Heather gave a horrified look at the man creeping around the rock, who scowled at her before ducking back out of sight. That should keep everyone occupied for a few moments at least, but she needed to act quickly; the two teens were of a few she had come to call her friends and she didn't want to see them dead.

"Who's there?" Astrid shouted as she spun with her axe raised, and Heather turned back to the Fury.

It was tightly bound and had no chance of freeing itself, but the bigger one was standing next to it protectively with those razor-sharp fangs bared at her. "Look, I want to help–" mid-sentence, she flicked the sand in her left hand at its eyes, at almost the same time her right hand darted forward and jabbed it in the weak point behind the jaw to instantly drop it– "just trust me…"

Breathing a sigh of relief, she rose silently and stalked up behind Astrid, delivering a swift punch to her kidney and a second to the back of her head, then caught her so she didn't crack her skull open on the rock.

Snotlout heard the attack and skipped to the side, holding his axe defensively. "Traitor!" he growled at her. It hurt, and all the more because it was true. "You could have had this. You could have had a dragon. Who else could possibly give you more!? Why Heather!?"

Heather wished she could apologise and explain, but she only had one chance. Without words, she quickly shed her boots, tunic, chest bindings, skirt, leggings, and underclothes. Snotlout's words died in his open mouth and his eyes grew wider and wider until they seemed likely to fall out as she pulled off the last garment and stood completely bare in front of him. She sauntered forward in the chill air, lightly pushed the axe away, and struck him in the throat. He went down in a gasping heap.

"Well well, I see I needn't have doubted," purred the man stepping from the shadows as he sheathed his sword. He was tall and of medium build, sported a long and smart moustache, and his cheerful and alert eyes took in the scene.

"Give a girl some privacy," Heather said flatly as she retrieved her clothes and hurriedly covered herself.

Alvin snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, you're a few years shy of anything attractive. Ahh, there they are, my little treasures. I admit I had my doubts when I dropped you on that beach, but you've done well." Hmph, more like tossed her from the boat near the beach. He casually strode towards the two Furies, one unconscious and the other motionless, and wasted no time binding Toothy with a thin rope and stuffing them both into sacks.

"The other things too," Heather reminded him hopefully. "A book containing all the knowledge this lot have on all dragons, all their strengths and weaknesses, and a second book to learn how to talk to them." She was just blurting out the words by the end.

"Talk to them…" He watched her with his calculating expression, probably imagining all the misdeeds he could achieve. "Where are these books?"

"In the village, but I can get them, I'll be quick–"

"And you're certain that… they're as valuable as you imply?"

"Yes, of course! I–" She stopped and nearly shrieked in frustration as she walked right into his word trap.

His grin could only be described as 'charming', as despicable and vile as it was. "They're already searching the island, we don't have time. Luckily, it seems I have my own expert on the subjects…"

She nearly broke down on the spot. He was holding freedom so tantalisingly close, and if she'd just kept her mouth shut instead of trying to bargain for it sooner… "Alright then," her emotionless shell responded as it jogged after him.

Dreamer froze as he heard the strike, Wanderer's minute squeak, and then his impact with the ground. All loud and clear to him, but Astrid had clearly heard none of it. He remained absolutely still and silent as Heather stalked up behind Astrid and dropped her, then… he didn't have words for the next part.

Even as the newcomer strode back out into the open, Dreamer could only watch Heather. Not because of her nudity, but because his instincts were screaming that she'd just attacked his nest, and that he should be absolutely still and silent. His focus barely changed when the man strode towards him with greed set deep into his eyes. He remained rigid as Wanderer's nose disappeared from his peripheral with a shuffling sound, but the spell was broken when the stranger reached for him. He squeaked and squirmed, but the bindings held him tightly and he was easily dropped into a sack.

After a few minutes of swinging he began to start thinking clearly again, then immediately lamented not warning Astrid. Any sound to get her attention, and this all could have been avoided. His instincts were useful sometimes – he regretted ignoring the ones about Heather – but why had he obeyed this one?

He whimpered miserably. These straps Dagur had fitted him with were impossible to break or claw through, and held his legs and wings tightly to his body. The Nightmare fire, as hot as it was, had not burned him, but it left his scales feeling dry and they scratched irritably against the sack. There is also that we're being kidnapped, but it's nice to know I have my priorities in order.

Well, this new man hadn't hurt them… yet. He tried to focus on where they were going, but everything was muffled by the sack.

His thoughts were back at berating himself for not warning Astrid when he heard Wanderer groan. Dreamer was almost certain he'd also been taken alive, but it was a relief to have that remaining small yet frightening chance eradicated. The groan was followed by increasingly loud growling, and then a pained yelp and a subdued whimper.

Dreamer chirped quietly, enquiringly. Relief, worry, fear, he heard Wanderer croon back. Dreamer tried to reassure him with strong, patience, but no doubt some fear slipped in as well. Patience, hope, fear, came the response.

