Heather cringed at the accusing shout that drifted over the water. Well, at least this time she could explain, it was part of the plan, even.

She held her arms out to show she was unarmed, and kept them visible as the two boats drifted nearer. There was an additional Nadder on the deck than was expected, Spitelout too who might have been more of a problem had his arm not been bandaged and bound to his chest. Getting off Berserk had been an extremely difficult task in itself, let alone with the required items, so this had better be worth it. Whoever the plant was, they'd been no help whatsoever beyond delivering the message. Typical.

The till was locked so the boat was going straight ahead, but Astrid angled their boat to pull it in more quickly and levelled out with the railings almost touching, Spitelout adjusting the sails to match their speed.

"Astrid! I'm sorry, just let me–"

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say! You're going to climb over here, and–"

Well, she had tried. It worked either way, much faster than expected. Whatever else Astrid had been demanding was cut off as quiet fwip sounds, barely audible over the sea rushing past below, preceded loud dragon screams. One such scream hurtled down behind her to splash into the water.

"Please, just don't kill them!" Heather implored Savage over the din as he appeared from between the mast and the narrow bed leaning up against it, but he ignored her to drop the heavy clamp over the two railings and lock the boats together, just before they could pull away. If she could just get to Astrid first, and ideally the other teens to knock them out, then maybe–…

Wait… One splash?

The last dragon roars were coming from above her, and she spun to find Meatlug still hovering in the air. An arrow was definitely poking out from her underside, and it was definitely one of the poisoned Berserker arrows she'd stolen, but it wasn't taking effect. Fishlegs looked just as surprised as Heather did.

Both Heather and Savage backpedalled as Meatlug swooped down with an angry growl, barging into the Nameless as he drew a more mundane arrow. The impact sent him flying over the railing to Spitelout's feet, where he was casually kicked onto his back and stabbed through the heart.

Astrid looked like she was about to jump over to throttle Heather herself, but held back. "Here's what's going to happen," she called out instead, addressing Savage, and Heather's stomach dropped. "You're going to send Heather over, and you can go. Tell the other Outcasts how stupid it is to attack a Hooligan vessel when you eventually get back. Or, Meatlug up there sinks your boat and we fish her, and only her, out of the water. Up to you."

She hadn't even finished talking when Heather was hefted by the back of her shirt and tossed over. Her legs caught on the railing and sent her tumbling, then Astrid kicked her in the side and planted a boot on her shoulder. Over her own gasp and groans, she heard the clamp being lifted and distantly noticed the mast of the other ship drift away.

The moment Astrid had started talking, she'd known this was coming. There was no loyalty between Outcasts, just fear of Alvin, and Savage could pretty much invent any story he wanted. With no chance of escape, Heather was left alone to wheeze out her pain while boots thumped around her and the boat turned back for Snotlout. She was painstakingly dragging herself into a sitting position when a wet teen and limp dragon flopped onto the deck, and then she found herself looking up at Astrid.

"Well well, this is a nice bonus," she chirped. "Chief is not going to be happy with you, he's rather attached to his Furies you know."

"Just… Let me explain…" Heather forced out.

"And why exactly should I do that?"

"Because Toothy… is on Outcast Island."

Astrid paced the deck. Things had been so much simpler as a Shieldmaiden – axe, bad person, arrange a meeting. It was a much more difficult task to determine whether or not someone was a bad person. Heather was forced into her actions by threats to her mother, so did her actions still make her bad?

No, she decided. Just stupid. "If you'd just told us, we could have mounted a rescue! We have dragons for Thor's sake, nobody would care if we burned up a couple of Outcasts."

"Do you know where Outcast Island is?" Heather snapped back. "Because I don't. They shut me in the hold for two days' sailing around it."

"We! Have! Dragons!" Astrid repeated, trying to shout the stupid out of the girl's head. "Stormfly can cover a day's sailing by mid-morning, and you can see a half day's sailing in every direction!"

"…Oh…"

"Yeah, oh." She rubbed her aching head. With the adrenaline wearing off her, her lack of sleep was catching up and her thoughts becoming sluggish again. "What do you want to do, Spitelout? We're out here already."

"Ah'm no too happy with yeh last performance, lassie," he grumbled back, "bu' Stoick'll have me axe if we don' at least check it ou'." He strode over to address Heather directly. "Wha's the defences of the island like? Any experience fighting dragons?"

"Minimal, and no. Only experience anyone has is before being outcast. There's nothing there for anyone or anything to want. Most are experienced with a bow, but they don't know what the Berserkers use on their arrows, those were stolen." She sounded like she was giving a report. This was the true Heather, with the façade stripped away. Had anything of their friendship been real?

"Well, no harm in checkin' then, as long as the beastie we have is good to come along."

