Wanderer panted in the warm light with his stomach growling noisily. It was nearing the second night since he'd been allowed outside, but it had soon been made clear that he would need to return to his dark little room if he wanted food or water. Doing so would almost certainly result in being locked back in there, so he stubbornly refused.
The dehydration was taking its toll though, and every so often the submissive male would casually chase him around the ship. It had been a fun game to start with, but slowly became an excruciating trial of endurance.
Was this really worth it? The next time he wasn't sure he would be able to keep ahead, even at the leisurely pace his pursuer made. He knew he would end up down there one way or another. Being caught would mean being touched again. Going down himself would mean submitting. Neither option was acceptable.
But those were the only options. Wrrr, he supposed he could also drown himself, but he didn't consider that one of his choices. So he could fight, or submit. Put that way he certainly knew which he'd rather do, but when fighting ended with the same result but in a less pleasant way…
He took a long breath. If he could tolerate neither option, and there were no others, he should simply take the least degrading choice. From there it was an easy decision that going in on his own power was better than being dragged, as it still implied that he had a measure of control. That it was his decision. Being dragged down said the choice had been made for him.
Hrrr, but he was going to make the most of this while he had it, his parched throat could be grounded.
It wasn't long before Long-Paw shouts lifted his ears. They sounded anxious. Good that he was inconveniencing them, but perhaps not good for him. Steps on the hard floor of the tree-thing. Already…? He whined, not quite ready to give up his freedom. No… he would never be ready, he realised, but it was either that or have it taken from him.
He dropped from his perch on the side of the floating-tree-thing before he could be cornered, then wearily led the Long-Paw around.
Just go down…
No! He wouldn't give up his freedom.
Go down, drink…
He wanted water… but bitter anger rose in his chest at the sight of the hole into the belly of the tree-thing.
Give up, rest…
I NOT giving up! He growled at himself, then felt that vile touch brush his back and leaped forward in a stumble. His legs wobbled, and his wings and tail were dragging. This was it. Fight or submit.
What would Dreamer do…? He hadn't really thought about it before. Dreamer would probably pretend to comply, then escape at the first chance presented to him. Pretend. He could do that…
He dragged himself to the hole, grimacing at the stuffy air drifting out of it. After a moment of thought, he looked straight at the Long-Paw following him and stuck his tongue out at it; it felt like something else Dreamer would do. The surprised look it gave him was well worth it, and he grinned to himself as he dropped down into the darkness. Maybe… this wouldn't be too bad.
He managed to slow his fall with his wings, but landed awkwardly without his tail fins to angle him properly and his legs then crumpled under him in their exhaustion, so he still hit the ground quite hard. After picking himself back up he went and stood in front of the mouth to his little room, but did not go inside. There was no point if he was not given water, something else he would not have been able to control had he fought until the end.
The Long-Paw, having followed him down, seemed to understand and retrieved a fish and some water. Wanderer swallowed heavily, then moved to the side and beckoned for it to pass. It did so without fuss, and emerged from the room a moment later with its paws empty.
As he entered he was half expecting to have to lick the water from the floor, but it was still contained in the thing sat neatly on the tree-surface next to the fish. He clambered up and guzzled it down greedily, only mildly disappointed at hearing the den-mouth close behind him.
The forest of Berserk concealed a large lake, Dreamer knew, but it wasn't until late into the night that he found it. He bounded forward to dunk his head under the surface, and gulped down the cool and only slightly murky water.
He only stopped when he started to feel bloated, then sat back with a sigh of relief and looked around. The lake was very still in the low light, though the reflections of the dimly lit clouds were a bit scattered. That was a quirk of his eyes though, not the lake. It was ringed by trees, more closely in some areas than others, and… that was about it really.
An aerial view would be much more helpful, but without either of his tail fins he had no hope of flying anywhere. After catching a few rabbits – three of them, all slow, fat, and very tasty – and now quenching his thirst, he was able to devote more of his attention to his predicament.
Pushing away his weariness, he dropped onto his side and brought his tail up to his forepaws to inspect the bindings around the fins. They were uncomfortably tight, now going numb, and there was no chance of slipping them off. There were stitches down either side of each leather strip, but only for strength and probably to hold the two wires in place, picking them would not free him. It wasn't all a single length, but the joins were metal rivets that he couldn't even get a claw under. It smelled as disgusting as any leather, at least with this nose, but he thought he caught a hint of Monstrous Nightmare undertones so it was likely fire resistant too.
He groaned. The Berserkers were dragon hunters, this must be some bright idea to bind their quarry for when they captured instead of killed. Leather, especially dragon leather, would stand up to most fire, and the wire was impervious to claws and teeth. The way it was attached to him also left no one point of failure, he'd need to break through at least three, maybe four places to remove it. They were very practsed at this.