Eventually, tense and aggressive voices pricked his ears, but the words were muffled and almost drowned out by the sack rasping against his ears. His heart hammered in his chest, burning with hope, he wanted to voice his relief but he was still in the possession of the stranger.

And then, suddenly, he recognised the other voice and ice lanced through his veins.

The sun was just beginning to set, casting an eerie glow over the sheltered bay and the two boats moored in it. The breeze was firm and the calm waters lapped at the sun-warmed rock, perfect conditions for sailing.

But Dagur had one last gamble before leaving. He and his men hid in the shadows, waiting to pounce on whoever's boat they had stumbled on while scouting the island. The only reason to have a fishing boat hidden here was for exactly the same reason he was there, and with one dragon bound as it was they would be making their move. If not, there was nothing lost as they needed to wait for sunset to cast off; light enough so as to not attract attention but becoming dark before they drifted suspiciously far.

"Ho there!"

The voice made Dagur jump, and he instantly assumed an aggressive stance towards the source. It took him only a moment to locate the two dark-haired people standing on the steep bank overlooking the bay. "Hello there!" he called back cheerfully, though remained wary. "This other boat is yours?" He approvingly noted that the two sacks held by the man were exactly the right size.

"That's right. Would you good men mind terribly if we passed? We're in a hurry, you see."

"Of course! We're in a hurry too."

The man grinned and slid down, and Dagur grinned back as he sped forward with his axe in tow – but then skidded to a stop as the man casually hefted both sacks in one hand and held his sword to them. "Now, I figure we're both here for the same thing," he said calmly, "but as you say we are both in a hurry."

"Then stop talking and give me my Night Furies so we can both leave," Dagur ordered sternly.

"Hmm, but you see, I am not leaving without them. If you attack me, I will kill them and neither of us win. If I try to take them–"

"I will gut you before you reach your boat."

"Exactly. We could also stand here bickering to eventually be caught by the Hooligans, then neither of us will escape their dragons. We are at a stalemate."

Dagur growled. "Live is better but I'll take their bodies over nothing. Hand them over and I'll let you live."

"Patience, my friend, I'm getting there. Neither of us will leave without them. There are two of them. I will leave one here and board my boat while you claim it. You could try to come after mine too, but two fishing vessels fighting will attract attention."

On one hand, two dead Furies. Oh so stylish, but boooriiing! On the other hand, one live Fury…

"I'll throw in some information!" the girl shouted before sliding down after the man. "They're completely flightless without even one of their tail fins. Bind the fins to the tail and it's a capable and sane but landbound dragon."

"Oooh, that is interesting," Dagur mused. He was inclined to believe her, it would be a pointless lie, and the possibilities… "Very well, I accept your terms." For as long as it took him to gut the man, anyway.

"You and your men back up, these sacks may not look it but they are rather heavy."

Dagur complied with a scowl, watching the girl climb aboard the boat and prepare it to cast off, but keeping the man in his peripheral. "How do I know there's a Fury in there, or that it's alive?" The man responded by holding up and dropping one of the sacks – it squeaked as it hit the rocky ground. "Fine, but hurry up! We don't have all day. You," he called back to his men, "prepare the boat as soon as he starts moving."

The man took a few steps away from the sack on the ground, then slung his own sack some ten paces onto the boat and raced aboard as Dagur raced towards him. When it was clear any fight would be over the water, potentially drawing the attention of the Hooligans as the frustratingly clever man had warned, he growled angrily and went for his own side of the bargain instead.

He yanked open the drawstring, needing to be absolutely certain; the stranger would pay for crossing him regardless of the consequences. A single green eye peeked back at him from a black mass of scales wrapped in familiar bindings "Hello again little Fury," he cooed, smiling broadly. "We're going to have so much fun together…"

With a stern glare, Brenna snatched the rigging away from the Berserker who had been roughly tugging at it. Her husband had made her this boat, and she would give it up when she could meet him in Valhalla. The burly man grunted at her and stepped to the side of the vessel, reaching over and pulling up one of the sacks. She wasn't sure how she felt about getting just the one, but it was better than the none they'd had earlier. Neither was free, that was the main thing.

Dagur vaulted onto the deck and did a double-take at her. "What are YOU doing here!?" he shrieked, the boat sliding away from its mooring a moment later.

"My boat," she reminded him. "And I can't go back now. I got you what you wanted, consider it an offering… I ask for admission into the Berserker tribe, to simply work my boat."

"Half of what I wanted," he growled back at her. "And you're right! You CAN'T go back, CAN you? HAHAHA! You're a traitor! Oooh the look Astrid gave you…" He giggled madly. "Alright then, welcome aboard!"

He spun his bizarre axe, and Brenna blinked. One moment it was in his hands, the next it was gone. She looked down. Oh, there it was. "I despise traitors," he snarled in her face. She coughed weakly as he wrenched the blade free, and then sky filled her sight as she fell over the railing and into the water.

