It was a natural sound, one of wilderness. A rockslide, rumbling down the mountain. A wildfire, splintering trees and consuming the foliage. Thor's lightning, splitting the sky and echoing into the distance. It was all these sounds rolled into one, a mix of them and also something in between. Even a human, so far removed from nature, could easily understand its meaning.

Death

The sound needled at the back of Snotlout's neck. The skies were clear, and there was no nearby mountain or forest. Not that it was likely that Ragnarok had started behind his back. He turned slowly, unsure of what he would find.

The sight that met him did not put him at ease; quite the opposite. The way Toothy moved was slow and measured, keeping perfect balance and coiled to spring in any direction. Prowling forward, his bared teeth gleaming in stark contrast to his black scales. But it was the eyes locked to his, the tranquil forest green marred with a fierce red gradient, that said more than anything else and locked any placating words in everyone's throats.

Toothy was going to kill him.

It didn't really occur to Snotlout to ask why at this point. Two years of peace was a long time, but fifteen years of war and fear was far too much to ever overcome completely. This wasn't playful little Toothy in front of him right now. This was a Night Fury, the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself, and it was furious. Snotlout, and everyone else, took an instinctive step back.

"Oh…!" Fishlegs' exclamation had some sort of deep realisation to it. "Snotlout!"

The tension snapped. Toothy began loping forward, and Snotlout backpedalled as fast as he could; he was not turning his back to this thing! As he moved he fumbled for his axe and held it out, but it felt like a toothpick against the weight of what was bearing down on him and he almost immediately forgot he was holding it.

A draconic shout sounded over the din, and Hiccup bounded around to stand defensively between them, but a sound akin to the snapping of every tree in the forest had him skidding back out of the way.

Some low rise in the ground caught Snotlout's heel, and he landed on his rear. Toothy surged forward, appearing almost liquid in how he moved, and the axe was dropped as teeth bit into the arm holding it. Snotlout screamed, his other arm still propping him up and somehow unwilling to move with Toothy's weight bearing down on him. More pain erupted down his front as claws shredded through the flesh, and a cold chill swept through him as blood soaked into his shirt. That was it, it was only a matter of time now.

Something black collided with the dragon on top of him, the clamping pressure of the jaws loosening just enough that they left the arm intact as the pair tumbled away. Snotlout held it to his chest, growling through his clenched teeth and shuffling back.

The two dragons fought, snarling and clawing, until Toothy landed a solid hit on Hiccup's head – and hesitated. Hiccup straightened and, seeing his motionless opponent, thrust his wings out and screeched. There was a huff, and Toothy took to the air and quickly vanished.

Snotlout stared after him until he was sure he wouldn't return, then lay back with a groan. He never thought he would enter Valhalla this young, but when Odin called…

"Oh Thor, Snotlout, we need to get you to Gothi!" The voice of a Valkyrie? Nay, it was Astrid; close enough.

"There's nothing she can do," he said levelly. A calmness had settled over him and he barely felt the deadly wounds down his front, that was something he was told happened. He hoped the sight wasn't too gory though, he wanted to cut a fine, respectable figure on his pyre.

"Stop being so dramatic and get up," she snapped back. Hey, come on, Vikings were tough but with all his insides hanging out like–

Oh, he really was fine. Wha…? He lifted his head and poked a finger through his shirt, finding only shallow scratches… It took him a few moments to remember Toothy's claws had been blunted. He wasn't sure if Toothy himself had remembered that, and silently thanked the Outcasts; they had probably just saved his life.

Though now he looked like a complete fool. "Well, if you insist," he sighed, trying to salvage some of his dignity, and pulled himself upright. Before he had a chance to stand, however, he found himself flinching away from Hiccup. The smaller Fury was an image as far from aggression as a dragon could manage, but his interest in his arm was worrying. More so when he licked the wound. "Hey, get off." He pushed the dragon away and stood, wincing in pain. The wounds were all rather minor, including the bite, but there were a lot of them, and even blunted the claws had left his shirt in bloody ribbons.