Focus. The rivets were quite an odd design, and upon reflection probably weren't quite rivets. There had been no hammering involved, though by wedging the tip of a claw underneath the strap he could definitely feel a flat metal base to match the rounded head on the top. Perhaps they were more like nails, one hollow for the other one to press in to. Regardless, he had little chance of popping any of them without tools. And hands.
The heads of the not-rivets were wide enough to encompass the wire, so he'd not only need to work it through the leather but also work the wire out far enough from each side to get it around the metal head. Actually, he only needed to pick out one side to twist it out. Grrr, if he could breathe fire the stitching wouldn't be a problem, but with only his claws it would be difficult and slow work. There were three of these rivets over his tail fins that would need to go to at least let him fly, the remaining two could be taken care of once he was well away from here.
Groan. He would start later, sleep was definitely the next task on the agenda. As tempting as it was to fall asleep right there, he was far too exposed near the lake and so pulled himself to his paws with a yawn and trudged back into the forest.
Shelter… He needed to remember he was in Berserker territory, and everything that implied; not that it was difficult with how the forest reeked of them. If he'd thought things were dangerous on Berk then he had been naïve, a momentary lapse in judgement and… He whined, it was painful to think about, but forgetting would make it reality. Focus, need shelter…
He wandered the forest for a while, occasionally stumbling over his paws. He could almost believe he was back on Berk, the vegetation and climate were similar – if a bit warmer here – though there were few trails other than rabbits and humans, and the land was not quite as jagged. Thinking about it, he had not seen a single cave yet.
The world began to spin. He couldn't go on anymore, having been awake for far too long. No, can't just drop here… He picked up his drooping head, wings, and tail, and gave himself a shake. Maybe I could climb the mountain, they'd have trouble reaching me up there. But it was too far away right now.
…It presented an obvious solution though, and he groaned for not thinking of it earlier. It was easy to forget how bad human senses were compared to his own. He willed himself on, summoning the dregs of his reserves, and clawed his way up the nearest tree. He didn't feel comfortable hanging from his tail while this exhausted, and it would stand out, but he was confident that draping himself over some branches near the trunk would make him just another silhouette in the canopy even during the light.
Though a flicker of consciousness remained to monitor the surrounding sounds, he finally allowed himself to succumb to sleep.
The floating-tree-thing moved in a new way, one that Wanderer was surprisingly familiar with. It was like gliding into a swift landing – or a crash, he supposed – onto loose sand or wet grass, and sliding along it. The sensation of careless floating being replaced by the strict lateral movement of ground. The loud crunching noise directly below him was further proof.
Wherever they had been going, they had arrived.
He didn't know whether they would come for him, but stretched with a yawn and hopped down from the flat-tree-thing. He'd found chewing the legs of the tree-surface helped alleviate the lingering aches in his jaws, and did so again just in case the next place he was taken to did not have something as suitable.
The greedy Long-Paw entered the room shortly after, carrying the hollow not-skin and a length of bindings. The female followed it and closed the door, while the male hit some rocks together to light the smelly metal thing on the wall and chattered casually.
The male then looked at Wanderer expectantly, but the female was still trying to talk to it, and it sternly snapped something back. If only he could understand these stupid words, he might find something to use. Dreamer would know what to do…
Wanderer shook his head, Dreamer wasn't here so he could only use what he had, and while he didn't understand it there was clearly some tension between these two. He buried the observation to paw through later.
Slumping, the female turned to him. "You come, you good," she pointed to the bindings, "you not come," she pointed at the hollow-not-skin.
Another choice. Fight, and be shoved into the cramped and stuffy not-skin, or submit and stretch his legs, maybe learn more about where he was.
Wanderer growled at them, but didn't move. He would much rather fight with everything he had, but without fire, claws, or teeth, that was only his mind and his will. Which should he exercise here?
Hsss, he didn't like it, but resisted the urge to bite the paw as the binding was laid over his head and tightened behind his frills. He was not submitting as long as he remained strong in his mind, and sustaining further debility from resisting would only make it more difficult to act on any chances.
The greedy Long-Paw made a pleased, amused sound, then led him out of the floating-tree-thing and back into the light. He was ready to resist at the slightest tug of the binding, show he would not be cowed, but he was left with ample slack as he clambered up the grid of branches, then trudged off the floating-tree-thing and through a small Long-Paw nest.
It smelled dirty, and looked it too. Many of the Long-Paws had sharp pointy teeth like the submissive one, who was now nowhere to be seen. Many had blunt teeth, and perhaps half of those looked worn and broken and paid him no attention. The other half, and all the sharp-teeths, looked at him in an uncomfortable mix of awe, curiosity, and wild glee.
He shied a little from the interest, but tried to ignore them to focus on recognising where he was. He had visited much of this cluster of small-lands under the control of the queen, and likely this one as well if there were Long-Paws here as their nests were the best source of the land-prey she preferred. It was difficult with such a low and limited perspective, and there were a lot of small-lands, so he could only keep looking for some sort of distinctive landmark that he could recognise from the ground. The jagged rock formations narrowed it down at least.