Pain. It pulsed through Astrid's head as she slowly regained consciousness, the only thing she was aware of. "Who… what happened…?" she asked automatically, her own voice sounding distant.

A light tapping noise needled at her eardrums, and she managed to crack an eye open to see the wrinkled form of Gothi holding a bowl of water for her. She shakily took it and sipped, nearly gagging at the unexpectedly bitter liquid, then grimaced at it and made to give it back. The old woman's stern expression and raised staff made her think twice.

After choking down the horrible mixture she slowly took in her surroundings. All manner of strange things lined the walls of the open hut, even more mysterious in the flickering firelight, and Gothi had turned to Snotlout who was struggling through wheezing breaths.

Heather.

She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain, and took a single step into the night before Gothi's staff descended firmly on her shoulder. "Please," she implored as she turned back, "people are in danger, it's really important!"

The old woman used her staff to tug Astrid down to her, then held aloft a small torch and stared into each of her eyes with a thoughtful expression. She waved a thin hand, then clicked her fingers. Seemingly satisfied, she turned back to Snotlout.

Astrid took that as permission and bolted from the hut to stand at the top of the narrow staircase behind it. This is going to hurt… She raised her fingers to her mouth and whistled through them, scrunching her brow as the sound pierced her head and rang in her ears.

The seconds dragged by, but eventually Stormfly appeared out of the darkness and landed on the wide platform at the front of the hut. Astrid started to run to her, but stopped as her dragon hissed and tilted her head to inspect her. "You hurt," she said before sniffing at her face.

"Nightstrikers!" Astrid said frantically, wishing she knew more words but hoping her tone would convey meaning as Fishlegs said it often did.

It certainly did in this case, Stormfly practically threw herself under Astrid to get her into the saddle and they sped through the dark sky to the training ring. There was no reply to the Nadder's worried calls. "Take me back to Stoick, girl!" She leaned on the saddle and they cruised over the forest, then let her dragon take the lead.

Oh gods, Brenna had been with them! How late was it? Stoick would be looking for Berserkers on the island, or a Berserker ship in the water, how could she have forgotten to mention that!? Nobody would think twice about another fishing boat with the Berk crest. But Dagur had retreated… Heather had been the one to knock her out, and apparently Snotlout as well. Of course she'd been after the Furies, why hadn't they thought of that!? Only her frantic focus on her task kept her from shrieking in frustration. Was the girl in league with Dagur? Maybe he had looped back around. Oh gods please let the Furies be safe…

In the darkness Astrid couldn't help vividly imagining Dagur's cruelty, and tried to occupy herself with scanning the ground for torches. Not that she expected any to be carried, but it was better than despairing.

Astrid breathed a tiny sigh of relief when Stormfly suddenly descended, and she called out for Stoick.

"Astrid?" her Chief's voice boomed. "What happened?"

"It was Heather," she blurted out, her voice breaking, as she dropped from the saddle and practically threw herself at him. "She knocked us out and I think she took the Furies!" She didn't even try to stop the tears, fighting to stay lucid and get words out between sobs. "I think she's with Dagur, and Brenna's with them! H-h-how long was I out? They'll be on her boat!"

"Odin's soiled breeches," Stoick swore. "He's led us on a wild chase here. You lot, get back to the village! Astrid, can you take me back?"

"I… I think so." She turned to her Nadder and stroked her head. "Sorry girl, I know you're tired. I'll make it up to you, promise." Stormfly chittered and affectionately nibbled her hair, then lowered to the ground to allow them both to mount. It was always a little awkward with Stoick due to how far back the saddle was, but they managed.

"Yeh should know something, lass," Stoick said solemnly as Stormfly laboured into the air. "We… found the Nightmare you've been looking for, we think. Looks like Dagur found it first, a few days ago."

Her heart went out to the poor dragon, but there wasn't much room to feel for it. She was too stricken by the kidnapping of the Furies. "Heather must have been working with Dagur. They showed up at the same time and with the same goal, and she was his backup plan. Or maybe she was just getting information on them. How could we be so blind!? We didn't even think…"

"No, we didn't," Stoick said reassuringly. "We thought of them as people, and not valuable things. You didn't know any better, but I… I should have."

She turned in the saddle to look back at him, and for a moment she truly saw him in the moonlight. He looked utterly broken, a man clinging to the last shreds of hope but expecting to lose. It was only a moment, then she was looking at his calm and collected mask.

Astrid collected herself and nodded at him, building her own mask of calm control and affixing it to her face. As Stormfly struggled through the air they coldly and logically planned the search, and then backup plans. Anything to keep hope alive.

It was cramped. It was dark. It was stuffy. Wanderer did not much care for this not-skin-thing he had been put in. The weird movements of the ground weren't helping either. One of the floating Long-Paw tree-things, he guessed.

