Author's Notes

This week, A Gift of Wings reached 100 reviews! Thank you everyone for getting to this point, and to 100th reviewer Jackson who was also incidentally my first guest reviewer. If you thought last chapter was a good cliffhanger... Well, I won't say too much as you're about to start reading it.

Dreamer clawed at the flat base of the cage in frustration, uncaring of if it blunted the sharp tips. The hideous snapping, clicking and cutting noises that accompanied the renewing pressure around his tail were just rubbing sand on the burn, though he knew it wasn't what it sounded like his body still reacted instinctively.

He glanced back to see if watching would lessen the needling each sound had on his spine, but he couldn't see properly and quickly looked away before he saw the thin man take a pair of pliers to him. His imagination still ran away from him, and he stopped clawing to curl up a little around the sick feeling in his stomach. The stink of the leatherworker's shop wasn't helping.

His tail was eventually released, and he pulled it back in with a slow resignation. He barely bothered to look up when Dagur started talking through the bars, just directed a snort at him and turned his back. The Berserker laughed, then picked up the cage and started walking. Dreamer really couldn't be bothered puzzling out what he was saying as they went.

As before, he was roughly shaken out of the cage at the edge of the forest, but this time there was no rage or panic to spur him on. He wearily pulled himself to his paws and gave Dagur a flat look – receiving a considering look back – and trudged into the forest, exhausted and in low spirits.

Dagur watched the black dragon go, feeling very strange. His Night Fury was restrained again, the clans were quiet, and nothing required his immediate attention. It wasn't a lack of purpose he felt, but he had no desperate need to leap into a fray and violently kill something. Relaxed? Was that the word for this? It was nice.

It wandered into the forest, not yet broken but worn out and tired. That was good, he wasn't done with it yet; though he was looking forward to his new hat. At least until he no longer needed the dogs to catch it. Hmm, but how tired, he wondered? He walked in after it, keeping his distance but not bothering to hide himself, and only made it a few steps before its ears went up. It looked back and regarded him coolly, and he it, then after a few moments it snorted and resumed walking.

He followed it casually along the narrow path, easily picking it out in the afternoon light as it walked with its head bowed. It would fall to one of the traps at this rate, this path was littered with them – but then it stopped, carefully skirted around an innocent section of dirt, and resumed walking on the other side. It gave Dagur a better look at it in the process, and he understood now that it wasn't simply bowing its head but was rather sniffing the ground.

That explained how it had been avoiding the snares so far, despite them being hidden with painstaking care. They could replace dirt and leaves, but not scents. Of course! It was so obvious now. But then again, he'd never pitted himself against a dragon that was so… careful. How fun! He would need to be even more creative in his hunting, and a challenge was always appreciated.

It was no wonder nobody had managed to take down a Night Fury yet, combining this intelligence with the raw strength and power of an adult… But this was why he'd wanted them alive, after all. It was especially good that he'd not needed to find out if breaking its wings would break its mind, like it did to other dragons. Almost worth losing the other one.

He was tempted to lead a hunt for wherever that wretched man had taken his other Night Fury, but it would mean losing time with this one. Maybe after it was broken. He could even wear his new hat! At the very least, learning the habits of this one should allow him to track down more in future.

The dragon got distracted by something and veered off the path, nosing its way between the scattered ferns and clumps of grass, and eventually stopped nowhere in particular to dig. Before long there was a sudden jolt of movement, and a squeal briefly rang in the air before being cut off by a crunching noise. Another bonus, culling the vermin that infested the forest, though since dogs had been bought, bred and trained to guard the fields they were less of an issue.

It was an efficient hunt, anyway. Dagur doubted the beast was in any condition to chase the critters, just as it wasn't in any condition to escape his casual observance. He'd not even been chasing it for half the day before letting the dogs loose, clearly its endurance was low; a weakness to exploit. Hmm, that made sense, it weighed about the same as one of his hounds despite being significantly smaller. A trade-off for so much raw strength in a small frame. Dagur understood that all too well, his own smaller and denser frame was a massive advantage over the slow and cumbersome bulk of most Vikings.

The Night Fury led him to the lake and scooped up a mouthful of water to gulp down, then rolled in the shallows. It seemed very determined to completely ignore him, because it then began cleaning itself. Curious, he approached it, but it appeared to find something interesting and wandered away. It just so happened to stop and resume cleaning when he stopped walking towards it.

Dagur grinned as he left it in the waning light; it had a lot of fight left in it yet.

Ears pricking at approaching steps, Wanderer lifted his head to watch the two Long-Paws enter the rock-hole, then yawned widely to show his displeasure at having been woken this early.

"Take this there, lay down, come here." He didn't bother to fully wake up as he did as told, just kept his hearing trained on them and dozed off between commands and securing fish in his aching belly.

On the evening of the third day since his last capture, Dreamer again found himself running from the hounds for all he was worth. They could run faster and for longer, he knew, but he figured his only chance was the lake.

He'd been careful, using the water to break up his trails, but it had only delayed them.

Breath hissing through his teeth, his straining legs finally carried him out of the trees, then across the field and into the water. The barking behind him muted as he submerged, awkwardly paddling and doing his best to weave to deeper waters; without his tail fins, he was slower than he'd been as a human.