He didn't know how fast the floating-tree-thing had been moving much of the time, but it had been moving a little east of north. The direction wasn't the problem, it was that there was a large expanse of sea with no land in sight that he'd need to fly around, and that meant knowing more accurately where he was.
The female Long-Paw gave him a strange look, one of pride, hope, relief, but also pity and regret. Even now it didn't know who it was. He pointedly locked eyes with it until it looked away again. Weak, he thought at it.
After a moment of talking, the two Long-Paws began walking in different directions. Hrrr, the greedy one held the binding so he was clearly meant to follow that one. It led him through a den-mouth, though a pointless one as there was no den on the other side to stop anyone just flying over, then through some caves, and finally into a circular rock-hole not dissimilar to the one at Dreamer's nest. Though, this one still had the web of metal over the top of it.
He didn't like it. He had good memories of the one at Dreamer's nest, but some bad ones too. One where they had locked the fragile Dreamer inside with a Fire-Scale, and another where the rock-head had feebly tried to make him do something before attacking Dreamer. But that Long-Paw was barely a fledgling, this one was experienced and tricky in a very bad way.
Given that they had deprived him of his claws and teeth, it seemed unlikely they wanted him to fight a Fire-Scale. The possibility that left was not any more appealing.
The sound of footsteps loudly bumbling their way through the forest was not enough to rouse Dreamer from sleep. Not the first time, or the second, or the tenth. They were still prowling-steps, not hunting-steps, and so he remained asleep. What eventually woke him was his belly demanding food.
How long was I out…? He groaned as he extracted himself from the branches to stand on them, his muscles very sore and stiff. Slowly, he stretched out – then hissed in pain, the twitch of the muscles in his tail burning through the numbness and reminding him how tightly the fins were clamped. Food could wait, he needed to address this now.
He first tried to work some drool between the leather and his scales to alleviate the chafing, doing his very best to keep the stitching dry. Next he tried to work a claw under the strips, but could not alleviate any of the agonising pressure. It was with a grim resignation he eventually set to work picking the stitches, though the threads were thick, coated in something like wax, and bit deep into the leather, so his progress was slow.
While he worked he checked his internal compass and looked for the sky-fire… finding it setting on the other side of the sky. Apparently he'd slept away half the night and then most of the light. Well, he would be better off moving around in the dark. Probably.
The thread finally frayed and snapped – it had taken almost half an hour – and he felt a brief moment of hope. However, the thread then refused to be pulled through the leather. What's this stuff made of? It was like the ultimate anti-dragon binding. Which was the point, but still, they must spend an awfully long time making it. Which meant he would need to spend a correspondingly long time dismantling it.
He whimpered at how little progress he'd made by the time the sky-fire set, not even half of the way through the first set of stitching. He then needed to work the not-rivet through the leather, and there were two more after that. It was difficult to resist the urge to just bite until the bindings came off, or his tail did.
A thought struck him and he prodded the end of the tail, feeling the sharp tip of his claw and some measure of relief. It wasn't tight enough to cut off the blood, he knew that was a very bad thing if left too long. Wait, could it still be too tight? He wasn't human anymore. It was unlikely it would turn purple… he couldn't even see purple. Well, it was coming off as soon as he could manage it either way, he'd find out then. As long as he still had sensation he should be okay.
With how long this would take, he might as well address the easier ache. He hopped out of the tree – then shrieked as he flipped over backwards, his tail whipping through the air instead of pressing against it. Somehow he managed to right himself enough to land heavily on his tail and paws, grimacing at the pain in the still-healing wound on his leg. That was stupid. He gave himself a shake, then began sniffing at the ground for something to eat.
The rabbits infested this forest like a plague, so he would not be left wanting for food at least. He guessed the Berserkers wouldn't be particularly interested in valiantly hunting down the critters, though the image was quite amusing.
He quickly found his own scent in the rotting leaves, and then a second time but stronger. Apparently this was the path he'd taken towards the lake, and then followed back while looking for shelter. He must have been very tired to do that without realising, it was a good thing he didn't follow it all the way back to the Berserker village.
Well, he figured he might as well orient himself by returning to the lake and followed his own overlapping trails, noting the scents of the local wolves following them as well. Sleeping in trees was definitely the way to go if wolves were hunting him.
He stopped, confused. Both his trails ended abruptly. All the trails did, other than the ever-prevalent blanket-scent of leather boots and humans. It took him a few moments to recognise that the ground had been disturbed, though it was well camouflaged. But why would… His eyes widened and he hastily scrabbled backwards, remembering being shown this type of trap long ago. Buried and well hidden, a bit of pressure and steel jaws snapped from the ground to ensnare the unfortunate victim. It would not do him well to be caught in one of those.