"I can guarantee he is," Tuffnut called over, just his head poking from the hatch to the hold. "Wouldn't tell him, though. Oh, hey Heather."

Heather stared at him blankly. "Er… hey."

"'Hey Heather'? You do realise this is the girl who kidnapped the Furies, right?" Astrid asked him incredulously.

"Yeah I know. But if I get angry I'll be tempted to let Hiccup up here, and–" His voice became muffled as he turned back down to the hold, and he adopted that weird smooth voice he always used around the Furies. "Hey! No! No biting. No, making me angry with you doesn't count. Stop it. Anyway, whatever was on those arrows is messing with him. I'll let you know when he's calmed down."

"Weird," Fishlegs mused. "Stormfly, Kingstail and Hookfang are basically fine now, just tired, and Meatlug wasn't affected at all. Why would it affect different dragons in different ways? If it was some kind of mineral, that might explain why a boulder-class…"

Astrid couldn't really follow his rambles. It didn't matter anyway, Furies got hit hard, Gronckles were immune. Good to know. "Mind taking over, Spitelout? I need a break…" She didn't wait for an answer, staggering over to Stormfly – barely resisting the urge to kick Heather's feet on the way past – and propped herself up against her dragon's side. Stormfly clucked and offered a gentle nuzzle, then draped a wing over her to shade her from the rising sun.

The slow, peaceful rocking of the boat was quite pleasant to wake to. Better than the forests on Berserk, better than the aggression and agony of the poison, and better than the earlier pained shrieks.

Dreamer was alone, and it appeared to be night. A perfect time to go out and fly. He climbed the ladder and squeezed himself through the trapdoor, doing his best to lower it quietly.

"Hiccup?"

Rats. He could talk to Fishlegs later, right now he wanted, needed to fly, and ignored him to take off.

It took him a few moments to find his rhythm, being still mostly unfamiliar with his damaged tail, but he got there. He really hoped it could be corrected, he might not be grounded but he was definitely crippled.

Even still, he was flying, just for the fun of it, and it felt glorious. With nothing to echo against, his long and joyous roar was swallowed up by the night, but it was satisfying nonetheless.

Between his awkward flapping and atrophied muscles he quickly tired and glided back down to the ship, which was making slow but steady process with the night wind. He noted Stormfly curled up on the deck, he needed to thank and catch up with her at some point but when she wasn't sleeping.

"Hiccup? It is you, isn't it?" He huffed in reply. "Can… we talk?" Another huff. If he wouldn't ask properly, in Dragonese, he wouldn't get a proper answer. But Fishlegs took it as confirmation and locked the till to open the hatch to the hold, then descended down after him.

It was dark even to Dreamer with the hatch closed, but Fishlegs found and lit a lamp to bathe the open space in a warm light. "I… got a look at your tail while you were out." Dreamer gave a low croon to that. "B-but aym ssure whe can ket it fixed! Somehow…"

"I have thinking," he replied. "Maybe Tree-Paws make thing."

"Tree paw? Gobber?" He was already speaking too quietly for eavesdroppers, but dropped to a murmur. "You can go through me if you want. It wouldn't be suspicious."

Dreamer chuffed, then they sat in silence for a little while.

"It was hard," Fishlegs eventually said. "Nobody else knows. I mean, everyone was devastated Dagur got away with you, but being the only one to know… I don't even know how to put it to words."

He looked at Fishlegs. Really looked at him. The boy had lost weight, his eyes had dark bags under them, and he held himself with a weary relief. The way he spoke was much gentler and calmer than usual too. They had been the closest things to friends either of them had had, and now things had become weird between them. Well, they had been weird. Dreamer just felt kind of blank now. His prior issues all seemed petty after Berserk, including everything with Fishlegs.

That led him to a conclusion. "Hey. Not think that. I not him. That Long-Paw dead. I Dreamer." He stood to his fullest, flexing his wings and holding his head proud. "I Nightstriker. This me now. You ask before, if I want be Nightstriker. Yes. I much better Nightstriker. I much happier."

He let out a quiet whine. "I happier with Wanderer…" Something flashed across Fishlegs' face, a moment of hope lightly tinged with amusement. "…What?" He feigned ignorance. "You know thing. Tell."

"Uh… Well, Heather was the one who took you, maybe she knows something…?"

Dreamer growled under his breath. "Tell. Me."

Fishlegs shuffled uneasily. "I don't know all the details… If we can get her back to Berk, she can stand trial, and everything will come out then." That was no lie, but was he still hiding more? It was difficult to tell, he was just generally nervous now. Dreamer sighed. It would all come out when they got back to Berk either way, but the wait would be hard.

They sat in silence for a while longer. "What's it like, anyway? Being a dragon."

