just… yurgh."

"I'm sure I'll be fine, thank you Astrid," Heather replied confidently.

As if saying his name summoned the draugr himself, Snotlout made a blustery landing on Hookfang next to the group. "Did I hear my name, my ears are burning, I knew you couldn't resist me for long, hey there." He leaned out a little, balancing precariously on the saddle with one of his dumb grins. "I'm Snotlout." It might have been more impressive timing if he didn't do it for almost every entrance where Astrid was involved.

"Snotlout, this is Heather. Play nice," Astrid warned icily, but for once she went completely ignored.

"Hello Snotlout, it's nice to meet you. That's a very impressive dragon you're riding, a Monstrous Nightmare right?" As with Meatlug, Heather did not approach Hookfang, though a furtive glance across at her showed her soaking in the big dragon's features.

"Sure is, only the best, most powerful dragon on Berk. He single-handedly took out half the Berserker invaders you know, and he's miiiine." He jerked his thumbs towards himself, flashing his typical grin, so he was unprepared and fell out of the saddle when Hookfang jerked his head to side.

"You mean your dad harvested his spit without you knowing, and used it to stave off the invasion," Astrid remarked flatly.

"That's still impressive," Heather said peaceably while Snotlout hurriedly brushed himself off, "without you and Hookfang here Berk wouldn't have stood a chance."

"Yeah, that's right…" Snotlout said as if he'd just realised it himself. "So anyway, I'm thinking you, me, candlelit dinner under the stars, tonight," he pranced towards Heather as he spoke, but she somehow slipped around him towards Hookfang.

"He's a very impressive dragon, may I…?"

Snotlout scowled at Hookfang. "Er, no, I wouldn't. He bites. A lot. Also sets everything on fire, including himself." Hookfang gave his rider an apathetic look, then prowled forward to put his head under Heather's hands with a contented hiss.

"Well I think he's very friendly," she said as she rubbed his snout and cheeks, and Fishlegs thought he saw the dragon shoot Snotlout a smug smile. Yeah, Snotlout was fuming, definitely his dragon one-upping him again.

Snotlout tried to wedge himself between Heather and Hookfang, but she stepped further long to inspect the saddle while Hookfang put his neck between the two teens. Not put off, Snotlout leaned over the saddle. "My dad's kind of a big deal around here, I could get us some mead, the good stuff, so meet me at sunset at–"

"Oooh, sorry Snotlout," Heather cut him off with an apologetic grimace, "I've got to be in the kitchens serving dinner tonight. But if you feel up for it now, we could go for a quick flight…?"

"Up for it? Hah! I could fly all day." Hookfang huffed at him. "Alright, alright, we could fly all day." He smoothly climbed into the saddle and helped Heather up, then – blissfully – his bragging faded into the distance and left a peaceful silence behind.

Fishlegs put his finger on what had been bugging him about the whole encounter. "Say Astrid, normally you don't need much of a reason to put Snotlout in his place. Why'd you let him walk all over Heather like that?"

"He didn't walk all over her," she replied, distracted.

"That doesn't answer the question."

She blinked and looked at him blankly for a few moments. "Well, if she's going to live here she needs to be able to handle herself. I just wanted to make sure she could do that." She resumed watching them drift lazily through the sky.

"Yeah, okay, that's fair enough. Yeesh, he's probably talking her ear off up there, but at least he can't try anything."

"I don't really think he would, not really."

"Still, better safe than sorry."

Astrid looked over her nose at him. "You seem pretty protective of her."

Feeling heat rise in his cheeks, Fishlegs fumbled out an answer. "Uh, well, um, yeah, she's smart, and, er, inquisitive, and she really likes dragons. She's nice."

"Hm."

Asger stroked his beard while he considered the boy stood before the Council. He wasn't overly fond of the mottled hair growing haphazardly through the scars on his face, but it was expected of him at his status of Elder. Few Berserkers lived long enough to claim the title, so those who did were considered exceptionally strong and wise, enough so that they weren't concerned about an opponent grabbing it in a fight.

"I don't care what you say! I'm going back there, and I'm razing it to the ground!" Dagur spat. The rage on his face was clear even in the low light from two fires crackling at either side of the room that cast eerie shadows over him.

"You and what army?" one of the woman elders intoned callously. "Half our fighters went on the last raid, and well under half of those came back. Would you take every man next time? And what if none of them come back?"

"Berk got lucky. It won't happen again," the boy growled.

"Luck had nothing to do with it," came a haughty male voice with inflections placing him from one of the northern villages. "Berk is a stronghold, and they were prepared. You were outclassed."

Asger was bored of this already. "This is pointless. The losses we have suffered already outweigh any reward Berk could possibly offer, including your Night Furies. On top of losing most of your army, your opponent knocked you out." A murmur of agreement met the damning statement, there was no dishonour in dying to a worthy opponent but there had to be a significant difference in ability to be knocked out when going for the kill. "You'll not have my support."