Two more were sniffed out on his way back to the lake, and a poorly concealed net trap with the mechanism obviously showing on a nearby tree. Well, obvious to him, but he knew what it was. He considered dismantling it for parts, but he'd need somewhere safe to stash them first and it was probably better to let them think he had not come this way.
Darkness was deeply set over the land by the time he reached the water. After taking another drink he cautiously followed a rabbit trail and dug up the warren, easily filling his belly; he wasn't confident in a chase anymore, not while he knew there were traps.
With one ache fixed, he picked out a nice tall tree to roost in and nestled himself into its branches to return to painstakingly relieving the other.
Heather eyed the small, sightless Nadder warily as she cut the limp vegetables. It had always bothered her, but now that she knew what a Deadly Nadder was supposed to look like it was even more apparently abnormal. It wasn't actually blind, but its eyes were glazed and blank in an unseeing way and it didn't react to anything going on around it, just sat there and stared forward. It gave her the chills.
She forced her focus back to the task at hand – preparing a meal for her mother. It was something she'd desperately wanted to do since starting to learn, and even the poor quality of ingredients wasn't souring the moment. Nothing grew on Outcast Island, so everything they had was stolen or blackmailed for and would spend days on a boat before reaching the port.
But it was more of a staging ground than an actual home. Outcasts had no home, they lived on the sea and in the shadows. Some lucky few did get to stay in a village, having their brand cut off or scarred beyond recognition then planted similarly to how Heather had been. Threat of exposure kept them as reliable thieves and spies.
"Dear? You were telling me about your friend."
"Right. Sorry." Heather smiled over her shoulder at her mother, who looked a lot older than she should. This place was not good for her.
She left out the parts about the dragons and just described the personalities of the five teens as she worked and served, particularly Astrid, then what it had been like working in the kitchen. This simple soup was a far cry from what she had been making there, but it turned out to be palatable.
Talking with her mother, she could forget everything else. At this table she was normal, and she could temporarily escape the hell that was her life. At least, she forgot until Alvin let himself in and 'requested' her assistance.
Dreamer jolted awake as something impacted with his wing, scoring the surface but harmlessly deflecting away. His eyes snapped open and instantly assessed Dagur drawing another arrow while a medium-built guard watched with interest, that was all he saw in the glimpse he allowed himself before leaping from the tree. He awkwardly swooped to the ground, landing tail-first and slamming onto his chest, but thankfully he had had the foresight to get a paw under his chin so he wasn't too dazed to shove himself away. The next arrow skipped off the ground where he'd just landed.
Heart pounding, his fatigue instantly forgotten, he sprinted through the forest at a tangent to the path to the lake, tail twitching for balance. He needed to find a new area to roam, somewhere far from this one. Perhaps the other side–
Sound behind him prompted him to glance back, and his thoughts fled as he saw Dagur right behind him, bounding through the trees and moving more like an animal than a human. Dreamer surged forward with his breath hissing through his mouth, keeping in mind his hunts of the much faster rabbits on Berk and so keeping to as straight a line as possible.
Seeing only trees with a second glance back, he slowed to a moderate lope. Okay… His endurance isn't as good, but what was with that speed!? If he allowed himself to be taken by surprise, Dagur would probably catch him.
He continued at a brisk trot for what was probably about a third of the way around the lake, well away from where Dagur had been hunting him, and slowed to a stop. The beating of his pulse was heavy in his ears, but he pushed it down and tuned it out to focus on the sounds of the forest. Just the rustling of trees and the chattering of birds. He was still uneasy, but there was no way Dagur could move that fast without making noise; it wasn't a matter of skill, human bodies just weren't built for it.
Even still, when he climbed a tall and sturdy tree – it was still early during the light, he'd not had much sleep – he kept watch until his pulse and breathing had slowed, and finally the gripping fear of being hunted began to abate.
He tried to ignore the deep ache in the bottom of his chest, but it was so painful. To distract himself he settled himself into the crook of two branches and swung his tail up… but just stared at the one popped not-rivet blankly, the pain rising up his chest until it stung his eyes and nose.
I not want to be alone here… Hunching in on himself, he pawed at his face and whimpered himself back to sleep.
Mere hours after the chase, Dreamer was again roused by the hum of an arrow cutting through the air, then yanked to full alertness by a sharp impact in his shoulder. His thoughts fled as liquid agony leaked into his blood, as if his veins were being shredded, and the torturous pain escalated and spread until he snapped into unconsciousness.
"You, get this, from there," the female Long-Paw said, setting a small tree-thing down on the ground and then pointing with a paw to a hollow-tree-thing. The greedy Long-Paw watched impassively with a fish in its hand.