He took a few steps towards the healer's hut, but then stopped and turned back. "Why, huh?" he asked Fishlegs. "What was that all about!?" to Tuffnut. "Why?" at Hiccup in Dragonese.

"Sorry," Hiccup offered back, but the two teens just stared blankly.

"Whatever!" Snotlout gave a frustrated wave of his good arm as he spun and stalked away.

"…What was that about!?" Astrid exploded at Fishlegs the moment Snotlout had disappeared from sight.

"Um, uhh, hhhow would I know…?" he tried.

She got up into his face. "No. No playing dumb today. We gave them hospitality, remember? Do you know what that means? Well!?" Odin probably wouldn't smite a dragon, but that wasn't the problem; if the dragons themselves didn't observe it then it wouldn't protect them, quite the opposite.

"Stop!" he shouted, then pushed her away as he stepped back. "You think this is easy!? Every time someone has a dragon problem, they expect me to know all the answers, but I'm just guessing most of the time! Even this, I might know, but it's a wild guess and I can't tell you either way!"

They stood and stared at each other in shock for a few moments, then both turned away at the same time. "Just give me some time to think and talk it over with them," he said more placidly.

"…Okay. Sorry, I guess we're all a bit stressed…" Completely removing her from Chiefing duties was supposed to help her relax, but it was doing anything but. At least now she had something to do; work out a loophole for Toothy, so they could try to reach a reasonable resolution.

"…I'm not stressed," Tuffnut said plainly, then cried out as Ruffnut stood on the back of his knee and clobbered him. Pity that wasn't a full-time job, she was very good at it.

Astrid eyed him as he groaned into the grass. "Alright then, what's your take on it?"

He shrugged. "Eh. Toothy is pretty straightforward, I'd say he had a good reason. Can't tell you what it is though. Hiccup looks like he might know, but he's too unsure about it to say. Let him talk it over with Fishlegs. We've got some time before Toothy comes back anyway."

Time. That was something Astrid didn't have. "Alright, fine. I'm going to try to handle this, but we can't just ignore it either, so keep me posted."

She headed to Gothi's hut, racking her mind for anything of use. Whichever way she looked at it, Toothy had attacked and injured Snotlout, though not all that badly it seemed; the bigger problem was dissuading any rumours about an unprovoked attack by a dragon under hospitality. The most she could try to do was leverage it against Snotlout's own prior attack on Hiccup, though it was weak. It was still the best she had as she climbed the stairs up to the hut.

The tiny old woman, in the midst of applying a balm to a shirtless Snotlout, looked pleased to see her and gestured to her staff. On one hand, a little more time to think, on the other hand, getting Gobber involved might complicate things. She couldn't refuse anyway, and promptly fetched him.

"Hmm," the smith mused as he inspected Snotlout, already bandaged up and smelling thickly of leafage, then shuffled over to the sand Gothi had spread over the floor and was now scribbling in. "She says 'e was attacked by a drunk." Whack. "Ow! A dragon! He was attacked by a dragon. She needs ter know which type so she can treat 'im fer poison." Whack. "Hey! Wha…? Oh, venom. In case it was venomous. Wha's th' difference?" Whack. "Owww! Come on yeh old hag, ah'm jus' a blacksmith– alrigh' alrigh'! Erm, yeah. So?" He had addressed the patient, but Snotlout just looked blankly at Astrid, and then everyone was looking at her.

Why wasn't he answering? Maybe he just didn't want to admit to being beaten up by a little dragon with an adorable name like Toothy.

The answer hit her, and she took a deep breath so she didn't try to blurt it all out at once. "Thor, you should have seen him. Things got a bit heated, and one of the Furies put out a challenge. I'll tell you, that sound…" She shuddered, and it wasn't even faked. "Let's just say they live up to the name, and the subtitle. We were all scared witless, but Snotlout had his axe out in a flash! 'Course, this was still a Night Fury, there's just no taking one down, you know? I mean, how long would any of us last in the forests of Berserk? But hey, he's the first Viking I've ever seen to walk away from a fight with one."