Snort. One could no more put that to words, particularly in Dragonese, than one could describe being a human. "It good for me. I stronger. Talking easier. Say thing but no words." He padded forward and thanked Fishlegs properly, with a nuzzle to the face and a rumbling purr. A hand awkwardly patted his neck before he stepped back. "For help free me."

"Eheh, no problem… So, you'd rather this, even though the likes of Dagur will hunt you to Valhalla?"

Dreamer shrugged. "He hunt me when I Long-Paw too."

"…Ooh, right, forgot about that. Yeah, you had it pretty rough. It was bad enough for me, but you had it a lot worse."

"Also when I grow big, can fight. Hard with small body, not thing I could do as Long-Paw." Then he grinned. "Also, I Nightstriker. After pawful of season-cycles, Long-Paws run, hide, hope I not find them."

Fishlegs gave a strange chuckle, then paused with an odd reluctance. "I just worked it out. Why this bugged me so much. I'm… envious."

That took Dreamer completely by surprise. His mouth might have hung open a little.

"Giffen the choys I do't thinnk I would! Nee'to be able to write, eheh. But… you can go anywhere you want, live wherever you want, you can fly! I mean, we all can, but it's not the same is it?" Dreamer shook his paw. "Thought not. What are they like, anyway? Your wings?"

This was the Fishlegs Dreamer had known, someone bubbling with enthusiasm and unwavering curiosity, and he was more than happy to proudly show himself off to this person.

But as Fishlegs tested his strength and delicately stroked the fingers in his wings, he was reminded more and more of Wanderer's absence, and his enthusiasm quickly waned. They needed to find him. "Sorry, you must be tired," Fishlegs mumbled dejectedly. "I should get back to the till. You staying down here?"

"No," Dreamer shook back, and Fishlegs left the hatch open for him to climb out of. He immediately went over to Stormfly, intending to curl up under her wing – but Astrid was already there. Heh, guess I'm not the only one, he chuckled, fondly remembering the nights with Wanderer in the cove.

Stormfly warbled wearily at him, inviting him under, and he happily bundled himself in with the teen.

The entirety of the rock-hole stank of blood. His own blood, Wanderer knew, drops spattered and smeared here and there over the course of many nights, but it still stank.

It wasn't even a regular routine. Sometimes he would go up to two whole nights without as much as a single Long-Paw word spoken to him, and some lights he would be put through rounds of commands and punishment with little reprieve. Every part of this grated on him. He had no warning of when the Long-Paw would come, and every moment was spent in dread that it would, but at the same time he waited impatiently as it was only then that he was fed. Enough that he wasn't losing weight that he could tell, but not quite enough.

He also couldn't exercise anymore. He had the space to run around a little, but it was now too painful to actually do. Just something else in a long list of grievances that were gradually wearing him down. At least he still had that one tool, carefully hidden from his captors, but they had yet to present him with an opportunity and he would not waste it. He had to admit, he didn't know what such an opportunity would be.

Laying on his side, watching the clouds drift past overhead. It made his wings ache to be up there, but stretching and flapping them afterwards was almost a good feeling. He took what he could get.

A silhouette lazily wheeled overhead. A Spine-Tail perhaps. One was rare enough, but now there was another one. A pawful, even. This was exciting, and he longingly stared up at them as they drifted around. He cocked his head as they all came together in a hover. That was very strange, hovering was an extremely inefficient way to fly and no wing-hunter would do so without reason.

They swooped down and out of sight. Wanderer considered flying up to the metal web to see if he could catch a glimpse of where they were going, but decided against it. Wing-hunters were dangerous to fledglings, particularly injured ones.

Strange sounds pricked his ears. Long-Paw shouts, loud enough to echo off the large jagged rock that shadowed the rock-hole. A raid? No, not during the light, and there weren't enough hunters. He allowed himself to hope for an opportunity, but expected none. With his dwindling will, he couldn't afford to be too disappointed.

It was hard to adhere to that commitment when the despicable greedy Long-Paw entered the rock-hole. "Come," it barked at him, and he pointedly yawned back at it, though inwardly he was cringing. But the Long-Paw didn't hold the tail of the binding around his neck, and it looked impatient. It strode towards him, which didn't bode well. There was no point in running, but he couldn't help flattening himself to the ground. He didn't want to know what was coming next.

Surprisingly, he was picked up, the binding was carefully removed, and a foreleg looped around under his own to pin him to the Long-Paw's side as they moved to the exit of the rock-hole. Could this be his opportunity? It had not slipped up yet, but he would be ready for if it did.

The metal of the tunnel-mouths clanged loudly against the stone and rang painfully in Wanderer's head, but they were leaving. He was happy to be somewhere that did not smell of blood, though the stench of dirty Long-Paw that permeated everything else wasn't really an improvement.