Wanderer gave them both a flat look, but his gaze kept going back to the fish. I just need survive next cold-season… He inspected the small tree-thing. A bit smaller than his ear, it had clearly been cut from a tree or branch with some purpose in mind but he couldn't work out what. And how could he fetch it from over there if it was here? Crazy Long-Paw thinking. Wrrr, he'd work it out. He padded over to the hollow-tree-thing, finding it full of other small-tree-things. Huff. He put his nose to work, but they were all cut from the same type of tree, perhaps even the same tree. Maybe the shape was important? They were all somewhat different.
No, he was overthinking this. He walked around the hollow-tree-thing and pushed it with his nose towards the two Long-Paws, to the greedy one's tempered laughter. On one wind, he did not like doing what this Long-Paw wanted. On another wind, he was very hungry… and the Long-Paw promptly produced a second fish and tossed them both across the rock-hole. Wanderer was careful not to show his hunger or impatience as he padded over and gulped them down, but couldn't help giving a quiet and brief purr as the fierce ache in his belly subsided.
He gave up trying to decipher their chatter and dismissed them with a flick of his tail; whether they recognised the gesture or not was irrelevant. As they left, he reflected on the attitudes they showed towards each other, and connected the female's hunted demeaner to this greedy one. He tried to imagine what Dreamer might do in this situation.
Dreamer… He sorely missed his friend-mate and the comfort they gave each other, and desperately hoped they would see each other again. Dropping onto his side and resting his head on his tail, he let himself drown in the sadness that was heavy in his blood. It hurt in his body as much as in his mind, but compared to his current situation… it was a comforting hurt.
Dreamer woke in fits of blinding agony, flashes of consciousness in which he could do little more than groan, whimper, and suffer. The fits gradually became less severe until he could remain awake, though his breaths were sharp and his body tense as he grit his teeth through the pain throughout his body, which was slower in abating.
Eventually he became aware of other things. The cage he was in. Norse words, though not what they were. The mixed and laden smells of a village. Occasionally Dagur would peer through the bars, grin maniacally, and disappear again.
He tried to move his rigid and stiff muscles, stretch them, get his blood moving. Maybe it would help to disperse the… well, he supposed it was poison of some kind. He growled, why let him go only to catch him again? Dagur really was just playing dragon hunter. Despicable brute.
His tail lashed angrily, painfully cracking through its stiffness. He didn't care, pushing through it to crane his neck to inspect his wound. It didn't appear all that deep, just enough for the tip of the arrow to pierce through his hide. He made to see if he could reach it to lick, but the smell burned his nose and bubbled in his muscles; that might not be a good idea.
"Yurr up! HA! Knue yood mekk it." Dreamer spun and snarled at the sudden voice, pressing his nose to the bars of the cage. Dagur practically had his own nose to the bars, but didn't even flinch. "Yehs! S'ow me yoor faiht!" His expression flicked to bored. "But savfe it for latur."
The cage was lifted, Dreamer continuing to growl while the sounds and smells of the village faded and those of the forest neared. Again the cage was set down on the ground and the door opened. He shot out and lunged at Dagur, his claws and teeth aching for blood, but his quarry just twisted and dodged and laughed as he moved.
Dreamer slashed wildly, hissing and snarling, until Dagur suddenly shrieked something at him and pointed at the forest. The fight left him abruptly and he backed up a few paces. What was he doing? There was no way he could fight Dagur. Something… something was wrong.
He hissed at Dagur a last time and sprinted for the trees, then followed his original path – taking a few shortcuts – back to the lake. He remained wary of traps along the way, but it was difficult to remain focused; his thoughts kept drifting back to gutting Dagur and eating his heart.
Finally, the trees opened up in front of him and the shimmering surface of the lake came into view, and he sprinted forward to gulp down the cool water – then promptly threw it all back up. Grimacing, he tried again a little more slowly, then inspected the wound above his shoulder again. After some thought he sat in the shallows so that he could reach up with his hind paw.
He splashed the wound and rubbed it to clear the blood away, and then inspected it again. Grrr, that had been a poisoned arrow, he needed to clean it properly. Growling, he dragged a claw through the wound to clear out the clot, then rinsed it and repeated. It didn't hurt, strangely, at least not more than it did already.
Satisfied, he licked the wound clean until it stopped bleeding. At some point the throbbing had been replaced with only the lacerating pain of the cut, so that had probably been a good move. It didn't smell or taste foul anymore either, which was a relief.
Between the poison no longer trickling into his blood and the water in his belly, he felt a little less tense. Even further after relieving himself. The desire to attack and kill slowly dissipated, replaced with a nauseous regret for the thoughts. He had to fight down the urge to sick up the water again.
I should eat something… He didn't really have a reason behind the thought other than it felt right. The water sloshing around his empty stomach was only part of it. Wait… empty? It was now evening, but he'd hunted right before sleeping; he'd been out of it for at least a whole day.