Poor, predictable Snotlout. He was way too easy to manipulate, she'd need to get him out of that if he ever wanted to be Marshal. "Yeah, well, it was no big deal," he said nonchalantly, leaning back on the weathered chair. "Never seen a Night Fury scar before, figured I should get one."

Gothi rolled her eyes and tapped the end of her staff onto one of the strange glyphs she communicates in. "Is 'e venomous?" Gobber asked, putting particular emphasis on the word, then watched Gothi scratch some more glyphs. "If 'e is, we're gonna need some venom."

"Uhh… You know, I'm not actually sure. I don't think so. I can get some from Hiccup if they are, it doesn't have to be from the same dragon, right?"

"I' was Toothy? How could 'e be venomous, he aint even got teeth!"

"Tell that to my arm," Snotlout shot at him, and they glared at each other.

Astrid grinned, fondly remembering Stoick's – and her own – reaction nearly a year ago. "They both do, they can just sheathe them so it usually looks like they don't."

"They can wha'?" Gobber stared off into the distance for a moment. "Ah'm gonna kill Tuffnut," he mumbled before hobbling off down the steps.

Heather grimaced the disdain in Stoick's eyes as looked down on her mother. She was in a wretched state, even compared to normal with her arm bitten off at the shoulder as it was now. None of the Vikings were sympathetic about it, or to their story. They might have been if she'd been open with them in the first place, but would things have turned out any better?

Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she could only do what she always had; move forward. At least she'd been able to – forced, even – explain and apologise, but she had a feeling it was less that and more the whims of the two Furies that had avoided her the death penalty. The way Stoick stroked his axe whenever he looked at her made his opinion very clear.

She glanced back at him as her little boat pulled out of the harbour, the very figure of a Viking Chief. Half as tall again as most Vikings, twice as wide, and with a fanning beard as long as her arm. The Night Fury draped over his shoulder was overkill, really, particularly with all that Alvin had done in unsuccessfully trying to get one to cooperate with him.

Berk would definitely be a place to keep an eye on–

No, she didn't need to think like that anymore. Right now, all she wanted to do was sail home, plead with the lord to return their land and possessions, and live some semblance of a normal life. And that was exactly what she was going to do.

Wings burning with exertion and occasionally grunting in effort, Dreamer hobbled through the air over the main island. He was wary, because if another dragon decided he might be a tasty snack he would have more trouble evading, but was confident enough to dive down into the trees at least. Hopefully the device Gobber was working on would set him right, but it would take time and he wouldn't be able to fly at all while it was on. Something for the winter, which was fast approaching.

For now, he needed to find Wanderer. At least he had a pretty good idea of where he would hang out for two days. On the other paw, this was going to be an awkward conversation.

He got there eventually and glided down to their little beach, then padded up into the cave. A dark figure at the back lifted its head at his arrival, but nothing was said, even when Dreamer approached and lay down in front of him.

The silence stretched out. Wanderer was clearly pleased to see him, but there was a lot more going on as well; uncertain, angry, hurt, relieved, disappointed, and a storm of other muddied cues mixing with and garbling each other. Dreamer himself was probably a similar mess, as he couldn't find any way to broach the topic either. He gave up and tried another approach. "We hunt…?"

Relief overpowered Wanderer's features at that. "Yes, we hunt. I hungry. Not eat last night…" Dreamer warbled worry.

They flapped out of the cave and up to where the boars frequented, then sniffed around for a trail. Dreamer was beginning to worry they'd moved away when Wanderer picked up the faintest trace, and they followed it through the woods; ancient as it was, it would lead them to fresher trails.

It took time to follow the faint and scattered scent, but eventually they were loping along after a fresher trail of a male, adult and likely to be alone. They found it sleeping in a cave, and though they made no sound it snorted its awareness of their presence.