A Spine-Tail swooped down, Wanderer hearing it more than seeing it, to burn a swathe of ground. There were suddenly a lot of panicked Long-Paw sounds coming from everywhere, but not from the one carrying him. It stayed in the shadows, moving quickly and quietly from tunnel to tunnel.

The sounds of fighting became distant as they descended into a tunnel with little light, and the smell of salt drifted up on the air. Sounds of water lapping against stone soon followed. The Long-Paw had still not slipped up.

It would not, he realised, it was too careful. By the time he was likely to get an opportunity, he would already be trapped again. There had to be something he could do.

The tunnel wasn't all that big… not quite wide enough to stretch his wings, but it should be enough. He took a deep breath, and let out a deafeningly loud shrieking roar that echoed up and down the tunnel.

A paw flew to his face to silence him.

Snick.

His fangs, having been constantly worked against the hard sheaths in his gums, shredded into the wrist of the foreleg – where he could see the soft flesh, this time. He twisted and yanked, ripping the paw free and finally eliciting an agonised scream from the vile creature. It was an extremely satisfying sound.

The foreleg around him loosened, and he struggled free to crumple to the floor. The paw tasted bad, but he swallowed it just to spite its previous owner before painfully pushing into the air. The tunnel was even narrower than he'd thought, though quite steep and he was able to half-glide down without too much trouble.

It opened out into a respectably large sea cave, illuminated by the sky-fire shining through a tall and narrow fissure.

Freedom.

He beat the air and rolled out into the open sky, then stretched his wings to their fullest and sighed in fierce relief as the wind caressed his whole body.

The distant call of a Spine-Tail quenched his enthusiasm. He needed to leave, but he could see nothing on the water and his strength was very limited. First he needed to work out where he was, but that meant flying above this small-land to see if he recognised it. Right into the path of the raiding wing-hunters.

The Spine-Tail called out again, concern, worry, hope, it said. Storm-Fly! The overjoyed roar he'd been holding in burst out, and he let it sound without restraint as he angled his wings into the wind to soar high into the sky. He quickly spotted her and roared again, and they desperately flew for each other and looped merrily in the air.

Understanding, trepidation, worry, shouted the Long-Paw on her back, and she started flying with a little less wild enthusiasm. An explosion from below got their attention and Storm-Fly let out another roar; relief, finished, away, it said. Then she tried to grab him out of the air, but his instincts took over and angled him out of the way. He was a bit big for that. Hrrr, though avoiding the landing would be appreciated, and he wouldn't be able to fly for any great distance in this condition. After he'd had his fun, at least.

Frolicking in the warm waters with her siblings, running and playing with claws clicking on the stones. Sire and Dam teaching them all to fly – that one sister who kept getting distracted and falling out of the sky. Sleeping in a warm pile under Dam's wings. Chewing Sire's horn, and perching on his neck to peer through his crest. Squeaking indignantly when he occasionally flattened it to squash her against him.

A clacking sound, one that often preceded commands. She was already staring at the source, waiting. There was no reason to be looking anywhere else.

The female. No commands for now.

Dam preening her, showing her how to preen herself and–

Another Long-Paw, unfamiliar, barking into the den over the commotion outside. That was almost a command.

The frail Long-Paw making to leave with the female and the new one. That was a command. Her body creaked and groaned as it sprung to obey, but then a sound rang painfully in her ears. A punishment? It was followed by more pain, a wetness that spread down her neck and beckoned to a peaceful darkness.

Had she got it wrong? These… commands were complicated, but… she was sure… she'd got… it… right…

The hold was a peaceful place to sleep after the forests of Berserk. Dreamer remembered thinking wistfully of sleeping in the warm sunlight, but now he just wanted somewhere dark and cozy to curl up. Tucked under Stormfly was perfect, but when she was up and about then in amongst the barrels carelessly stacked against the wall worked well enough.

Safe and protected like this, he was doing a lot of sleeping and resting to recover, but the hard thumps on the deck above roused him and pricked his ears. There was quite a lot of commotion, and then the ship lurched as the sail was presumably hoisted. Something was happening.

He tumbled out of his nook and stretched, then cocked his head at the pained cries coming from above. Someone was hurt, and he couldn't work out who. It was hard to make out over the din the dragons were making.

Nosing the trapdoor open a crack, he peeked out across the deck. The dragons, with riders still on their backs, were huddled at the other end of the boat – Hookfang was actually crouched over the prow – and all chattering excitement, relief. Strange, given the pained human cries, but they were coming from elsewhere. There was a new woman propped up against the mast with a stump for a shoulder, wrapped in crude and bloody bandages, being seen to by Spitelout and Heather.

Since the poison had worn off he no longer wanted to tear the girl limb from limb, but he still growled at her.

Desperate, hopeful, came a terse croon.