Groaning, he began trotting around the lake, away from where Dagur apparently resided and in the opposite direction as last time. Again about a third of the way around, and with darkness now creeping over the island, he put his nose to the ground and began hunting. There didn't seem to be any traps around here, which was good as it allowed him to chase his catch and burn off the lingering effects of the poison. He was faster than the rabbits on this island, and simply ran one down without even trying to sneak up on it.
As he pounced and dug his claws into its fur, he had to admit he took more feral joy in the kill than usual. A lot more. He was sure to give it a merciful death at least, distantly hoping the poison would fully wear off soon. He couldn't think straight like this.
The second rabbit that disappeared down his gullet provided something closer to his usual thrill of the hunt, which was good. He should be back to normal in no time, all that was left was to sleep it off.
He looked around at the muted colours of the land. He was a lot harder to see at night, so maybe it was safer to sleep with that camouflage and move around during the day when he was more alert. He picked out a tall tree with good branches and clawed his way up it, now both his shoulder and his leg painful under the strain.
Despite recently being out for a full day, despite his tension, his abating but still present aggression, when he nestled into the crook of a forked branch he found himself quickly drifting into sleep.
Nine – or maybe ten – souls tried to find comfort in each other in the training ring, five teens leaning against their dragons in silence. They had taken to the ring early in the morning with the intention of training, but even the dragons were moping. Stormfly in particular.
Stoick was throwing himself at maintaining and building up the village, though with none of his usual fire or enthusiasm.
A week. It had been a week since the Furies had been taken. A week since Berk had failed the legacy of the hero it had also failed.
"Guys," Ruffnut's voice cracked the rigid silence. "We need to do something."
"We did something," Snotlout mumbled. "We did a lot. It didn't work. They're still gone."
"No, I mean, we can't just sit here moping."
"Watch me," Tuffnut shot back.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about! We're better than this. If we're not moving on, then we need to move up. Or step up, or whatever." She locked eyes with Astrid with the grim resolve of someone who was about to reach into a dragon's maw to stab it through the roof of its mouth. "What would Hiccup do?"
That lit a fire under Astrid so fast she startled Stormfly as she leapt to her feet, then stared with her jaw muscles bulging and a fierceness her eyes had forgotten. Ruffnut did not wither at the malice directed at her.
The staring contest ended with Astrid taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders. "She's right," she said quietly but firmly, "we're not done yet. Since when have we not fought with everything we had, right to the last? We faced hardships with the dragon raids, and we're still here. We faced down the dragon queen, and we're still here. We faced a Berserker army five times that of ours, and we're still here." Her voice slowly gained volume and determination as she went on. "Until it's confirmed, there's still hope. We need to be ready to act on the smallest lead, the faintest clue.
"And if it comes to the worst… then we grieve, and then we move on. Because that's what we do. Because we're Vikings. Because we're… Dragon Riders!"
There were no cheers… but the fire had spread to the nine other faces.
Wanderer knew the flight by now. He even sort of looked forward to it, in a despicable way, because he had very little else to do. The two Long-Paws would come to him, there'd be a brief argument, then the greedy one would tell him to do something while the female translated.
The tasks varied. Sometimes it was as simple as to move to places they pointed at a pawful of times, sometimes as complex as moving small objects in incomprehensible ways which occasionally took him a few tries to get right. All the while he observed and learned, beginning to make some sense of their language.
Though they said a lot with their bodies, it was apparently not real words. Of their actual words, they weren't consistent in how they were said either, so he'd only picked up a few; 'come', 'go there', and 'I want that thing' he more or less had down. Not very useful, but it was a start, and something to build on. He'd already known 'fish', 'food', and 'it's time to eat food', which were mentioned occasionally as well, accompanied by a command.
"Hear," the female Long-Paw said, and pointed at the greedy one.
"Come," said the greedy one with its click and hum.
Wanderer looked blankly between them, giving no indication that he was learning; let them underestimate him, whatever advantage he could get. "What?" he asked, then had to stifle a grin as they bickered between each other.
"You, here," the female said, and he dutifully trotted over only to be sent away again in the same way. He was surprised to be tossed a piece of fish – but only a piece of one. Hrrr, but he hadn't needed to do as much for it. He still didn't like it, this was incomprehensible Long-Paw thinking, he had no idea what it could accomplish… and that only made him more uneasy.
The male then tossed something – another small-tree-thing by the sound of it striking the stone – to the other side of the rock-hole, then said "I-want-that."
If you want it, why you throw it? He cocked his head at the female again.
"You get that," she said tensely, and he unhurriedly padded over to obey. It was looking like the female was unsuccessfully trying to get the male to ask him, which made more sense the more he thought about it. They were obviously trying to teach him their words as well, but he was – as far as they knew – refusing to learn. It was getting frustrated, stuck between him and the greedy Long-Paw with neither side willing to budge. He might have felt sorry for it, were it not a despicable nest-thief.