This was not an adolescent, like they had hunted last year, but a fully grown and battle-scarred wild boar. Its long tusks carved through the air as it rose and turned to face them with a squeal of challenge. Dreamer glanced at Wanderer, who shrugged and stalked out along the wall of the cave, attempting to flank it.

The boar charged at Dreamer, those tusks promising a painful death, and he jumped over the top of it; with his wings he cleared the danger easily. Their quarry continued running off into the forest with a squeal.

Wanderer and Dreamer shared a look, both snorted "Stupid," then loped along after it. They easily caught up and shredded its unprotected flanks, then Wanderer pinned it while Dreamer bit through its neck.

The meat was tough and Wanderer took most of the fat for himself, but that was fine. He was the hungrier one, and Dreamer found more flavour in the organs anyway. Vikings always took them out and mixed them with other things or cooked them into pies or sausages, but this way – still warm and bleeding – was much better, if less convenient. He had missed hunting large prey.

Dreamer sat back with a full belly and a sigh, then cleaned himself while he waited for Wanderer. It gave him time to get his thoughts straight. "Why you attack rock-head?" he asked, his tone simply curious, as the bigger and hungrier Nightstriker finished gorging.

"Why you not?" Wanderer growled back, then huffed. "I know why you not. I see your hurts when you Long-Paw."

That was what Dreamer had suspected, though he still didn't understand why that was such strong motive. "I forgive him."

"I not," Wanderer snarled. "He… I not even have words. For attack a fledgling who not will fight, not can fight. 'Bad' not enough."

"It how our nest work. Fledglings fight for get strong."

Wanderer stared at him. "You not this stupid. We fight you-me-you for get strong. He fight you for make you strong?"

"…No…"

"No," Wanderer huffed, satisfied. "We kill him now? You do, my claws–"

"No!" Dreamer growled at his friend. "Kill Long-Paws bad. They think like us. I know, I was Long-Paw!" He groaned. "This not good. Nest want know why you attack him. What we say? I not want leave, but they think you not have reason for attack, think you bad." That wasn't quite true, Astrid had somehow smoothed it over, but she still needed placating herself.

"He deserve more…" Wanderer muttered. "You know why you not can fight?"

"I…" He stared blankly at the ground. For some reason, he was unable to deny it.

His friend padded over with a sad whine and affectionately rubbed against him. "I not like see you hurt, but I not know how fix this hurt…" Another whine, even sadder. "I sorry I not see before. I not think, not see, just take advantage every fight… I very sorry…"

Dreamer hugged him close with a wing. There was something wrong about this, but he wasn't sure what it was. Either way, Wanderer quickly shook himself out of his sadness and the embrace with a huff. "Tell nest what you want tell. Or not tell, we strong enough for fly to egg-nest for survive cold-season. I not care." He stared at Dreamer with his ears back. "I not will attack rock-head, or other fledglings, because you forgive, but I not forgive him."

Well, he supposed he couldn't ask for more. "Yes. I had talk with Fish-Legs, we think something. But," he bopped Wanderer with his tail, then waved it, "not can fly to egg-nest. Was hard for fly here." He spoke over the guilty mumbles. "I good, not worry. Now… I thinking I not seen you for two nights!" He pounced, and they played properly for the first time since they had been taken from the island.

Staring at but not really seeing it, Dagur turned the heavy dagger over in his hands. His focus, his drive, burned in him stronger than ever now that both of his Night Furies had been stolen away from him. Probably by Berk this time, though nobody had got a good enough look to see if any of the dragons had riders. None of the survivors, anyway.

It didn't matter. He'd got what he wanted, minus some snazzy additions to his wardrobe, it had just had a very unsatisfying end. How was he supposed to show it his respect now? He'd just need to put what he'd learned to good use instead.