Impacts with the water sounded behind him, and soon after he was again grabbed by the neck, thrashed from side to side, and carried limply back to Dagur.

Fetch the thing. Take the thing away. Fish. Fly up to there. Come here. Fish. Go there. Find a thing that looks like this one.

Peace.

Dreamer's blood ran cold as howling sounded not far away, and getting closer, from the direction of the lake. He spared only a moment to stare dejectedly at his tail, on which he'd again reached the last set of stitching.

He almost gave up, but the thought of those teeth biting down on his neck… His body moved on its own, digging his claws into the ground to speed away – right into Dagur, whose hand slipped off his wing but latched onto his tail. The momentum nearly pulled Dagur to the ground, but his stance was firm enough to remain standing and lift him into the air.

Dreamer snarled and curled upwards, teeth bared and aimed at the arm holding him, but he was dropped to the ground where a thick boot instantly knocked the wind from him. When he was picked up by his tail again, he could do nothing more than hang there with a groan.

Flying. He could almost imagine he was flying, looping through the clouds and roaring with joy. Closing his eyes in a dive and trusting in his hearing-sight to see the ground.

He opened his eyes – they were immediately assaulted by a harsh drumming and were forced closed again.

Flying. Soaring. Free.

His eyes opened again, this time to clear air. He looked up at the sky, the large sky-ice lighting the thick clouds from above. Flying had been a nice dream…

Dream… Dream…?

…Dreamer…?

He wanted to go flying with Dreamer. It had been a long time.

Where Dreamer…?

The darkness in his head lifted a little. Dreamer… His friend-mate, his life-bonded partner, wasn't with him. Why…? They had been separated… many nights ago…

He pawed at his head, blinking in surprise at feeling the blunt claws rake down his face. What… happening to me…?

All these questions fanned the embers of his thoughts, coaxing them back to life. Dreamer in danger… Why I not fighting?

Because I in danger also…

Wanderer shook his head, breathing hard, then pulled himself to his paws to stalk around the damp rock-hole. His thoughts, his fire, ebbed back into him as he snorted out his breaths and lashed his tail. His body ached from disuse, his hide felt rough and raw, and his first attempt at a roar of defiance was pitifully weak.

But more importantly, the ground was wet, he was wet, and yet he couldn't remember it raining.

He wasn't strong enough to fight this way.

Dreamer was following the scent of a rabbit back to its burrow when something suddenly and painfully snapped around his leg with a metallic roar that sent him leaping back in a panic. With a foreleg anchored to the ground, he abruptly jolted to a halt in the air and landed on his chest, wrenching his leg the wrong way.

He whimpered as he got to his paws, both his leg and his shoulder now aching, then cringed at the distant howling. The dogs must be trained to react to the sound. Great…

Trying to pry the jaws open did barely anything, and he quickly worked out they were ratcheted; they could close, but not open. Tenderly, so as to not encourage the trap's teeth any deeper into his leg, he dug the dirt away from the trap – it had been removed and replaced as a single piece, so that the scents were not as disturbed – and found the release lever, but it moved up rather than down.

He was still trying to stand, hold the lever up and pry the jaws open when he heard Dagur casually approaching. There wasn't any point in resisting, he couldn't get out of this himself.

"You do!" Heather implored the dragon, but it just lay there taking even, measured breaths. Alvin had left her to herself for over a week now – insisting she hang around just in case – but had suddenly called her in again to find a very defiant and angry Night Fury. They had successfully trained it, it would do bidding without needing to be bribed, but apparently that morning it had woken up and fully regressed to a wild animal.

And now, three days later, it still would not obey at all even if it starved.

"It will die at this rate," she said neutrally. That might actually be a preferable outcome, as then there could be nothing more he wanted from her.

"Obviously, idiot girl, eating nothing will kill anything sooner or later. Tell it this is its last chance."

"That doesn't really translate as far as I know, you need to–"

"Just tell it," he flatly cut her off.

Schooling her features straight, she tried to piece together what he had said in Dragonese. "Hey! You do now, you eat. You not do…" She had to leave the threat hanging, she didn't really know what Alvin intended to do and no idea how to convey a general threat.

"Eh, eh, eh," it laughed weakly.

"Well, that's your answer," she sighed.

Alvin stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "It fights us again. Apparently, we didn't break it hard enough."

With his breath heavy in his ears, Dreamer threw himself at the gnarly bark of a large tree and scampered up it faster than he knew he was capable of. The snarling behind him reminded him to hold his tail up and out of harm's way.

He was realistic, however, and didn't bother climbing to the top. Just to the first branch, which he climbed around on top of and stalked out along to a wide fork, through which he hissed at the beasts below. But he was realistic, and there was little feeling in it. Curling into a tight ball in the crook of the fork, he sobbed while he waited for the arrow that inevitably struck him in the flank; it was surely a much more painful way to go, but he just couldn't bring himself to be taken by the dogs again.

At least the poison might put some fire back into his blood.

Wanderer was no stranger to pain, and this was nothing compared to having his tail fin torn off. It wasn't even much compared to the pain in his empty belly. A few shallow cuts, and he was left alone to lick the hurts.

Snorting the scent from his nose, he relaxed back onto his side and closed his eyes – but then the smell of old fish caught his attention. He lifted his head and looked around, finding a few had been dropped at the other side of the rock-hole.