He was not bound by the same things that had held Dreamer at least, these did not have hard metal inside them. They were tough, but they were thin and his claws were sharp. He just needed to keep working at them, though it would be a lot faster with a better angle…

The not-skin that encased him was picked up again. More distant sounds became audible, so he'd presumably been taken out of the belly of the tree-thing, but then there was very little light peeking through the not-skin so it must still be night. His heart rose hopefully and he gave another enquiring chirp… the lack of response slowly weighed him back down.

Distant sound muted again and pricks of warm light reached his eyes, then much light as the not-skin opened. He growled at the long paw that reached in even as he flinched away from it, but he had nowhere to retreat to and was easily grabbed by his tail and pulled into the open.

Wildly scanning in his surroundings, the first thing he saw was that Dreamer was absent. There was no scent of him here and no evidence of a second not-skin-thing. He was dismayed they were separated, but could hope Dreamer's fate was better. He would just need to focus on his own situation for now and worry about it later. The second thing was the tall Long-Paw standing in front of him, which he noticed right before it roughly grabbed his head.

He didn't know what was happening, somehow the touch alone stung at his scales and made the muscles crawl under his hide. Thrashing madly only achieved a few pathetic flops around the raised surface he was on, but then the torturous contact ended. Something felt different around his head, the bindings were less narrow and painful but much firmer. He experimentally rubbed them against the tree-surface he was on and then against his shoulder, but couldn't even get them to budge.

His growl cut off when he recognised the bad name that Dreamer had given him. How did this Long-Paw know that? No-teeth … Hrrr, his teeth were still sheathed. Maybe he would find a use for that later. He just wished his gums weren't pressed so tightly together, they were getting sore.

The Long-Paw examined him, and he warily examined it back. It smelled heavily of itself, but tree-smoke, dirt and bracken were prevalent too. It was tall, had tidy head-fur and face-fur, and though its limbs were hidden under long not-skins it held itself with a lithe strength. This was a dangerous Long-Paw, even more so by the calm greed in its eyes.

It was joined by a second, shorter Long-Paw with an oversized chin and thick face-fur standing out sideways from under its nose. It smelled of itself only. Maybe also of salt, but then everything smelled of salt. As it chattered Wanderer noted that its teeth were not blunt and useless like other Long-Paws', but were pointy and sharp. Perhaps a more aggressive breed, though it spoke in fear and submission.

He growled at them again. He didn't expect it to faze them, and indeed it didn't, he was just demonstrating his defiance. The greedy one leaned in and hummed something back at him in such sick happiness it could have been a purr. He hissed at its words.

It smiled at him in the Long-Paw way – though to Wanderer it seemed closer to baring its teeth – and pranced out of the small space, leaving him with the sharp-tooth Long-Paw which looked very unhappy and uncertain about something. He growled at it again and its uncertainty grew. It felt good. The Long-Paw hesitantly reached out to him, the paw held with intent to grab. He waited patiently until it nearly touched him, then lunged at it – of course he could barely move, his legs were bound to his body and his mouth was bound shut, but the Long-Paw startled backwards and nearly tripped over. He chuckled as he watched it collect itself.

It huffed at him and strode forward more confidently, though this time it rearranged something outside of his sight before reaching for him again. There was only a small flinch as he lunged a second time, even with an added growl, and then its touch had his senses screaming at him again.

The noise in his head was deafening, but eventually subsided as the contact reduced to a firm pressure on his shoulders, and he panted as his mind cleared a bit. Enough to realise the bindings around him had changed, one of his forelegs had been released. Patience…

Hear your body when it says chase…

The Long-Paw leaned, then the foreleg that was not pinning him drifted overhead. He lashed out and sunk his claws into it, the Long-Paw's own instinctive jerk back did the damage for him and elicited a hiss of pain, though it did not let him go as he'd hoped. Hrrff. At least it knows I can hurt it.

It growled something at him and slid him to an angle he could not see it properly, then weight settled most of the way down his back but disappeared from his neck. He struggled again, however pointless it was; his scales felt like they were crawling around his hide, and its vile breath felt toxic against his back.

To this point he'd been defiant and confident, determined to show these nest-thieves that he would not be cowed. The sight of the short, fat Long-Paw claw that drifted in front of his face instantly drained his confidence. A deep chill swept up his body and paralysed him as it hovered there, and the weight on him shifted again.

His freed paw was grabbed and pulled forward.

No…

He fought his frozen body to struggle, but there was too much weight on him and he was otherwise still bound. The squared point of the claw rested on the tree-surface and his paw was dragged towards it, but he yanked it back. There was no satisfaction from the cuts it caused in the process. His leg was grabbed again, the grip now resilient to his frantic tugging, and pulled forward. NO!

Chunk

The tug on his claw was excruciating, and he screeched in outrage and pain.