Vella entered his house, and Dagur noted the matching dagger at her belt. "You've still got it, good." She was a very sensible person, he almost never wanted to kill her. "Get my ship ready, we leave at dawn." He had his full off-island allowance saved up, it might be a while before he was back. "Tell that old wart from the eastern clan to keep his men to himself while he's gone, or I'll return the favour tenfold." Hopefully that would keep him out of trouble while they were gone. Wait, she didn't know where they were going yet. "Pack for a long trip. Bring my whole retinue." Not the worthless ones who insisted on following him around, the elite ones hand-picked and answering to him alone.

He also wanted to go over the modifications to his ship one more time, "Send for the carpenter." Hmm, his control wasn't the best right now, but he wanted to leave as soon as possible. Best to avoid temptation. "Here, take this." He held out his axe, hesitated, then remembered not to point it at her as he offered it. It was progress! He should celebrate. Too bad he didn't drink. Maybe Vella would want to instead. "Want some ale?"

Astrid eyed the dragon warily, grateful that Stormfly was nearby; not that she didn't think she could take the Fury, despite what she'd said to Snotlout, but the Nadder's presence was comforting. At least Toothy didn't look and sound like he was about to murder anyone anymore, but there was something about his expression that spoke of a deep fury, and much of that was directed at her right now. She had to trick herself into thinking it didn't make her uneasy.

"So?" she asked levelly, addressing both Furies as she deliberately folded her arms. "Let's hear it."

Hiccup said something she only understood half of, and she watched him patiently while Fishlegs translated. "He requests I–"

"Word for word, Fishlegs," she reminded him without looking away.

"…Sorry. 'Fishlegs should explain. It would take too long in my language.'"

That tied up to the parts she had caught, though he was still paraphrasing a little, and she'd been more or less expecting it; they'd had days to prepare. She nodded to him.

"Okay. There are certain things that can be… assumed. Nobody's ever seen a Night Fury in three hundred years, and now we've seen three. They're clearly connected." Astrid nodded in agreement. "Right. And we know about the first one because of… Hiccup Haddock. With me so far?" She nodded again. "Okay, so when you put those two together…" He held his palms up suggestively.

"…You knew Hiccup?" she asked the Furies. They both chuffed tersely, though she'd asked in Norse. While that was surprising, both the fact and the understanding, "What does that have to do with attacking Snotlout?"

"I lick his hurts," Toothy said with a crackling growl, Fishlegs meekly translating and filling in the gaps in her understanding. "Many hurts. I had wrong thinking, that he fight." He closed his eyes and let out a tense sigh. "But he never want fight. You tell me, if he not fight, he hurt why?"

"This isn't about me," she shot back to keep control of the… she supposed it was a trial, of sorts. "This is about you, and you attacking Snotlout. You can't just attack him for something he did to someone else."

Toothy kept watching her while Fishlegs translated, however that worked with the visual words, then huffed. "I have more reason than that rock-head had. Tell me why."

"You ask him, he tell you," she growled back directly. "This is still about you, and that isn't a good enough reason."

He looked at her incredulously. "If you not can see what you do, how hurt-sad you make him, I not can explain."

"I think something's lost in translation here, Fishlegs, help me out." Sure, Snotlout was a jerk, but she couldn't see why being a jerk to a dead kid was reason to try to claw his guts out.

"Uhh… No, not really? You really don't get it, do you? No, of course you wouldn't. You're Astrid." He scoffed. "You've probably never felt helpless in your–"

He was cut off by Hiccup crooning over the top of him, and he visibly restrained himself. "…Sorry." He said that to Hiccup, not to her, and she was tempted to snap at him that she had been helpless before. Twice! "Let's just say that when you beat the snot out of someone, when they won't or can't fight back, it does bad things to them."

She didn't like how they were both implying her involvement. "Let's get something straight here, I'm the one who risked my honour and axe to get you off easy. I get it, you're mad at Snotlout, but maybe try to talk it out next time instead of trying to kill him?"