It was suspicious, and he looked around for any sort of trick, but there appeared to be none. He remained wary as he got to his paws and limped over. The discovery of a binding around his neck was a surprise, and strange that the long tail did not appear attached to anything, but it didn't stop him reaching the fish – and then he could contain his impatience no longer and eagerly snapped the meal down.

He doubted this was the end of their new battle of wills… but this was evidence they wanted him alive. All he needed to do was not lose himself again.

As he rapidly digested the meal and he began to think more clearly, he realised that meant living for something more than surviving the cold-season.

With his nose to the ground, Dreamer followed the thick smell of rabbit through the trees. He kept a very sharp eye for traps as he went, looking and smelling for any disturbed ground, until he caught sight of his quarry.

It hadn't noticed him yet, though it was very still – it might have heard him approaching. He slowed his pace and crouched low, preferring an easy–

He was suddenly picked up by the scruff of his neck and held aloft before Dagur, who had appeared to have smeared most of his body with mud. "Yoo noe, I'm goeng to gett borrd if you maek thss too easy."

Dreamer snarled at him, but was dropped before he could react – without thinking, he threw out his wings to remain in the air and slashed at Dagur's face, feeling his claws bite through the skin. His second flap threw him backwards, out of Dagur's reach, and he twisted in the air to land at a run.

Dagur's mad laugh and gleeful shouts followed him quite a distance into the trees.

Pushing down the nausea building in her stomach, Heather pointedly ignored Alvin as he wiped his thin knife with a rag. Her ears rang in the silence, as if the shrill sounds were still echoing off the walls.

His too-charming grin, however, could be seen across his vague figure at the edge of her vision. "This is a setback, but fear not. It'll break, and then you and your mother can be on your merry way! You must be looking forward to it."

She hummed an agreement, but didn't get up when he stood and walked to the edge of the 'training' ring. Maybe he hesitated, maybe he didn't, but the sounds of the inner gate opening and closing, then the outer gate, confirmed he'd left without her.

She just stared at the Night Fury as it awkwardly shuffled away from her, using its wings and tail for support. It looked pathetic. "Hey," she grunted bitterly, and it stopped and swung its head around to watch her with a single green eye. "Why you fight?"

It snorted at her. "Why you not?" She was sure her face remained still, but its eye lit up and it turned to face her, laying half on its side with a dark amusement in its expression. "I not know what he say," it said condescendingly slowly with a gesture at the closed gate, "but I know he not do what say." Despite her composure, she felt her eye twitch, and it gave a low and haughty laugh. "You know. You…" It looked at her thoughtfully, then tilted its head to gesture at the rope around its neck with an eerily human smile creeping along its mouth.

She blew air between her tongue and teeth in an approximation of a hiss, which it only seemed to find funny, and stormed out of the ring, slamming the gates shut on the way through.

Dreamer tumbled out of the cage and onto the grass.

He didn't bother getting up. What was the point? He was just Dagur's plaything, a toy to chase around the forest. Dagur was only getting better at chasing him down, and even with that aside he could not escape the hounds.

Every part of his body hurt. His muscles ached from overexertion, the three most recent arrow wounds stung their complaint in varying degrees as his movements stretched them, his neck just plain hurt both in hide and bones, and his tail ached so fiercely and constantly that he barely even noticed it anymore.

Dagur nudged him with a boot. "Hey. Yoo dunn?" What's the point… "Gess it's taim for a neww hat! HAHA!" He picked Dreamer up by the scruff of his neck and carried him back towards the village with his tail dragging through the dirt.

Sadness welled in Dreamer's heart, just another hurt on the pile. He'd had a good flight as a Nightstriker, though not nearly as long as he'd expected. If it meant living on like this though, being hunted almost every day and living in fear all the time…

Dagur kept talking amiably as he walked. "I'm thinkingg of mownting your skull on my helm't, but it mait get damaged. Maybe jusst your scales? They're pretty strongg. OOH, I koud be 'Dagur the Dark'! Some pauldrons tu go with it." He giggled like a child in the armoury, and a sick churning rolled in Dreamer's gut to match his despair. "I'll need themm done quicklee, thenn whe cann sthart hhuntting fhor your bruhthurh. Hah, you'll geht tu sei hhim againn!"

Dreamer forgot his pain. All of it. The thought of Wanderer looking up to see Dagur approaching, wearing his head as a helmet, broke what was left of his heart. Dagur wearing Night Fury scale armour while he chased Wanderer through these forests, over and over… It was beyond cruel and horrific, especially with what Wanderer had already been through.

He… He couldn't allow that.

His muscles found something to burn, he twisted and thrashed in the grip that held him to become a wild storm of claws and scored a few shallow gashes on Dagur's leg. It got him dropped, and a gleeful laugh sounded behind him as he bolted between the fields and into the trees.

Panting heavily, he eventually slowed to a stop at the lake. Can't allow that can't allow that can't allow that! It was all he could think, and he curled up to drag his paws over his head and whine and keen his despair at the vile thoughts. He couldn't stop imagining Wanderer's expression at meeting Dagur wearing his lifeless head and skin, in countless scenarios, and each one tore him to pieces anew.

It was a long time before he collected himself, shakily pulling himself to his haunches. He felt empty, depleted, bare. Free of everything that had been jamming the gears in his mind.