A wave of agreement swept the dim room, and Asger wondered if Dagur was capable of physically exploding. "I put this tribe back together!" he screeched. "You would still be pathetic remnants of a once-great people scattered over this stupid island if it wasn't for me!"

"Yes, Dagur, and we have not forgotten that," the first woman chimed in icily, "why do you think we supported you in the first place for little more than glory? What you do with your guard is up to you, but you'll not have an army"

Dagur was suddenly no longer listening, repeating something under his breath. "What am I doing?" he asked suddenly, uncharacteristically lucid but apparently not talking to anyone in particular. "I'll return us to our former glory, and I'll do it by myself. I see now I have to do EVERYTHING myself." Grumbling under his breath again, he turned and stalked towards the door.

"Remember your duties," another woman called after him. "As Chief you must remain here at least two weeks in any eight. I advise spending the time to plan your next venture, whatever crazy idea you've got in your head."

"Fine," he growled before disappearing outside.

Wanderer woke to a restless Dreamer twitching and fidgeting against him, tucked tightly together as they were for warmth as the angry sky outside their den thundered and deluged. There were even a few chunks of ice smashing against the ground and throwing occasional fragments into the den.

He gave a quiet sympathetic sigh, then gently licked Dreamer across the ear. The sensation was pleasant enough but the amplified squelching noise that accompanied it jolted Dreamer awake.

"…I wish you not do that…" the little Nightstriker mumbled, readjusting himself more consciously to huddle in closer.

"I stop when you sleep good," Wanderer replied, nuzzling in between Dreamer's top frills to savour his crisp scent in the clean air.

Huff. "I not can fix that."

"Tell me."

A long sigh blew warmly down Wanderer's front. "I dream Long-Paws die. Like in fight. But I happy, I…" He whined as the sky gave a low rumble. "I do bad." Not really sure what to say, Wanderer just gave a comforting and sympathetic croon, tightening his embrace a little. "I wake, I… not feel bad. Many Long-Paws die in fight, I feel… nothing. I not can think, not can…" A low growl was soaked up by all the water outside. "I not know words."

"I know what mean," Wanderer comforted him. "You have much bad Long-Paw thinking. Yes, nest-kin die, bad, but you say they in good place now, not should feel bad. But that not why you not feel bad." He poked the top of Dreamer's head with a claw. "You have fledgling mind. Still need much growing." He was only going off vague half-explanations he'd barely paid attention to, but the more he spoke the more it made sense. "Thinking some things, hard, mind not big enough for thinking big things. Still have memories, know die is bad, but not can understand."

Dreamer groaned. "That good if know sooner…"

"I sorry… This strange. You fledgling but not. I not know what I should tell you." Wanderer nuzzled him, delighting in the soft frills brushing over his face, and purred sleep. Before long Dreamer's breathing evened out and slowed, but Wanderer found he wasn't tired. Instead he just listened to the rain and the rolling growls of the storm, and basked in the presence of another Nightstriker. It was still novel, even after a whole cycle.

The circumstances were unusual, perhaps, but it was like a dream. He ached with the happiness of companionship, even more in knowing the connection he had with Dreamer went deeper than his species. And then, impossibly, he became a Nightstriker anyway.

Wanderer didn't sleep, just dozed so that he could enjoy the warmth he was wrapped around and the deafening white noise of the rain.

The storm had calmed to a steady shower when Dreamer roused again, dragging his head onto Wanderer's shoulder to blearily stare outside. "…Wrr, no bad smells now, that good. But… rain," he mumbled

"Much rain on these small-lands. We can fly in that," Wanderer warbled. Now that they were both awake he was impatient to do something, so he pulled himself to his paws and stretched to get his blood moving. Dreamer still hadn't moved, so he brushed his tailfins over the Nightstriker's nose; when that was hidden, then under his ears.

"Yes, I awake," Dreamer eventually growled, rolling onto his back to bat at the pestering tail. When he didn't progress from there Wanderer slapped him on the belly with it, eliciting a whiny wheeze and a retaliatory pounce. He let himself zone out for the fight, wondering what they were going to do for the day – certainly not much flying in that weather – and came back to his senses when a needling pain flared in his neck. Hrrr, he might need to start paying a little more attention, he was losing a lot lately. Maybe Dreamer was taking his learning to fight a little more seriously after all.

It would be ideal if Dreamer came forward with that suggestion, it was a great activity to do in the den, but Wanderer wasn't going to nag. Otherwise they usually just taught Fish-Legs how to talk properly, and played and ate in the big rock-den. Maybe they could go hunting later, the rain was less bothersome on the ground and under the broad leaves.

Definitely to the rock-den first, his stomach was clawing at him in anticipation. For whatever reason, the Long-Paws were more likely to feed them good things when it was raining. Sometimes even eggs. His mouth watered.