Chunk

He strained at his bindings and beat his head and tail against his captor to no effect, hissing and growling madly.

Chunk

The grip on his leg loosened and he wrenched it back, tucking it under his chest, but it was quickly pried out again and angled further to the side. He was suddenly less worried about his paw when the Long-Paw claw pivoted closer to his face, and he pulled his head back as far as the pin would allow.

Chunk

His leg was released and it darted back under him, feeling so very wrong wrong WRONG without the sharp and familiar lengths at the end. He hunched up around the paw – as much as the pin allowed – and couldn't suppress a whimper, feeling helpless. This was somehow worse than losing his fire, and he even still had claws left!

…

NONONONONO his thoughts screamed as he thrashed and struggled anew.

Stupid day… It was a miserable day, nothing was right in the world and everything seemed dark and gloomy. The morning had absolutely no right to be this sunny and cheerful.

Astrid sat on a rock in the cove and stared blankly at her axe. Her reflection stared blankly back at her. She needed to be awake, but the dragons needed to recover and she didn't trust herself to let them rest, so she'd come here. "What would you have done?" she asked the ghost of the boy from long ago. His resolve, that determination he'd possessed, he'd be out there scouring–… No, that wasn't his style. He'd want do something stupid, Astrid would tell him to calm down, and then he'd think. He'd come up with an amazing plan and see it through, then keep fighting until the end; whether that be for his entire village, or a single black dragon.

She really wished Hiccup was here right now. Either of them. Both of them. She'd lost them both, and couldn't help feeling responsible. It had been her job to assess Heather, and she'd failed miserably at it regardless of how much Stoick reassured her.

The wingbeats were initially dismissed as her imagination – but unlike all the other times they became louder, closer, until Stormfly landed on the grass in front of her looking tense but much more refreshed. Astrid holstered her axe and vaulted into the saddle, feeling the renewed strength of her friend, and they leapt into the air to assemble the other riders.

She hadn't slept, but she'd rested enough to remain alert and spent the rest of the night gathering information. Talking to more seasoned sailors for estimates on the boat's range through the night, getting an exact heading for Berserk and what path a ship there might take, and what paths it might take should it want to go unnoticed.

It wasn't quite a Hiccup plan, but it was a plan.

Heather had wanted to avoid the dragon as much as possible, but she had no excuse when Alvin told her to feed his 'toothless' beast. Why was he so hung up on that anyway? It didn't even matter that she'd told him its teeth were retractable.

She went below deck to retrieve a fish from the stores. It was surprisingly roomy, though that there was only the three of them was part of it, with Alvin steering the ship and Savage manning most of the rigging with a bit of help from herself.

Below deck was split into three compartments – the main area where two beds lined one wall and provisions lined the other, the walled-off stern of the ship which was Alvin's quarters, and the walled-off prow which served whatever it needed to. In this case, a small black dragon. She tugged on the bolt and pulled the door open, then took a moment to light a lamp fixed securely to the wall. The meagre flame lit the room enough to see the dark lump on the table.

Not wanting to tempt it, she quickly and carefully set the fish down next to it and went to leave… but then remembered water. Alvin did not take it well when a job was half-done. She huffed and returned to the main hold – locking the door behind her – to retrieve a bowl and half-fill it with water. She re-entered the room to find the fish still there, but now there were two slit green eyes watching her.

Eyeing the dragon warily, she set the bowl down next to it; its wide base prevented it from tipping from the ship's movements. The dragon put its nose to the bowl. Eh eh eh eh came a sound from its throat, then it snorted in a way that sounded a lot like 'stupid'. She narrowed her eyes at it – then saw the tight binding around its head, clamping its mouth shut.

"How was I supposed to know?" she snapped at it illogically, but then furrowed her brow at the problem. Alvin had told her to feed it, not to just give it food. She groaned. How was she going to do this? She was pretty sure it would bite her hand off given the chance. It had bitten through thicker bones than hers.

She inspected the dragon, not completely bound as it was before and holding itself in a tight bundle. Its paws were not visible, but she trusted Savage to have trimmed the claws as he had claimed; the hilarious number of scratches he had incurred in the process had probably ensured he'd been thorough. The end of a metal manacle was visible from under its wing, so it was almost certainly attached to the table; she inspected a second, empty manacle next to it and was confident the dragon was secured.

So that just left freeing its mouth without letting it bite her. Easy enough. She slowly reached forward, ignoring the growl, then tugged a little slack through the clasp and quickly stepped back. The dragon looked at her blankly, then tried its mouth, finding a little more room than before, and quickly pried the muzzle off. It snapped up the fish and lapped at the water, moving quickly but not desperately, and she left before it could finish.

Let Alvin muzzle it again. She needed to spend as much time above deck while she still could.

If the gods weren't laughing before, then they are now, Dreamer thought wryly as he inspected his bindings for the umpteenth time. Dagur's back to playing 'dragon hunter' with me. He snorted. Probably going to be about as dangerous, too. He cut off the thought that he still had scars from those games, because of course now he did not.