He dropped the small-tree-thing – covered in as much saliva as he could achieve – in front of them and absently received the rest of the fish, dismissing them again with a flick of his tail to mull over his observations.
Opening his eyes to find the ground several body-lengths away was a bit of a surprise to Dreamer, one he still wasn't quite used to. This morning was a particular shock due to how his head had been dangling and so it was literally the first thing he'd seen.
After an only mildly uncomfortable moment for his body to work out that it wasn't falling, he blinked himself awake and began his morning stretch, again hissing in pain as he forgot his tail fins were–
He froze.
No…
His breath became heavy, and he determinedly stared ahead. It didn't have to be true if he didn't look.
But it would be true, he knew. He still had to get off this cursed island, which meant doing something about the bindings around his tail. Something that his captors would be unhappy about. Something that his captors would – and he slowly swung his tail around to confirm they had – do their best to prevent.
The bindings had been repaired, the wire sewn back into the leather and thin washers put on the not-rivet.
Focus. He took a deep, slow breath, and inspected the repair. It probably wouldn't be any more difficult to undo, but it had taken well over a day to break through one not-rivet. Breaking all three at that rate would take nearly five days, maybe four. He would need to avoid capture for that long.
There was also a chance the bindings would be strengthened if he kept getting caught, so he needed to plan, to stay ahead and alert.
Dagur gave him the first day free, and he made steady progress on the binding. At night, tucked into the crook of another branch, he slept peacefully without interruption and woke before dawn.
After stretching and descending – this time remembering both not to try to flex his tail fins, and also to take more care gliding down – he hunted down a particularly plump rabbit, then tracked it back to its warren which he dug up for what was probably its mate. He felt a little bad about that, but he needed to eat, and many prey-things he and Wanderer had caught would have had mates and perhaps offspring of their own. It was not within his power to change the nature of that.
The ever-present pain of his solitude flared and tried to sap the strength from him. He wanted to just find a hiding place and wait for Wanderer to come and get him…
But that was unreasonable. He was here, alone, and however much that hurt he needed to push through it.
He cleaned his claws and face, then after a moment's hesitation, the rest of himself as well. It was a nice change of pace, and if he let his scales dull he would be easier to see. There was something therapeutic about the act as well, and he didn't feel quite as miserable afterwards.
Finding some nice dense bracken to hide in, he set back to work clawing out the threads, firmly dragging the sharp point of a claw across the indents. It was slow and tedious work, and though he couldn't afford to let his guard down he couldn't prevent his mind from drifting. Curled up with Wanderer in their new den. Cupping the fingers in his wings around the air to power up to great heights, and then soaring on the thermals. Playing with Tuffnut and occasionally the kids. The occasions they would play while Stoick watched, then curl up in his lap and purr as his great hands caressed them.
He would have all that back.
The greedy Long-Paw tossed a small wooden thing across the ground hole, trying to hide something in its expression. What, Wanderer wasn't quite sure, but it was just a little too straight and relaxed to be natural.
"Come," it clicked and hummed at him.
He looked back at the thing, then at the Long-Paw. It always wanted him to fetch the thing when it was thrown, now it didn't? And why did it look so happy?
"You hear, you know," the female said in what was pretty close to a growl, for a Long-Paw.
"What?" he asked her, still confused.
"I-want-that," the greedy one corrected himself, then looked at him smugly.
Despite his efforts, Wanderer couldn't quite hide his realisation that he'd just betrayed his understanding.
Creeping through the trees, eyes and ears sharp, deep and silent breaths, an arrow nocked and ready to draw. The beast had originally been sleeping through the day, but on a hunch Vella had staked out the lake from a tree near where the Night Fury had last been known to be. Her diligence had paid off as it approached for water in the late evening, though too far away to hit from the branch she had perched on.
Dagur was furious, a disagreement had broken out between two of the clans that had threatened to escalate to a full on war and he'd been forced to intervene, then the rain through the night had further complicated things. The Chief had simply told her to catch it – stressing not to kill it, on pain of death – and make sure its bindings were holding up.
Clever beast, it had very quickly analysed and begun dismantling the supposedly dragon-proof straps. They would need to catch it every few days to make ensure it remained grounded, which Dagur had been planning on doing anyway.
Though she swore to Odin, if he told her 'it's not every day you can hunt a Night Fury' one more time she was going to throw his axe into the lake.
But that led to their current predicament. It needed catching soon, or it was at risk of escaping. Not necessarily today, but Vella agreed they shouldn't risk it. So here she was, stalking it in the woods.
By a stroke of luck she caught sight of it before it noticed her, trotting along through the trees. It was a rare opportunity to observe it behaving naturally, and she watched curiously as it stopped and inspected the ground, then leaned on its forelegs and made short digging motions with a scraping noise. After several iterations of these movements it inspected its claws, gave a satisfied shake and then started on its back paws.