Gears of cold logic that were now whirring to life.

His top priority was preventing Dagur from keeping his body. Jumping into the ocean or burying himself in the lakebed had a decent probability of success, but not a guarantee, and he could think of no other means of ending himself. That just meant he needed to escape.

Swinging his tail around in front of him, he gave his head a shake and narrowed his eyes at the bindings. It took too long to dismantle them with his claws, and Dagur was sure to catch him regularly. He needed a way to break through them in a single night.

Stop thinking in terms of what I have. What do I need? Hands, for one. No, I don't. Hands are a means, not an end. He needed to cut through the bindings. For that he would need a pair of cutters. Several plans for how to use cutters with his paws flicked through his mind, but they would all need hands to set up. The required leverage was too great to just wedge them somewhere and lean on them, they would need to be secured to something and he was incapable of doing that.

What else could I use? Fire. He had no fire of his own, and couldn't use flint even if he had any. Can't make fire, so find it. He could take some from a village, but filed that aside to plan separately after some scouting, if he came up with something. A simple torch was all he would be capable of carrying, which would not be even close to hot enough, but someone would notice if he lit a forge.

A plan came together, simple on paper though no doubt the execution would be more difficult. It was risky… but then again, Dagur seemed to want to keep him alive only as long as he fought back. The alternative was dying anyway. And if he was careful, everything could be handled innocently without belying his knowledge and intelligence.

The command was easy enough to ignore. Wanderer growled at the Long-Paws, then fought the pull on the bindings around his neck. He was dragged forward regardless, and each time it was more painful, but it was necessary. He would fight until his last breath if needed.

His claws raked harmlessly over any skin that neared him before he was heavily pinned, the touch again overwhelming his senses. That was good, it meant he was still rejecting them. Another blinding gash of agony before he was released, and he awkwardly and painfully stumbled away to lick his new wound.

A moment of peace. Another command. Another wound. He was strong, but nights of this was slowly wearing him down… How long he could keep this up?

Snick. Snak.

As long as he needed to.

Astrid brought Stormfly around and landed on the boat a little harder than was necessary, feeling a dark satisfaction at seeing the crates of goods shudder on the deck. "Johann," she said levelly, freezing the man in his tracks with a hand to his cabin door.

"Ah, m-mistress Astrid, a p-pleasure as alw-ways," he stuttered nervously. "Would you be patient for an-nother day–"

"You're been to Berserk recently, right?" she asked sternly, cutting him off.

"…I hold no allegiance to any–"

"Yes or no," she growled.

"Ah… Yes…? A few days ago. Why might–"

"Did Dagur…" Her harsh words choked off as her stomach climbed into her throat.

Johann's eyes flicked between her and Stormfly, then apparently decided they weren't about to kill him and straightened his posture. "Dagur the Deranged, a fitting title," he said wryly as he stroked his beard. "Never before have I seen him quite so excited, wouldn't stop talking about a new helmet… or perhaps a hat. He couldn't seem to decide."

The weight of those words crushed her spirit. They were gone. Forever. And even worse, that lunatic would be running around wearing them as–

"Once it stopped running around the forest…? He did not deign to elaborate on that. Mad as a Nadder in a barrel, that one." He glanced at Stormfly. "Er, no offense…?"

Astrid went rigid. They… they weren't… yet…

A tug on the saddle had Stormfly launch herself from the boat, and they sped back to Berk. The flight was only a couple of hours, but she could almost feel every moment slipping past. Every moment was one Dagur had potentially become bored with his toys, if he hadn't already.

It felt like a week had passed when she finally crashed into Stoick's house, but he wasn't there. She spun and darted up the stairs to the hall and darted inside, finding him idly finishing off his dinner with a mug of ale in his hand.

"They're alive!" she blurted out, slamming her hands onto the table to prevent herself from crashing into it. "Or, at least one of them is, was, a few days ago, I–"

"Calm, lass," Stoick ordered tersely, and her mouth shut as she stood upright, but she could see the hope and impatience under his stern expression.

"I might have gone ahead to meet Johann… but he's just been to Berserk, and Dagur said the Furies are just running around the forest! Until…" She just bared her teeth, not able to say it.

"That… is a tall order…" Stoick rumbled slowly.

"But we–!"

"Calm!" he snapped over the top of her, and her mouth clicked shut again. "You can't just fly to Berserk. Think this through, Astrid. I'm not saying not go," he cut off her objection with a raised hand before she could make it, "but can your dragons fly there and back without rest? Can you find them? Can you extract them safely? You aren't going anywhere until I see a plan. And you aren't planning anything until you've calmed down." He took a long breath. "I can tell you from experience, that doesn't work."

"How can I possibly be calm right now!?" she shouted. Dagur wouldn't just be letting the Furies run wild, he'd be constantly hunting and chasing them, torturing them, and the only thing she could focus on was how frightened Hiccup had been with Dagur standing over him.

"Then I'm sorry for this," he said sadly before his fist slammed into her gut.

Her feet left the ground and her breath left her with a whoof. He'd definitely pulled his punch, but this was from a man known for killing dragons with his bare hands. She felt as if Gobber's anvil had been dropped on her.

"You alright there, lass…?" he asked quietly.

"…Yeah," she wheezed from the floor. She actually did feel a bit calmer now, in a half-unconscious sort of way.