He wasn't overly worried right now. Sure, he was separated from Wanderer, in a cramped cage, on a Berserker longship, surrounded by people who wanted to hunt him for his skin and skull, and headed for Berserk, but they hadn't beheaded and skinned him yet. Dagur was an impatient person so that spoke of some sort of plan, and if Dreamer was good at anything – at least before becoming a Nightstriker – he was good at derailing plans. Maybe not quite as good as the twins, but then he'd never really been trying before.

And that was assuming he didn't get rescued first. That would be nice.

It would have been better if he'd caught some of the conversation that had led to him being handed to Dagur though, then he'd have a better idea of what was going on. Stupid Norse words, why were they so difficult to hear with these ears? Surely better ears should make it easier to hear? Of course not, only everything else is easier to hear.

I miss Wanderer, he whined to himself. They'd never been apart for longer than a night until now, and this was day two with no reunion in sight. Hopefully his friend would be okay, they'd been taken alive so his captor probably intended to keep him that way.

"Shar' iii'," one of the rowing Berserkers growled and reached back to rap on his cage. Yeah well you get tied up for two days with no food or water and see how well you take it. He was parched and starving but didn't feel weak from it yet, probably because he hadn't really been able to move much in that time. He would need to eat and drink soon though. While he was on the topic, he was also cramped, stiff, bored, and itchy.

Had they forgotten he had needs? Or did they just not intend to meet them? Hmm, it might be better to force their hand earlier rather than waiting until he really needed sustenance. What did a dragon do when it was hungry? Had he ever seen a dragon hungry? Well, when Wanderer had been stranded in the cove of course, but he'd been bigger and been getting something. He thought about it for a while but couldn't come to any conclusion.

Stupid, I'm overthinking this. The hunger, the thirst, focus on them… So hungry… When had he last eaten? Mmrrr, it'd been some fish from the docks, fresh and still wet, before that last stint of flying. Nnggg, flying, he might even take that over food right now. No, that would only make him more hungry. Go for food. Dripping wet fish, fresh from the water, just enough to wet his tongue too.

The more he focused on it the more unbearable it became. Maybe he'd been a little closer to starvation than he'd thought. He groaned pitifully, attracting the attention of the Berserker again, but he ignored it. The noise of iron rapping against the cage was nothing compared to the void in his stomach.

Dagur's growling voice said something unintelligible, but he remained motionless and limp. Something poked him, and he resisted the urge to try to claw at it. Dagur shrieking; at him or the Berserker, he didn't know.

"Ssort it ou' hen whe stop forr 'he naitt," and then footsteps leading away. Really!? It was barely noon. If he really had been dying of thirst… Well, that was why he'd played it up a bit.

…Nnggg, but that means I need to keep this up for the rest of the day…

The ground rocked left. The ground rocked right. Wanderer sighed. The ground rocked left. It rocked left again! That was interesting. Then it rocked right.

There wasn't anything else going on, and he was bored of sleeping. His hindleg was bound in metal that he could not bite through and attached to the tree-surface, preventing him from doing more than walking in a tight circle. Which felt very weird and wrong with such short and blunt claws. He growled and began licking them again for comfort.

It was almost a relief when the greedy Long-Paw entered the small room. Now that it had broken the monotony, it could go away again. Of course it didn't, even when Wanderer growled at it, just began clicking and humming in Long-Paw speech. He tried to focus on the sounds, separate them into words, but it was a very alien language and he could barely tell one sound from the next.

They had not bound his mouth again, which was good, but the meals and water were sparse. At least that meant he hadn't needed to foul the room yet; hopefully this tree-thing would finish its hilariously slow journey before then, if he could not escape sooner.

He didn't bother blustering at the Long-Paw like a Fire-Scale, didn't even hunch his wings. He knew he was not the one in control. Even if he somehow killed this Long-Paw right now he would still be stuck here, so he regarded it calmly, patiently.

It continued chattering haughtily, leaning on the table and splaying out the long toes on its paw. If he reached, he could probably have bitten the wrist… but settled for swiping at the paw instead. The Long-Paw was fast, but Wanderer still grazed it with his useless claws. It laughed at him and resumed chattering.

Through its tone and body language he could tell this Long-Paw didn't want to kill him. It spoke very possessively of him, in a sort of muted aggression that often went with greed; it wanted to break him, tame him and make him its own. It can try. He had many more cycles under his wings than he looked.

The Long-Paw stopped chattering to look at him thoughtfully, stroking the long fur on its face, while Wanderer gave it a blank expression back. It tentatively reached forward, which he growled at but made no aggressive move towards. Seeming to come to some sort of decision or conclusion, the Long-Paw reached over him to pin him by his shoulder. A quick lunge, taste its blood, break its bones, do it do it DO IT, but he resisted the urge. Especially when it started fiddling with the metal around his hindleg.