Toothy laughed humourlessly as Fishlegs translated. "That not what you do." Before she could object, he held up a paw as if he were holding a torch or something, which he dropped and 'watched' fall to the ground. Then he stamped on the rock, which strangely elicited a bark and some fussing over him from Hiccup.

What was that supposed to mean? She glared at Fishlegs, but he shook his head in confusion.

"Before you fly with him," Toothy said while he blankly watched Hiccup lick his paw.

What about it? She'd kissed him after that. So what if she'd… thrown him to the ground, literally walked over him… threw him to the ground again, kicked him… and dropped her axe on him… But she only did that when he deserved it!

Hypocrite

She slumped. He'd 'deserved' it a lot. And Snotlout needed even less of a reason…

"Thank you for saving us," Hiccup chirped, breaking her out of her thoughts. "We like here. New den good. Playing good. Much food. But bad happen here, we know. But we fly forward." He nosed his brother. "You also." Toothy didn't look so sure, but didn't disagree.

Astrid sighed. She still didn't really get it, but nor could she argue. She was just as guilty as Toothy, and by Snotlout's own logic Toothy had every right to maim him. She made a note to keep an eye out for this sort of thing in future, these attitudes weren't healthy. "Alright. Come on girl, I need some air," she said to Stormfly, then climbed into the saddle and left these tumultuous thoughts on the ground.

Hindlegs brushing his sagging belly, Dreamer trudged out of the Great Hall and down the village. The quiet night was a stark relief after the noise and stuffiness of the feast, and the air was cool and crisp as winter began threatening to take hold.

He looked up at the sky-sparks in the otherwise empty sky, confirming that dawn was not far off. That moment was approaching. He knew where his paws were taking him, if not why, or how he'd suddenly known.

Before he knew it he was perched on the clifftop, staring at the sky past the catapult that had been rebuilt at some point.

He wondered what Wanderer did at this time, if anything. Did he fly to where he had crash landed and spent half the day immobilised by ropes? Probably not, he was a pragmatic person, most of the time, and though he'd winced at the part of the story where he'd been shot down – this skald had been more animated than the last – he'd seemed quite happy with it all.

Dreamer should feel happy too. He did feel happy, and wouldn't take any of it back… but he just couldn't bring himself to celebrate shooting his only real friend out of the sky; permanently, in one way of thinking.

His damaged tail fins found themselves tucked in behind his forelegs. He had an inkling of what that was like now, being grounded, though his case had been and still was much less severe.

Wanderer was his friend only because Dreamer had shot him down and inflicted that terrible injury. That seemed so very, very wrong, even if he was the only one who wasn't completely fine with it. He was mostly fine with it, as it had broken Wanderer from the queen's control and led to the end of the war, but that didn't make the deed any less horrific.

Footsteps approached behind him, and he turned to croon at–… not Stoick, this time, but Astrid.

"Hiccup?" She asked, and he chuffed a reply. "…So you know about this bit too, huh," she said sombrely. He nearly chuffed again, but remembered at the last moment he wasn't supposed to understand, and they sat in silence.

"We did give him a hard time," She said after a while. "More than we should have. It's not an easy life, being a Viking, but he didn't seem to get that. It didn't help that he made it a lot harder for everyone around him too, with all his… weirdness." A hand groped at his wing and back in the dark, and eventually settled on his head.

What was it about this night that sorely tempted him? She didn't need to make excuses for herself, she just needed to pick herself up and move on. Getting bogged down in the past never helped anyone, he knew that from experience, but he still couldn't say anything. Couldn't do anything more than watch.

Hrrr, she was tough, and would get over it eventually. It was just frustrating. Why couldn't he just be open about everything? Why couldn't everyone? All these stupid wars, the senseless killing and pain, all because people failed to see beyond their own noses.

Could he have fixed that, had he remained human? He could have tried at least. Now… he wasn't sure what he could do. On one paw, he was living proof that dragons weren't mindless beasts, and he could work from there. On the other paw, he almost needed to break that first preconception before he could even start.