A cool tension crept down Dreamer's back, and he crept out onto the deck… "Wanderer…?"

"Dreamer!?"

A long whine left his mouth, and then he was rushing at the dark shape that scrabbled out of the huddle. They didn't even slow down, crashing into each other with a force he felt to his tail that hurt quite a lot but he didn't care and just whimpered and grappled and chewed and whined and purred his relief as Wanderer did the same.

Time passed in a blur. His surroundings and what everyone else was doing, whether they watched, never even occurred to him. He had no idea how long it had been, but his throat ached and his tail stung from slapping against the deck for so long. The teeth in his ear didn't really hurt, and he was grateful for them. No doubt Wanderer felt the same about the teeth in his leg.

Their stories were very different now, and Dreamer ached with both happiness and sadness as he breathed the warm and familiar scent and sifted out the new parts. A strong musk of tension and fear, bitter blood, almost-bad fish, and ropes. The scents, each speaking of their own poor treatment, also smelled stagnant and stale. He decided to fix what Stormfly had apparently started, beginning with the leg he was still chewing.

…Wait… There was something wrong here. The leg was being held strangely. Now he was looking, it only took him a moment to notice the claws were short and blunt. He whined sadly and made to lick them, but Wanderer pulled the paw away and tucked it to his chest with the others. There was a similar whine as he felt a nose sniff at one of his arrow wounds, and then a warm tongue drag over it.

"Dreamer… You have many fight-hurts," his friend crooned. It was the first thing either of them had said.

"Not fight hurts…" he lifted his wing to reveal the rest on that side, and the rawer ones found themselves being tended to. "From… flying-Long-Paw-claw, make sickness." He sighed as the enquiring nose brushed against his neck. "They from land-hunters, Long-Paw use for hunt." Wanderer made a confused sound.

But that wasn't even close to the worst of it. He lowered to the ground with trepidation, and swung his tail around. Wanderer's pained wheeze was hard to bear; he had his own experience with a damaged tail. "I still can fly, but not good. But I think it can be good again, have thought. Not worry," Dreamer reassured him. But something was niggling at him. "Your claws, bad also… You have more hurt…?"

Wanderer looked aside, ashamed, then opened his mouth and unsheathed his teeth. They were half as long as they should be. It didn't explain why he smelled so strongly of blood though, both his and another's.

"How…? No, we tell all. Talking about bad makes bad better…" But Wanderer only looked guilty at that. Dreamer nudged his snout with his own, and his friend sighed and reluctantly held a paw up.

Dreamer whined. The pad on the bottom was shredded, dozens of cuts lacing over and through older ones. Not accidental, not defensive, but methodical and intentional. Bounding over the deck had re-opened some of them, so Dreamer returned the favour and treated it. It was really just one big wound at this point. And the way the other paws were held… He gently teased them out and treated them as well.

"I do him worse," Wanderer chuffed proudly. "I eat his paw." He then laughed.

As good as it was to hear that laugh, Dreamer gagged a little. He still remembered that taste. Blegh. Sure, he was licking Nightstriker hurts now, but that wasn't the same as eating it.

Wanderer recounted his story, how he'd lost his claws and teeth and how he tried to fight, that he nearly lost his thinking; a terrifying notion. Dreamer told his own tale, how Dagur had hunted him over and over with trap, arrow and dog until he broke himself out of the bindings, but found his tail had been too damaged by them to fly far.

"Wanderer," he whimpered quietly when he finished. "Teach me how fight…"

"Yes," Wanderer replied with a relieved and slightly pained laugh.

The Hooligans were all anxious to be home, but they were not Berserkers and did not row through the night, so without any real wind the anchor was dropped and everyone got some rest.

Nearly everyone. "Fly!" Dreamer was implored by an impatient Wanderer, and they happily took to the sky. Wanderer roared his delight much as Dreamer had a few nights ago, spinning, flipping and rolling in his mastery of the air. It tempered Dreamer's own excitement of flying a little, being so limited as he was, but he was still happy to be in the air and truly happy for his friend.

Their experiences, so similar in many ways, but mirrored in others. Dreamer was crippled in the air, Wanderer on the ground. It was good to see him moving properly again, even with the pang of envy that came with it.

"Come," Wanderer barked at him once they'd had their fun, and they glided down to a nearby sea stack from where the boat was visible a short distance away. Their bodies were still hot with exertion, but there was a crisp and chill north wind that bit into their scales and encouraged them to huddle together. A pleasantry they had been denied for too long.

"I learn fight now?" Dreamer asked, taking long breaths to slow his panting

Wanderer gave a low purr, but shook his paw. "I will teach, but not this night. You know much, just need do, but I not can teach with these hurts." They sat and watched the boat, the only thing in sight on the endless water. "You live through much bad this last sky-ice-cycle." It wasn't a question, so Dreamer said nothing. "I think… I can tell you. Tell you how hatch again."