Wanderer went very still. The den-mouth was still open just a crack, enough to see the light of the Sky-Fire through. The paw held him down in a firm pin, but that could be easily fixed, even if he missed his lunge it would need to let go and he would be free. Patience… He couldn't help the energy and tension surging in his muscles as the paw pressed a little more firmly onto his shoulder.

Click

He surrendered to the impulse and moved with all the speed of a hungry Nightstriker. His muscles snapped into action, twisting him to bring his head around to the limb pinning him. His teeth snapped out as he moved, needle points ready to rend flesh and splinter bone, and his powerful jaws clamped down with all the strength he could muster.

Crack

A high note rang through the boat, an unholy shriek that pierced Heather's ears and needled down her spine. She hugged her legs tightly with her elbows, clasping her hands over her head and trying not to imagine what was going on inside the room at the prow.

The sound only lasted a few moments before dying off, and Alvin swiftly exited the room shortly after. He spared her a smug look as he pulled up his sleeves to remove a pair of metal bracers, then tossed them into a chest and climbed the ladder back up to the deck. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together.

She felt like she was going to throw up. Alvin was a cruel man and had hurt and killed a lot of people, much of which Heather had helped him do in some way or another, but this was like… torturing a child. However much she told herself it was just a dragon, that she had no choice, it was just too much for her to bear. She wanted to run, to huddle in a corner at the back of the boat, but below deck was Alvin's locked quarters and if she so much as poked her head above deck it would be removed from her shoulders.

But she couldn't do nothing either. With a fearful tension she crept to the door at the front of the ship and slowly slid the bolt; quietly, as if she were trespassing. It took a minute to collect herself enough to nudge the door open and step inside.

Alvin had left the lamp lit – unlikely it was an oversight, as usual his prediction of her was spot-on – which illuminated an empty table. Her heart hammered in her chest, but right now she didn't really care what the dragon did to her. The door closed behind her.

A pair of green eyes stared from the corner of the room, what was the very prow of the ship, tinged with red and holding a feral defiance. Her gaze lowered to the floor, and the eyes bored through her a little longer before they curled into the bundle of shadow and disappeared.

There was a thin trail of blood leading to it from the table, and she again had to fight the urge to be sick. She retrieved its empty water bowl, trying not to look too closely at the lumpy red pool on the table, and left the room.

She hesitated after taking the dragon's ration from the food stores. She couldn't afford to show it compassion, couldn't bring herself to make the choices that would inevitably come… but she wasn't exactly going to be eating today herself, and however calm it tried to appear the thing was obviously very hungry. She took her own ration out as well.

After ladling some water from the barrel into the bowl she re-entered the room to find the dragon exactly where she'd left it, watching her again with those accusing eyes, and set the water and both fish down about a pace away from it. Then she returned to the main hold, bolted the door behind her, and curled up on her bed again to pretend that everything was okay.

It was some time before the greedy Long-Paw returned, long enough for the pain in Wanderer's mouth to simmer down to a dull ache. It was tempting to go for its leg, but right now he would do more damage to himself than it. No fire, blunt claws, and now blunt teeth. Wrr, he still had a few fangs, but they were too scattered and mostly too far back to be of any use.

He was also deeply afraid of what else the Long-Paws might take from him. Such as his wings or tail.

The Long-Paw strode towards him and picked him up by the scruff of his neck to drop him back onto the tree-surface, clicking and humming as it went. He may not have fought, but he still growled; he wasn't broken yet, and the touch still seemed to worm its way under his hide.

As he was shaking himself free of the horrid sensation, a paw closed around his tail. He spun and snarled at it, while there was little point in fighting it was not going to ground him, not while he drew breath. The paw didn't move, so he slashed it with his blunted claws–

He groggily blinked his eyes open with a groan, the tender spot behind his jaw aching fiercely. What happened…? Wrr, he hadn't even seen the Long-Paw move; it was fast. He growled and stretched his neck, then the rest of him – his tail fins! They weren't working! He whipped his tail around in a panic, then groaned in relief at finding them only bound.

The Long-Paw clicked at him cheerily and beckoned, walking out of the den-mouth… and leaving it open. Cautiously, he followed it out into a larger room full of Long-Paw clutter in time to see the Long-Paw disappear through a hole in the roof.

The air was heavy with the scent of the female Long-Paw, it was here somewhere though he could not see or hear it. Hrff, it should hide from me. The smell of food was too tempting to pass up and he followed his nose up onto a big round thing, but it was sealed and impenetrable. Dejectedly, he dropped back to the floor.

Light streamed from the hole in the roof, the likes of which he had not seen for what felt like an eternity. He was a creature of the night and did not need the sky-fire… but he stared in awe as it reminded him of soaring with its warm light pressing comfortably over his back. Free… He shook his head and sceptically eyed the grid of branches leading up to it, then experimentally hooked his paws over one. It seemed to work, though he was barely able to reach for the next branch and it was an awkward climb to the top.