"Good," he rumbled, then his giant hand appeared in front of her to help her to her feet. "Now go get the others. And let me know if you need calming again."

Pinching his chin, Dagur mentally mapped the path they had followed. From the lake back to the village, where it had wandered up and down the treeline, then right down the main path and almost into the village itself. Along the outermost buildings, apparently stopping at several places ideal for observing from, before heading back into the trees and to the lake, from where it had run away when he'd first tracked it there.

But what was it doing? This was a wild change in behaviour from the hunting and hiding it had done until now.

Dagur scowled at the dogs. They were effective tracking tools, but would be a weakness in a real hunt. A grown Night Fury would simply… "Kaboom!" he exclaimed aloud, startling the hounds, and laughed. He had been quite lucky that neither had been injured so far, the beast may be small but its claws at least were sharp; he had the gashes to prove it.

He now knew how to trap a Night Fury, had ideas on luring them, knew their habits, and could recognise their tracks and signs of habitation. Now he just needed to know how to fight them, but this little lizard could not give him that experience. Even if he let it grow up on the island, it wouldn't be a real fighter that had grown up in the wild with other dragons.

He thought he'd learned everything he could from it, but now it had gone and done something unexpected and new! Grinning widely, he bit his lip in anticipation. For his hat, or for a new challenge, he wasn't sure yet.

After all, "It's not every day you can hunt a Night Fury!"

Alvin watched his dragon shuffle across the stone to reach its dinner. It was a determined reptile, he had to give it that.

This had only been a backup plan, but that was before the heads of two of his plants on Berserk had been left adrift on a small raft to be picked up by his network of Outcasts. Now there was a good chance he really did need to break it. The old prophecy only mentioned one, but even if it did require its cooperation he wasn't about to go putting all his faith in fairy tales. Prophecy or no, a Night Fury at his beck and call would put him at the top of the Archipelago.

Tch, but manipulation was so much simpler when love was involved; particularly familial love. That was why he'd sent Heather, after all. He just hoped that berserk fool hadn't killed his prize yet.

Snick. Snak. Snick. Snak. Snick. Snak.

The quiet sound drifted up from the ring, unnoticeable if not for its constant repetition in the evening silence. Alvin leaned in to look, but the dragon was just laying there, staring at the wall and not moving at all. "What're you up to…" he murmured. It turned to look at him, but the sound did not cease.

He gave it a suspicious glare before striding away. They would need to be even more wary of shed teeth – it wasn't as if they could check by prying its mouth open – and of course he was wearing his bracers under his sleeves.

It had taken a surprisingly long time to put together. Half a day collecting the rocks, half the rest of the day digging up a bank by the lake, then utterly failing to make any progress. Dreamer managed better the second day – even despite being chased off by Dagur, though he wasn't caught – and managed to set the rocks into the damp soil so that he had a makeshift kiln built into the bank, about big enough for him to curl up in. It would be terribly inefficient, leaking heat between the stones, and the stones themselves might explode if it got too hot for too long, but it should do the job.

To hide his project he'd selected a location amidst low, limp-hanging reeds where it was difficult to see much from a distance or from behind. Things got tricky from there. He couldn't lead the dogs, and therefore Dagur, back to it, so he could only access it from the water. It made the whole process a lot slower. However, after thinking on it for a while he decided it was actually safer to just walk away instead of going back out through the lake. They'd pick up the trail and follow it away, rather than picking up the small pocket of scent and investigating. More than a few times and Dagur might get suspicious, but he should be done before that became a problem.

It then took a frustratingly long time to retrieve enough wood as well. He was limited by what he could bite through, but managed a nice balance of twigs for kindling and thicker branches that should produce suitable coals. These of course all had to be carried through the water; he couldn't risk carrying them above the surface and someone seeing where he was taking them.

Maybe he should have done the wood first, to give it more time to dry. Everything was more obvious after it was done.

Dropping the long branch he'd been carrying, he peeked from the reeds to scan the lake. It was strange to want Dagur to catch him, but it was getting to about that point and showing the bindings were undamaged might buy Dreamer a little more time. He thought while he settled himself on the damp ground to crunch the branch into more manageable pieces, weakening it with his teeth and then twisting his neck to snap it off against the ground.

With all his wood in suitable pieces and set up to dry as best he could manage, he shook the splinters out of his mouth, took a quick dip back in the lake, and casually wandered out to the forest in the evening light. Dinner, sleep, then a day of rest. The wood should be dry by then – there was no scent of rain on the wind – and his tail would be free. Tomorrow night…

He purred, the rumbling in his throat unfamiliar but very pleasant, then set about finding one of the many rabbit trails. He had become quite adept at picking out the slightest smell of disturbed earth now, and he was hyper aware of every sound for fifty body-lengths. Really, if not for those accursed dogs he'd have been gone… weeks ago? How long had he even been here?

His teeth slid from his gums as he crossed a fresh trail, hunger putting his thoughts back on track and feeding fire into his limbs. It had been a while since he'd had a decent hunt, and his lithe body almost hummed in anticipation.

Spotting the rabbit, he lunged straight for it and thrilled in the short chase through the trees. Too short, but then his stomach was aching too much to be disappointed. The second rabbit proved something more of a challenge at least.