Dreamer's ears went up and he spun on his friend. "Now!?" he squeaked. "Why now?"

"Nightstrikers told when firelings. I think that because fledgling can think life hard, but not understand true hard life. Maybe you understand before… as Long-Paw. Now you understand as Nightstriker also.

"I tell you what Sire tell me. He say 'Seasons you have lived, survive again.' Hatching again gives new body… but body new, small, defenceless. It not thing you want do." He brushed Dreamer's tail fins with his own. "You say you not want live on that small-land," he said quietly, with a hint of a whine. "If you have way for fix tail fins?" Dreamer rocked his head thoughtfully, lamenting not knowing sooner if only for another option, then barked when Wanderer thumped him with his tail. "That why I not tell. You not survive as hatchling. When you first have good thinking last season-cycle?"

…Oh. He had a point. There was no way Dreamer could have survived long enough to build up the strength to fly again. Or even think rationally again. It wouldn't have been an option at all.

"Need good thinking for if do, but thinking hard as fledgling. This not easy flight from bad thing. Maybe I still not should tell… but you need know. Hrr, but maybe we not can make not-egg until bigger. I not know."

"Not-egg?" Dreamer warbled, simultaneously eager to get on with the explanation but also dreading hearing the answer.

"Yes," Wanderer chuffed. "Make new body, but not in egg. It… hard explain. When grounded, when need, can do. Just need want. Easy when grounded." Or, maybe, as an emotional fledgling hating himself for what he was… Yeah it was probably for the best he wasn't told earlier. "Eight-and-eight nights for body to grow."

Wait… "But when I die, you not have–" The realisation hit him. He hadn't actually been needed. Wanderer would have been capable of flying away on his–

The tail smacked him again. "Bad thought," Wanderer grumbled. "Alone-pain much more bad than grounding. I had new body, but wanted fly with you."

"I not see not-egg," Dreamer attempted to get back on track, wiping cool saliva onto the new bruise on his head.

"Not lay not-egg, just hatch," Wanderer chuckled, but then wilted a little. "It sound more bad when I say…"

"So what you not want me see… in hatching-den…"

Chuff. "My old body. It… not will smell good now. Not good thing for see."

Really, Dreamer should have seen that coming. Fishlegs had told him his own body had been given a send-off, logic dictated Wanderer's body would have remained as well. He'd not known what to expect upon learning all this, but this talk was much more macabre than he'd imagined.

It was actually reassuring that no weird magic was involved… even if the truth of it was a little disturbing. Nobody else was in danger of spontaneously becoming a Night Fury by hanging around them, anyway. It had been hard enough for him, he doubted anyone else could have survived it. Maybe Fishlegs. "You hatch two? That thing we can do?"

"I not know how, just do. Maybe because you in first body. It not matter." He purred and nuzzled Dreamer. "I happy I do."

"I happy also," Dreamer purred and nuzzled back.

"Just know, you hatchling, fledgling. That mean body, thinking, instinct, all. New body want sire, dam, that why need you-me-you much. Also sensitive, not mature. Also not can mate."

…Thank you, I could have gone several more years without needing to know that particular word, Dreamer sighed to himself, its definition blatant by the literal nature of Dragonese.

…

The blood rushed to his head. "I hatched again. I can make new body. We live always!?" Immortality was not one of the advertised perks of being a Nightstriker!

Wanderer laughed, low and guttural. "No thing live always. Live until… not want live. When had long life, ready for not live. If something not kill us first."

That was… slightly less daunting than forever. He wondered what Berk would look like in a hundred, two hundred years. Maybe he would find out. The teens, Gobber, Stoick, would all be long gone by then.

But it put something into a sobering perspective. He nuzzled into Wanderer, shuffling closer with a happy purr. Neither of them would be alone for this journey.

Wanderer felt strange upon seeing the enormous and familiar mountain rising in the distance. It was his current home, but the only thing really holding him there was Dreamer who was not currently there. Still, he was looking forward to sleeping in the safety and familiarity of their new den, swimming in the lake in the cove, even playing with the innocent and playful Long-Paw hatchlings.

As much as he was looking forward to it however, Dreamer was clearly much more impatient to be back, standing on the tip of the floating-tree-thing where he squeaked excitedly. Wanderer couldn't blame him; the occasional squeak made it out of his own mouth.

Normally they would just fly ahead, but Dreamer's flying was not good. This worried Wanderer, but Dreamer was confident it could be corrected. They would at least be better prepared if needed, but it would not be good to need to hatch again so soon. Wanderer himself already felt he'd spent more time as a fledgling than as a fireling and adult, and he was impatient to grow. That wasn't the way this flight should be flown.