He pranced around while Dreamer stretched again, then they were flapping into the air. The very wet and cold air. He scowled while his wings warmed up, with all the extra flapping needed in the rain it didn't take long but then they were already swooping down to duck into the big den-mouth.

Smoke assaulted his nose, in stark contrast to the pristine air outside, and he could almost feel it sticking to his wet scales. Still, the big fire was appreciated, and the pair darted through the thin tree-legs and hopped up to the stone rim around the hot embers glowing in the shallow hole. Wanderer was tempted to roll in them, but he couldn't be bothered with the ash that would stick to him. Maybe another night, when he wasn't wet.

Dreamer spotted his old nest-friends sat together and bounded over to hop onto the flat-tree-thing. Wanderer rolled his eyes and looked for where the food came from, spotting one of the Long-Paws who had recently given them much. He hopped over to her, wary of the Long-Paws around him, then stood on his hind-paws and tail to look up at her expectantly.

She cooed and chattered at him as she dropped the lumps of bland-smelling not-foods onto the raised surface with other foods and not-foods, then disappeared back into the place with the loud noises. While he waited for her to return, hopefully with something edible, Wanderer sniffed at the raised surface. He could smell hot meats and eggs, as well as a very strong and sharp fatty smell that he was achingly curious about.

With a furtive glance around he followed his nose to the smell, walking alongside the raised surface. He knew better than to put his paws on it – the Long-Paws all made a horrible fuss when he did that – but he stood up again to look over the edge and try to work out which of the strange things was the smell. It had that old wet scent but not quite unpleasantly so, and was otherwise a pungent sharp fatty smell. Fat didn't normally smell sharp… It was very strange.

He strained to put his nose closer to the things laid out on the surface without touching anything, and even still a Long-Paw sat nearby growled his name in a low warning with a hint of amusement. "I just looking," he grumbled back, knowing the Long-Paw wouldn't understand, though there was a resigned, amused laugh in response.

It was tempting to snatch it up and run off with it, but outside was too wet to seriously consider doing. He was pretty sure it was the pale lump anyway, rather than the tree-things that prey-things ate or the spongy not-food that only Long-Paws ate.

The female Long-Paw called his name with amused, warning, and beckoned him to follow. He darted around the legs stomping about, keeping his distance from them, and followed to where Dreamer and his nest-friends sat. There she set down the flat-thing she was carrying, some meats laid out across it that didn't smell all that fresh but were nice and hot. A bit of a waste of time and energy in Wanderer's opinion, but it was pleasant.

He noticed the new young Long-Paw had joined them, with the long dark head-fur and the strange eyes that were both hunter and hunted. She was confusing, or maybe just confused. Wanderer didn't like the way she looked at him, whatever the story, and kept her in his sight.

Successfully having crunched up a thick bone, he was licking out the marrow when his ears picked out an approaching Long-Paw. He recognised her footsteps without looking, the one who had brought the food out, but what was she doing back? He swivelled around, wondering if she'd brought more food – and caught a whiff of that bizarre sharp fatty maybe-food again. He warbled curiously and stalked the edge of the flat-tree-thing impatiently while she spoke to Dreamer's nest-friends.

Dreamer's twitching nose drifted forward as well. "What that smell?" Wanderer asked him.

"Hrrmm, it made from not-water land-prey make, like eggs but not. I not know how make, but it good," he replied.

"I not can tell if smell good or not," Wanderer admitted as he backed up to allow the Long-Paw to place a few small lumps of the pale stuff onto the flat-thing. His nose was over it the moment her paw pulled back, but he still couldn't decide if it was rotten or not. He made to lick some up, but the moment his tongue touched it he jumped back and his face scrunched itself up.

The tense quiet around him erupted into Long-Paw laughs, making Wanderer jump again and momentarily forget the taste in his mouth while he pouted at them, but then it drifted back, as sharp and pungent as its smell. Fat should not be a sharp flavour, he decided, but as the taste smoothed over he found it not quite so unpleasant.

He licked his chops and put his nose back to it, finding the smell bordering more on edible this time, and took a more cautious sample. His face still scrunched a little, triggering another wave of Long-Paw amusement, but it was palatable.

Dreamer crept forward for his own tentative sample, pulling a funny face with his tongue hanging out before rigorously shaking his head. The laughing Long-Paws, precariously balanced as they always were, seemed even more likely to topple over with how they were swaying around, but somehow they remained seated.

Wanderer decided he liked the strange food… in small amounts; memories from the aftermath of whatever Boundless had left for them that one night had made him more cautious of strange Long-Paw foods.

What he still couldn't decide on, however, was this new Long-Paw. She couldn't seem to decide if she liked the Nightstrikers or not, wanted to hurt them or not, even now as she laughed there were hints of strange expressions on her features. And if she could not tell, then how could Wanderer? He was torn between avoiding her outright and trying to discern her motives.

Just survive the cold-season… He would keep an eye on her. Nothing more.