She had moments only, and levelled the bow. It was smaller than her favourite, and less powerful, but it would do the job here. With a smooth and practised motion, she drew the string back to her cheek.
Creak
The dragon was instantly alert, looking directly at her with its ears pointing straight up before the arrow had even cleared the bow, then at some point between then and the arrow crossing the distance, it just… vanished. One moment it was staring at her with those slit green eyes, the next it was simply gone. She couldn't even hear it moving through the forest.
With a glare at the traitorous bow, she began trudging back to the village. She'd underestimated it and it was now long gone, they would just need to catch it tomorrow.
Dagur wouldn't be happy; he hated cheating.
The female Long-Paw still accompanied the greedy Long-Paw, but she no longer translated a command more than a pawful of times. It was made clear that the alternative was to go hungry.
He mostly had a grasp on the things they wanted of him though. Find a smell, find a thing that looks similar, take a thing away, and a pawful more simple commands. They even had him start biting things, not that he could do any damage but they seemed happy that he tried.
"Go there, bark, I-want-that," the greedy one commanded, pointing. He'd already received his usual share today – which seemed to be taking longer and longer – so he wasn't really hungry, but even under normal circumstances he would take food while it was there. He casually did as asked, rolling his eyes at the happy and encouraging noises the despicable Long-Paws offered him as he finished.
They didn't move to feed him which meant there'd probably be another command, so he lowered himself to the ground to wait. Hrrr, the greedy one was talking to the female, which looked bored, he got comfortable as they would probably be a little while. Very few of the words made sense, he did his best to pick them apart but soon became bored himself.
Finally they left him in peace, and he lowered his head to his paws to sleep.
Panting lightly, Dreamer loped through the now-familiar trees with an unhurried but steady pace. The air wasn't quite as heavy with moisture as the previous day, when the sky-fire had shone on the ground wet from the rain, but it was still a little humid and made it difficult to cool off. Maybe after he shook his pursuers he would take a quick dip in the lake.
The loose bindings slapped stiffly against his tail, just half a set of stitching and the last not-rivet to pull through, which he would have managed today if these hunters had given him a chance. They were very persistent, and it was lucky he hadn't blundered into a trap yet.
He hadn't actually seen all that many traps since the second day, though there'd been one or two close calls. Still, he was in high spirits. Dagur – he assumed that's who was following him – was relentless today because he had to have guessed how close he was to freeing himself.
Huff, if this is the best they had, then there was little to worry about. His first capture had been a fluke, somehow finding him while he slept, but remaining alert during the day with his superior senses had kept him out of Berserker hands.
All this running would leave him very tired, but he was confident he'd have enough energy left to free his tail and then fly up to the mountain to sleep; it had proven too sheer to climb anywhere to provide safety, but that same barrier would keep him safe long enough to recover when he could fly up it.
That just meant avoiding Dagur until night fell, just a little longer.
He stopped and perked his ears, quickly picking out his pursuers still crashing through the forest after him, breaking undergrowth and rustling leaves.
Wait… something was wrong. The pursuit was much faster and closer now, but it didn't sound right. It actually sounded more like a–
The confidence bled out of him in a heartbeat, leaving him empty and cold, and his paws scrabbled for purchase before he even knew what he was doing. Stupid stupid STUPID! Panic gripped his throat as he fled, thoughts barely keeping up with his body.
Finding him in a tree on the second day, twice. The positions of the traps. How Dagur always seemed to be right behind, following his movements. The rabbits here, slow and fat with no predators to hunt them. No predators. There were no wolves in this forest.
The bellows he had for lungs worked an enormous amount of air through him to maintain his top speed, but he found a little more when deep barking sounded behind him and he anxiously cast a glance back to see two hunting dogs gaining fast.
It wasn't even close to enough, each bark was a little louder and closer to his tail. They looked a bit like wolves, but their features weren't as sharp, their noses were larger, and their ears flapped wildly as they ran. Their legs were also slightly longer than that a wolf's, and much longer and faster than his own. He could only follow his instincts, using the terrain and his agility to pull ahead in short bursts, but it was gradually overcome.
His lungs burned, his legs grew stiff, his shoulders ached, even his claws were sore from digging in for traction so much, but every guttural bark needled at his ears and sent a little more panic-induced strength through his bones.
Abruptly, something pressed onto his back and threw him out of his stride, and the sky and ground switched places several times in quick succession. He kicked blindly and sent something tumbling over him, then flipped to his paws and darted backwards with a warning hiss.
Neither dog hesitated, scrabbling after him with deadly snarls–
He was grabbed by the back of the neck, and then the world spun wildly as he was thrown from side to side. The pricks of pain from the teeth shallowly piercing his hide were quickly dulled by a crippling dizziness that held him on the edge of unconsciousness, and his stomach rolled and churned.
He couldn't struggle, couldn't even move, only whimper feebly as he was awkwardly dragged through the damp leaves.