Satisfied, he cleaned his claws, face, and then began a general groom. The numerous pale marks marring his hide made him wince, thin lines all over and dozens of pale dots peppering his neck and shoulders. Many of both were still raw and painful. It was difficult to decide which was worse, the dreadful poison that corrupted his thoughts, or the despicable dogs that… he'd rather not think about.

Soon.

The night passed uneventfully, though he slept restlessly. He didn't have much to do the next day and just moseyed through the forest for most of it, paddling through the lake a few times to check on the wood and finding it suitably dry by noon; thankfully the early autumn sun still had some bite to it, at least this far from the Meridian of Misery.

Dagur tried his hand at hunting without his dogs, and he'd actually managed to get within thirty feet before Dreamer noticed him. That had been a scare, followed by a tense chase, but while Dagur could endure a long hunt through the day he could not keep up at top speed. And without the dogs, Dreamer could mask most of his tracks and leave him behind. He spent the evening napping lightly in a tree to build his strength back up.

He was woken by the sounds of dogs sniffing through the forest, not far away. Oh no… He squeezed his eyes shut. If he stayed here he'd be shot by an arrow, which always knocked him unconscious for most of a day and then disrupted his thoughts for a time after that. With everything set up, he didn't want to lose that time.

The alternative…

If he thought about it, he'd never do it. He slashed the branch he lay on in frustration, then let himself drop and swooped to the ground. He just knew he was going to regret this.

Wait… Dagur was trying not to rely on the dogs. Which made sense, they'd be no threat to a larger Nightstriker and only useful for tracking. If he played this right and let Dagur catch him… Maybe that would work.

The footsteps were close now. Close enough. He took a long breath, steeling himself for what was to come, then ran at a tangent to the sounds making as much noise as he could.

The pursuit immediately picked up and barking rang through the trees, it was just a matter of who would appear first…

His chest tightened at seeing the dogs appear from behind a wiry thicket – but then Dagur sped past them, and he breathed a sigh of relief. This is the weirdest situation… He deliberately ran a few notches from his top speed, watching the Berserker close in from the corner of his eye.

This was working out perfectly. Dagur would grab him, maybe knock the wind out of him again, but he'd avoided both the arrows and the–

Dagur drew his axe.

A sharp intake of breath caught in Dreamer's throat, and he dug his claws in to abruptly change direction. Dagur seemed to expect it and immediately angled after him, even gaining a bit of ground by cutting the corner.

Dreamer found a new top speed, frantically slamming his paws against the ground and using the weight of his wings and tail to more efficiently steer through the trees. Think think think! Dagur had probably decided on a lethal hunt over an execution. Deprive him of that.

A glance back had him running even harder. Right on his tail, Dagur was in a full-on Berserker trance, confirming his lethal intent, and showed no signs of tiring or slowing. THINK! His thoughts were difficult to grasp with all his energy directed into his body, and he had to focus on plotting an efficient course through the trees.

It was soon evident, however, that there really was only one solution. Funny, how being caught by the dogs almost sounded appealing now, but they were behind Dagur and Dreamer couldn't maintain this pace for much longer. There was still one trick he hadn't shown yet.

He held his right wing out and let his tail drift off to the right, at the same time he picked some firm ground in front of a tree and planted his paws firmly for a sharp left turn. At the speed they were going, probably none other than Dagur would have the reflexes to react in the short time that was given, but he didn't have time to check. He snapped his right wing back to him, threw out his left wing, and heaved his tail across, shunting his body to the other side of his paws to launch himself to the right instead. He then planted his paws on the tree and pushed off that for a sharper turn.

The pace behind him became disrupted with a grunt of surprise, and the next breath of air Dreamer blasted from his lungs might have counted as a sigh of relief.

And then, as planned, the dogs crashed into his side, grabbed him by the neck as he skidded to a stop, and thrashed violently. His insides convulsed, and he distantly tasted bile dripping from his mouth, but he was alive.

His head swam as he was dragged across the ground, a pleasant sensation on his scales. Everything – except maybe the teeth in his neck – was a pleasant sensation right now, given that a moment ago he'd been claw-lengths from feeling nothing at all. Had he really been ready to give up a few days ago? Death terrified him now.

The dragging ceased, and he opened an eye to see Dagur sitting cross-legged nearby and breathing heavily through his bared teeth. His expression was equal parts rage and admiration. Dreamer couldn't help but give him a small and weak smile. You will never catch me.

The axe swung around to point at him, a claw-length from his nose, and he eyed the tip warily. The words Dagur forced through his teeth were completely unintelligible, but the message was clear; next time, I will kill you.

Clenching his teeth, Dagur eyed the girl presented to him. This was why he'd been pulled away from his Night Fury!? He was still coming down from the trance, and even his control had its limits. "…Wait, I know you, you were with that guy who took my other Night Fury! And you think you're a Berserker? That's a good one!" He growled and spun his axe, but kept it in his hands. She was his only lead to his other Night Fury. Maybe this wasn't a complete waste of time.

"No I don't think I'm your sister, actually, I have no idea what game these two are playing!" She scowled at the two outcasts who were holding her at the edge of the old boat, though they paid her no attention other than to point knives at her vitals.

"Test her how you want, she is," one of them said. "A hunned gold pieces and she's yours."