These thoughts were getting him nowhere, he growled at himself and the hand quickly withdrew from his head. Heh, if all else failed he could just kidnap the Chiefs like he and Toothless had done to Astrid. Talk to them in their language, so to speak.

The light of the sky-fire was gradually becoming noticeable. By this point, two years ago, he was being paraded back to his house by Gobber. As if it was his fault the brazier had been burned down and rolled down the village. He huffed, his fatigue starting to catch up to him. Time to return to his den to sleep the day away with what seemed to be the only sensible person in this crazy world. Dreamer padded forward and dropped from the cliff without a sound, leaving Astrid alone on the grass.

It was a strange and curious thing of metal, like bones but on the outside. Wanderer nosed at it, sniffing and sifting through the strange scents on its various joins, and the fin within it twitched as he brushed the sensitive tip.

More incomprehensible Long-Paw logic, there was no way Dreamer could fly with this thing on his tail – he could barely even lift it from the ground – but it was Dreamer who had thought of it, so it was guaranteed to work. Somehow. Wanderer didn't need to understand it.

Storm-Fly and the other flying-nest-kin had flown to the egg-nest a pawful of days ago, so the young Long-Paws were downcast. Before the previous cold-season they had played much with the Nightstrikers, but Wanderer was still angry with them. Much more at one of them, but the others too. And he was a little resentful that the problem was being left with him to fix, though he would do so gladly. Things were just awkward and tense all around.

Except with Fish-Legs. It was weird, everything had flipped mid-flight and now he was the casual and comfortable one while everyone else was tense. At least Wanderer understood a bit more of what Dreamer saw in him now.

Wrrr, just a flight of boring and lazy days, then all would be well. He and Dreamer would get big in the warming-season, and they would be able to survive on their own. If they needed to. Some of it did come down to this metal around Dreamer's tail.

He gave the metal thing another sniff, and licked it for no real reason. Mmrrr, it was tasty… Something of a sharp, tangy flavour that burned the back of his nose, in a good way. He got a few more licks in before Dreamer snatched it away and batted him on the head.

"Not lick that!" he scolded, then inspected the thing carefully.

"But taste good," Wanderer whined, creeping forward to be fended off with more bats to the head. Huff. "You lick."

"No," Dreamer huffed, then hesitated. Wanderer could just see the curiosity and temptation on him, and warbled dare, encouragement. "…No," Dreamer repeated, and gave himself a shake. "This let me fly again. Not touch," he growled. "It… smell maybe-good, yes, but not touch. Flying better. Wait. I stupid, I just get more." Wanderer bounced happily, eager for a new toy, as Dreamer opened the den-mouth – and jumped back as a lump of ice the size of his paw smashed into the rock outside. "…I get more later."

Sympathy, amusement, Dreamer's sire hummed as he walked over to peer outside, then closed the den-mouth. The den was much colder now, with all the cold air that had blown in. Wanderer shivered, then spun and bounded to the fire to dive into it. He whined as he was grabbed from the air, claw-lengths from the flames. Relief, amusement, warning, the big Long-Paw rumbled.

"He say not roll in fire," Dreamer translated, batting him on the head again; he was pushing it now. Wanderer growled back at him as the Long-Paw sat down and lay him in his lap, but then groaned and purred as a paw began kneading his back and sides.

He cracked an eye when the den-mouth opened and a frazzled Fish-Legs stumbled in. Wanderer warbled a distracted greeting as he bemoaned at the cold air again, but the fire and Long-Paw body-warmth soon swept away the chill.

Fish-Legs began chattering to Dreamer's sire, occasionally saying curious, excitement, to the Nightstrikers, though of course Wanderer was the only one to not understand. The sounds were familiar now, but still repetitive and incoherent. "What he saying?" he asked Dreamer, then flexed and whimpered as the paw found an ache under his wing-shoulder.