Wrrr, there was nothing he could do about it. He just had to enjoy what he had, and he would get there eventually.

He noted a growing crowd of Long-Paws on the clifftop, apparently eager for their return, foremost of those Dreamer's sire; his enormous stature and ridiculous face-fur were easy to pick out. As the floating-tree-thing neared, and presumably they spotted Dreamer standing on the front as he was, shouts of jubilance carried over the wind. Wanderer would prefer a quiet reception, but he supposed there was nothing he could do about this either.

This was excruciatingly slow though. How did Long-Paws stand to travel this way all the time? He could have flown there and back a pawful of times since the island had become visible. Dreamer eventually grew impatient himself and launched into the air, moving awkwardly but still much faster than the floating-tree-thing. Wanderer was with him on that wind, and winged up next to him.

Wingbeats behind them indicated the Two-Head, Flame-Scale and Rock-Scale following suit, the two Spine-Tails remained behind presumably to guide the floating-tree-thing back. The others made short time of the remaining distance and landed out of sight. As Wanderer and Dreamer neared and flew above the small-land it was clear they'd set up a safe clearing for them to land in, in which the Nightstrikers set down; Wanderer doing so very gently.

Dreamer's sire entered the clearing to stand with the young Long-Paws, and again all hunched and spread their forelegs in welcome. It was difficult to get a read on the big Long-Paw's expression, but he looked relieved. The two Nightstrikers lowered their heads a little in humility, and then padded forward. Wanderer had known this was coming, and was fully prepared to mimic Dreamer's heartfelt reunion with his sire regardless of how he felt himself – but to his surprise, his friend-mate only reared up to nuzzle the proffered hand, and happily accepted some head scratches.

That was all Wanderer wanted, but given his resolve to do more it was a bit of a let-down. He nearly asked Dreamer about it, but remembered one of the Long-Paws present would understand and didn't know their origin. He would ask later.

The big Long-Paw kneeled and murmured sympathetically as he eyed the hurts over Dreamer, who looked away abashedly, then offered Wanderer a warm smile; there was no point showing off his own hurts. Dreamer's sire then shouted relief, joy, welcome, into the crowd, promising food and celebration, and that was a wind Wanderer would fly happily.

This light they would feast, after which they would sleep much… and then it was finally time to get Dreamer fighting properly.

Danger!

Dreamer snapped to alertness and scrabbled back to wedge himself into a corner, eyes wildly trying to take everything in and failing to see anything. He huddled there, gasping for breath and desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings before they could take him again.

A calm but worried croon rolled over him as a wide tongue glided up his face, and he blinked. Wanderer would not lick him if either of them was in danger. Wait, Wanderer?

Awareness crept back in. He wasn't on Berserk anymore. He wasn't even in a forest. Just a dream… Wanderer coaxed him away from the wall and wrapped him up, humming safe, secure, protect. Dreamer gradually relaxed, his breathing slowing, it was difficult to argue with the wordless promises purred into his ears…

He was just drifting off when it happened again, though being slightly more lucid his reaction was less severe; still wide awake and tense, breathing hard, but at least he hadn't scrabbled away in a panic.

Wanderer warbled thoughtfully. "Stay, I come back," he murmured as he rose, then padded to the entrance of their den and disappeared into the pre-dawn light with a rush of wings. He returned a few minutes later and wrapped Dreamer up again, resuming his comforting humming and purring.

His breath smelled of feathers. That was strange. But Dreamer slept soundly after that.

The ways Wanderer had been trying weren't working, that was clear. He hadn't wanted to pressure Dreamer about it, but now that he had asked to be shown Wanderer would not hold back. And the first step was asking Dreamer how he wanted to be taught, what would work for him.

And he'd admitted… he didn't know. So that went back to Fish-Legs, while they had still been travelling, and Wanderer had sat patiently in the belly of the floating-tree-thing while he and Dreamer talked about it. The conclusion they'd reached, and would now be putting into practice, was something Wanderer didn't entirely agree with.

"Slow," Dreamer reminded him, as if he'd forgotten.

Wanderer rolled his eyes, then grunted a challenge. The paw moved slowly through the air, and he moved just as slowly to avoid it. This was silly, he could not jump or dart around this slowly so this was not a true fight, but he would try it. These weren't normal circumstance, and normal methods wouldn't or hadn't worked. He was desperate.

The young Long-Paws and their nest-friends were with them on the grassy area, initially watching in amusement but quickly moving on to doing their own things. Understandable, this was probably quite boring to watch. Except for Fish-Legs, who kept a close eye while making lines in his Long-Paw-thing.

They picked up the pace and moved a bit faster, Dreamer focusing on the offensive – that was key to winning any fight. Nightstrikers struck fast and won quickly, focusing on defence was just a slow way to die. Defending was important, but secondary.