Now that he really looked at her… she almost could be his long-lost sister. She'd been so young when she disappeared with her mother though, and there were a lot of people in the Archipelago and beyond, finding a look-alike wouldn't be impossible. Then again, the price was practically pocket change. "A hundred gold is kind of light for a blood ransom," he responded flatly.

The outcast shrugged, his open mouth showing off his pointy teeth. They were really cool, tempting to do himself actually, but it had become a sort of Outcast signature. Pity. Maybe he could hunt down all the Outcasts and take the trend for himself. "Don't need much gold when you steal most stuff you need. And you're less likely to chase us down and murderise us."

Dagur nodded with a thoughtful frown. "Yeah, you're probably right. You think he's right?" he asked the guard next to him, but just received a dumb look back. Dagur rolled his eyes and threw him into the harbour. "So you think you're a Berserker?" he asked the girl.

"No!" she shouted back.

"I'll ask some questions. Answer truthfully or this guy dies," he spun his axe again and held it to the throat of the other guard with him.

"…Why would I care about that?"

"Ha! Correct answer." He returned his axe to his back, and the man breathed a sigh of relief. Dagur rolled his eyes again and threw him into the harbour with his buddy. "Question two, what does your father look like?"

"I don't know! I never knew him…"

"Question three, what does your mother look like?"

"Brown eyes, blonde hair… Kind of… round face…"

"And her name's Berghild?"

"No, it's Eidis."

He narrowed his eyes at the girl. "It's your lucky day Outcasts, I don't have time for this. Pay them and–…" His guards weren't with him. Tch, sloppy. He spotted one climbing out of the water. "Pay them and put her in my guest room! Make sure she stays there!" he shouted, and the man thumped his chest and jogged off, leaving a wet trail. "We'll talk later," he promised her, and strode back to the leatherworkers to check on his Night Fury.

Astrid paced the longboat as it casually cut through the waves, willing herself to patience. Just another test, she forced herself to think. Stoick had reminded her a Chief needed to remain calm in the most stressful and dire of circumstances, and this was certainly the best experience she was ever going to get at that. If she could stay calm here, she could face Ragnarok with a smile.

She only had to remember what they were all risking to temper the more reckless thoughts. Stay at a distance, no engaging, be smart. Spitelout, who was accompanying them, also kept a careful eye on her in particular. Well, she was done with letting people down.

The boat was a little cramped to carry all the dragons, so they flew in shifts. It worked well because they could scout quite far from the air and ensure they sailed around any poor weather. Naturally it would be far quicker to just fly, but Stoick's concerns were justified, the dragons wouldn't be able to fly there and back while carrying their passengers. Or if they could, then they would not have any strength to spare.

It was, amusingly, one of the Berserker boats that had been left behind in the raid that had yet to be refitted. It didn't really camouflage them what with the dragons all over it, but they didn't intend on sailing that close to the island, it was more so if they had to ditch it then Berk would not be directly implicated. It was also available, spare, and fast; at least compared to other boats, it was excruciatingly slow compared to flying.

But, after days at sea, they were finally nearing Berserk and its low mountain was taking shape in the distance. Just hold on little guys… We're coming. The timing was unfortunate, the sun was just setting so they'd need to wait until the next day to scout the island. At least the dragons would all be well rested. She angled the boat to a large sea stack, a little way ahead and just outside of Berserker waters. It would be safer to rest there for the night.

From the shadow of a smaller sea stack, Savage scratched his chin with an inscrutable expression as he watched the distant blot on the water with its convoy of dragons. "Get me an arrow and some parchment," he ordered the nameless Outcast accompanying him. "And get the black sails ready. We've got a backup plan…"

With a brand-new tail binding – the leatherworker had been very confused, undamaged as the old one was, but caved to Dagur's insistence – and no poison in his blood, Dreamer was released back into the forest the same evening. Just enough time to dig up a meal and rest a bit.

He needed to strike late enough in the night that the humans would be tired, and early enough to give him time to work. He should have felt tired himself, he knew he was close to exhaustion, but he was tense and anxious as he watched the sky-sparks crawl across the sky. He passed the time by leaving misleading trails near his kiln, trails that led on wild chases through the forest and eventually looped back well away from his hideout. If – when – he was tracked back to the lake it would give him more time to act, as long as he wasn't spotted carrying the torch.

Finally, it was time.

He prowled along the path between the fields, staying low and quiet with his ears trained on the dogs guarding the crops. He supposed he had the rabbits to blame for them - no, stay focused. They would probably be alerted on his escape, but he could do nothing about that. Just as long as he had enough time to hide the flame.

He approached the side of the outermost building and blended in with the shadows, peeking down the street. He'd memorised the route of this guard, but watched him again just to confirm tonight was no different… then picked his moment and skulked from the darkness.

Several torches lined the street, the one he went for wasn't far but he didn't have long to get it. Heart pounding in his chest, his body stiff with tension, he closed his teeth around the shaft – immediately discovering it was metal. What kind of crazy village could waste metal on torches? He tried to tug it from the ground, but it was stuck fast.

A surprised grunt pricked his ears, and he darted back to the shadows. Thump-thump-thump-thump went his heart, surely audible even to the burly man approaching the torch. He carried no light himself, but after a moment of peering into the darkness, picked up the one Dreamer had been going for by removing the wooden head from the metal frame.