Fresh, salty air caressed his face as his head emerged. It was bliss. The two Long-Paws watched him cautiously, but didn't seem to mind him there and only showed a moderate tension when he hurried to the side of the tree-thing to relieve himself over the edge. As tempting as it was to foul whatever he could of this fledgling-thief, he didn't know how long he himself would be stuck here. And as he looked around, he confirmed it would be a while – there wasn't a scrap of land in sight. Even if his tail fins weren't bound he would have trouble swimming anywhere, and in his current state he might even have trouble flying to land depending on how far away it was.

He eyed the tree jutting from the middle of the floating-tree-thing, then jumped down from the side and tried to climb it. His claws were far too blunt and kept slipping off, but the act seemed to comfort the aching nubs. He kept scratching at it until they became too sensitive to continue. Perhaps it would work on his teeth too, but they were still too tender to try.

Sighing, he padded away to hop onto the edge furthest from both Long-Paws and spread out in the light. He'd been allowed a small measure of freedom… but he was still very much trapped.

The light of the fourth day graced the sky through the bars of Dreamer's cage. He'd spent the first day cowering, the second day sarcastic and bitter about everything, the third day a strange mix between the two, and now… nothing. He felt hollow, drained. Almost like he didn't really care what happened next, as long as something happened. Being stuck in this tiny cage was slowly driving him mad. Distantly, he worried that he was getting a little delirious.

Though he had to commend the Berserkers, they only stopped rowing when the wind moved them too fast for it to help and for the few hours they'd stopped for the second night. At least they had let him out to stretch his legs and wings – chained to a tree, of course – to give him a few fish and some water. They hadn't re-bound him either, though the cage was still stifling. With the speed they were moving they must have been nearing Berserk by now, he assumed that's where they were going anyway.

His thoughts were running pointless circles around Wanderer and Heather at mid-morning when a shout announced his suspicions. Pressing his head to the top of his cage, he could just about make out the mountain of Berserk in the distance; not nearly as impressive as Berk's but still tall and sheer. Suddenly, he did feel something – dread. As much as he loathed this cage and this boat, he feared what reaching their destination would bring.

With a quiet whimper, he shrank to the back of his cage. He wished Wanderer was with him… then immediately felt guilty for wanting this fate on his friend, which then made him want comforting more… He was deep in a downward spiral when they inevitably bumped against the docks.

Dagur himself grabbed his cage and hauled him off the boat, then paraded him through the village. Occasionally he would hold the cage high in the air and shout incoherently, and Dreamer had to cover his ears at the loud roars he received in response. All the while, the tension and anxiety and fear welled in his empty stomach, and before long he didn't bother dropping his paws from his head and just sobbed.

Just get it over with…

He jumped when his cage was dropped onto a hard surface, and rank smells accosted his nose. A leatherworker. He went very, very still, barely daring to breathe. Trying to make out Dagur's crazed words was pointless, but something told him he didn't want to know.

The touch on his tail stabbed at his senses, and without thinking he spun with a snarl and snapped at the offending hand. He felt a primal satisfaction at the speed with which it withdrew, though the cage was then lifted and slammed back onto the table.

Dazed, he felt his tail pulled through the bars and firmly held down. With a horrible sinking feeling, he hunched over and clenched his fins in tightly, flinching at the snipping and snapping sounds that seemed to prick at his spine and waiting in anguish for the inevitable pain… but it never came. After a few minutes he was released, the end of his tail feeling tight but not hurting, and he whipped it back into the cage before they could change their minds.

He fearfully brought it to his gaze, then slumped in relief at finding it bound in strips of leather that wound tightly around the fins, and a little further up to wedge between the small blades on the sides of his tail. A few prods with a claw confirmed it to be the same as before, embedded with strong wire to prevent it from being bitten or clawed apart. Unlike before there were no clasps or knots, only hard fixtures. It would not be easy to remove.

But this was actually somewhat promising… There was no point in doing this if they were just going to kill him. The fact that they had bound his fins instead of cutting them implied some plan as well… but then again, Dagur was a madman, it was foolish to try to analyse him and make assumptions.

Dagur carried him past the edge of the village, no longer showing him off, then across a field and to the treeline. He knew the forest covered the centre of the island, ringed by fields and then villages that dotted the coast. So what was he…?

The door to the cage swung open.

Dreamer suddenly didn't want to leave the cage. The cage was good, he was protected by its thick bars, and if they wanted him in a cage then they didn't want him dead. The forest looked far too dark and exposed, and was full of all sorts of unknowns. He didn't move.

He shrieked as the cage was upended and shaken until he fell out. Panic gripping at his chest, he scrabbled to his paws and darted into the trees, spurred on by eager and malicious promises that followed him into the shaded forest.