Dreamer was quickly showing, however, that he knew more than he'd ever let on. He was focused, somehow taking this very seriously, and – once they were moving fast enough – used his weight efficiently. As they picked up the pace, faster and faster, Wanderer began having a much harder time keeping him back.

"Fast now," Wanderer offered, taking a defensive stance, and Dreamer chuffed. The Long-Paws went silent as they started watching again; interesting that Dreamer didn't seem to mind that now.

Dreamer darted to the side, Wanderer spun to face him and was attacked while his stance was off. He was barely able to block, and dodging the next strike with only one forepaw on the ground tore some of his cuts open, a minor irritant. He was rammed and sent stumbling back, but trying not to go overboard to do himself further injury, and without attacking, he was quickly overwhelmed. Sounds of joy, congratulations sounded out as Dreamer removed his teeth from his neck.

Wanderer huffed. Dreamer clearly knew how to attack, so that wasn't the problem. At least this next exercise would be easier on his paws, as he would be the one controlling the fight as Dreamer defended. This was where he expected to find problems.

Again they started their slow fight, and the Long-Paws grew bored and went back to their own tasks. Again, Dreamer quickly showed he was capable of blocking and dodging, and he could find no real fault in technique, at least not while moving slowly.

He huffed again. "I think this stupid, you not learning."

"It giving me time to see, think, know how I should react," he replied. "I think it good."

"You not think for fight. Know where strike, not get struck. Not have time for think."

Dreamer shrugged. "I think now, I not need think later."

Rolling his eyes with a huff, Wanderer took his stance again. "Fast now," he grunted, growing impatient, then lunged with a snarl–

–and froze.

His teeth snapped back into his gums as he stared, one paw still in the air. "Too fast," Dreamer muttered, then blinked a few times and eyed him back curiously. "What?"

How had he not seen it before? But he had to be sure. His teeth slid back out and he curled his lips in another growl, leaning forward–…

And Dreamer, though more subtly, reacted the same way.

Stupid

Memories flashed in his mind. How had he not seen this before? It had always been right there in front of him, every time he took the fight seriously, and every time he had only abused it.

Stupid!

The confusing teeth-hurts on his neck; only on his neck, nowhere else.

How am I this STUPID!?

Chastising Dreamer for crouching too readily, giving up his height. Not crouching. Flinching. Cowering. Offering an easy win. Why?

Dreamer shook his head again and rose, then warbled in concern. Wanderer barely noticed.

More memories. Back in the cove, Long-Paw Dreamer limping in after losing fights with nest-kin. I not fighter.

His vision dimmed at the edges as his eyes narrowed, showing him every detail of his Dreamer in excruciating detail; the slight tremble, how his tail was twisted on itself, his hunched posture to appear small and harmless. He submit to end fight because he expect he lose.

Something wasn't right about that. Dreamer, distraught, limping into the cove. Losing the fights upset him greatly. No, he wanted to lose the fight, didn't want to fight all. It wasn't losing that upset him, it was the fight itself. It wasn't his choice to fight.

It wasn't even a fight.

Again and again.

Unforgivable

Wanderer snorted the scents from his nose, digging deep into his memories. So vividly he recalled them that he even felt the pain of his missing tail fin. Focus. Surely, at some point… There.

And now he felt really stupid. The signs were all there. He shouldn't have needed the lingering scents on Dreamer's hurts. Always the same scents.

Wanderer lifted his head and turned.

UNFORGIVABLE!

Author's Notes

I tried to make it obvious, and it's not even an original theme (though I've yet to see it used outside a one-shot) but nobody mentioned anything even close. So no names to show here. On an unrelated note, I had slightly too much fun writing the start of the next chapter.

Now, the not-egg scene has actually been sat in my folder since I tore it out of chapter 4. It felt out of place where it was, too soon, and I realised it would have negative effects on what I had planned with Dagur. So I decided to postpone it to the end of the first arc (which might be another ten or so chapters). However, when I finished the Berserk plot and started the reunion, I could no longer give Wanderer enough of a reason to hold it back, and it has been a bit drawn out already. So there you have it.

This was my initial inspiration for this story, funnily enough; "How could a dragon Hiccup fic work without magic?" was the question I started with. If this answer to that question sounds convenient, know that I reached the same conclusion and we'll revisit it in the third and fourth acts - though it does not play a huge part in the plot, it is still important. When I added that answer (plus the ideas supporting it) to a bunch of other stuff I wanted to see, the overall premise and early chapters came together quite easily.

As much as I don't want to leave you guys hanging on this for two weeks, though, there's no guarantee the next chapter will be ready in time. I'll try, if it's done I'll post it, but then after that I definitely need to catch up again.