Breathing heavily, Dreamer eyed the flickering green light.

Now or never…

He backed into the darkness, wary of his eyes reflecting the light, and waited with his stomach in his throat and his pulse thumping in his ears. Surely this man could see him, holding the coveted flame aloft like that? He was right there. No, the darkness was a Nightstriker's element, and he went undetected.

The Berserker shrugged and turned his back.

I'm sorry for this, Dreamer thought at him, then silently loped forward and reared up to slash deep into the man's leg. He barked in surprise and pain, spinning around and swinging the torch low while he drew his sword. Dreamer only had eyes for the torch, catching it in his teeth and wrenching it away.

His elation at success was tempered by the lumps that came with it, leaking bitter blood into his mouth, but he couldn't stop to think about it. He beat the ground with his paws, digging claws into the packed dirt to speed towards the forest.

The dogs by the fields did not bark, but he could hear them running for him – they were guards, he realised, that caught or chased off any threats to their field, so once in the safety of the trees the pursuit thankfully tailed off.

He almost couldn't afford the time, but he dropped the torch – and fingers – to retch violently and shake his head, flinging globs of saliva over the ground. Still queasy, he bit back into the wooden handle and streaked into the forest with the precious flame rushing at his side.

Following his internal map and listening to the distant sounds of pursuit, he ran straight for his chosen entry point into the lake; close enough that he could quickly swim to the kiln, far enough to make use of his false trails. He slowed to slide into the cool water, ensuring the fire remained above the surface, then by paddling and snaking his tail – he'd become rather practised in the last few days – he managed to quickly skim across the surface without extinguishing his only hope. He also managed to climb up through the reeds without setting them all on fire, though he was sure a few must have caught.

Hurriedly, he shoved the head of the torch into the kiln and threw his wings over it, blocking the light, then listened intently. He had been so fast, and with the guard's injured leg there was no way…

The sounds of footsteps and hushed shouting was still muffled and very distant, and peeking above the reeds he could see nothing. Fierce relief layered into the elation and tension, a medley of adrenaline that had him buzzing.

He forced his breathing to slow, then turned his attention to the kiln. He still had a lot of work to do.

Stoking the fire was easy, letting the smaller twigs catch and then feeding in larger and larger pieces. Once he had a solid flame going he carefully extracted the thick torch and tossed it into the water – all that effort only to have it extinguish with a hiss. It felt like a waste, but the long piece of wood and oily rag were of little use now.

Once the larger pieces were burning, he took in a long breath and began blowing under the flames. Heat immediately washed over his face, the fire humming at him happily as it chewed into the wood.

Was it too soon? Well, ruining the binding was the whole point. He navigated his tail around and poked the end into the heat, a further discomfort on the fins but easily tolerable. He arranged some more lumps of wood over the top of it, keeping up the constant stream of air.

It was very bright in his little cubby of wings and dirt, but poking his head out confirmed very little light was escaping outside. Without the fire so close, he could also hear his pursuers, closer now but moving further away. One of his false trails, no doubt. He ducked back into his wings with a smirk, then blinked at the sudden and intense heat from the fire.

Gingerly, he extracted his tail and inspected the leather. Not much difference, but the stitching was in poor condition, and he managed to pick through each stitch in a matter of moments. He'd already selected his four break points and worked the wire out much more easily, though acutely aware of the time it was taking. He couldn't assume the Berserkers would just give up, most likely someone had been sent to get Dagur and his more experienced dogs. They'd find him eventually. Sooner if they happened to get downwind. Or heard the fire. Oh man I really didn't think this through.

It's fine, just keep going.

The fire had died to a merry flicker and dull embers by the time the eighth short length of wire was pulled free, in a fraction of the time. He poked some more wood in and followed it with his tail again, blowing more gently to encourage the new wood to catch, then more firmly to heat it once it had.

Between the exhaustion, tension, adrenaline, and constant exhaling, he was beginning to feel very dizzy and lightheaded, but he was far too close to rest now. Hope burned in his chest, a feeling he had all but forgotten. So close! The wire warmed to… well, he supposed it was red, but he couldn't really see the colour other than that it was glowing. He pulled it out and tugged at the wire – still too strong to snap. It was thrust into the water with a tiny gulping sound, then he shook the water free and poked it back into the kiln.

When he tugged on the heated metal again, and his claw broke through it… he almost could have cried. But he wasn't off the ground yet, and he could still hear voices and footsteps. Quickly! Half the wires needed another reheating before they snapped, and then he shredded through the heat-damaged leather with his teeth at each of the four break points, moving towards the tip of his tail. The hot air was stifling, but he didn't stop to poke his head out for a breath regardless of how tempting it was.

One.

Two.

Three…

FOUR!

He ripped off the despicable bindings and threw them at the water, uncaring of the small splash they made, then shoved his poor tail into his mouth and silently whimpered around it. The fins felt locked in place and didn't immediately respond to his attempts to open them, so after briefly massaging it with his mouth he reluctantly released the appendage to tease them out with his claws.

It was excruciating, the unused muscles and tendons searing their complaints into his nerves, but very quickly that didn't matter.

No…

He let out a quiet whine through his open mouth, staring in horror at his tail fins. His disfigured tail fins, the bones inside them bent out of shape and preventing the membranes from spreading properly.

He was still very much stuck on Berserk.