"He say where we nest for cold-season," Dreamer said as he tried to nose his way into the attention, but Wanderer fended him off. They had nothing but time, and this was his turn. "Hrr, but not with rock-head." Good.

Nothing but time… Hrrr… He lifted his head to ask Fish-Legs for something, but then the kneading stopped. He swung up to huff at Dreamer's sire, who chuckled and resumed his ministrations. Nnggg, that was better. He would ask later.

"How your tail?"

Dreamer didn't look up, just warbled absently at Wanderer and continued fiddling with the apparatus. "Not know. I think it working. It feel good now." Gobber had improved on his design – now that was a thought – and used a pin instead of a weld for the tempered iron lengths, so that he could manually open and close the fins to stretch them. A lot more awkward to get on, but then that was something that was only needed once. "I hurt everywhere, but not tail, why?"

"That normal, I think. Growing." He purred. "Much food in this nest. We grow big, strong."

Stronger than most Vikings… On top of that, Toothless could have looked his dad in the eye, and they would both grow at least that big by the sound of it. So weird.

Either way, he'd have Midgard's strongest tail by the time winter ended. Dragging the iron apparatus around was exhausting, not for its weight but because it was at the end of his tail which made it heavier, and it kept catching on floorboards and corners. There were so many reasons he couldn't wait to be rid of it.

"We go to fledgling female's den this light?" Wanderer asked grumpily. That was still a thing, apparently. Dreamer could understand his fury at Snotlout, now that he knew the regular run-ins with him had apparently set in some kind of bad conditioning, but what was his problem with Astrid? She hadn't been all that bad, not compared to some of the others.

He sighed. Everyone would come around, eventually.

Fishlegs finished packing everything up and started pulling on furs. While he waited, Dreamer padded over to the one little child in this residence, a little girl of two or three years, and gave her a friendly sniff and lick and purred at her giggles. He would never grow tired of making people happy just by being himself. Then some of the older kids moved in to scratch or stroke him, and he had to manoeuvre around so as to not let them crowd him.

"Time to get going," Fishlegs said, voice muffled by the furs, and beckoned to his back. The Nightstrikers stared at him expectantly. "Oh come on guys, you know we're out, you should have asked to be taught earlier. You'll just have to wait until next time."

"You know also," Dreamer countered, and Wanderer chuffed his approval. "You just not want walk through cold."

He groaned. "Fine, you got me. Tell you what, you two furnaces come with me and we'll go now."

Wanderer shrugged. "We come, you give us two."

"You can have as many as you want, as long as you carry them," Fishlegs said with a sly undertone. Dreamer hummed thoughtfully as they climbed on.

The trek outside was freezing, even through the thick furs wrapped around them all, and the Nightstrikers couldn't see at all. It made for a long and miserable journey, with no way of knowing how far away they were. Eventually, the unrelenting pressure lifted from his back and the howling of the wind became a bit more distant, indicating they were in a small structure.

The belt sealing them in was loosened, allowing Dreamer and Wanderer to slip out. Grah, even the dirt floor was frozen! But with little airflow, scales were enough to ward off the cold.

Fishlegs rummaged and pulled out a dried fish to toss over – but didn't let go of it. They grumbled at him as they dropped back to the cold ground. "You guys don't really want to be catching these," the teen laughed, and slapped it against a crate. Of course, it was frozen solid and hard as rock. "Still wanna carry it?"

Dreamer approached and took it off him; as long as he held it in his teeth, it wasn't too bad. Just as long as he didn't–… Yep, now his tongue was stuck to it.

The trek to the Hofferson residence was just as bad as to the storehouse, and it was a relief when smoky, stale and smelly air wafted in under the furs. He wriggled forward to poke his head out, taking in the lethargic faces that were beginning to rise at the prospect of something to do. Dreamer understood that all too well, winter for him had been a time to get a lot of designing done, but very little could be made without a forge.

Hrrr, but Astrid wasn't here. She must be still upset with them; that was going to make this stay awkward.

The overcoat was removed to allow them to drop down, and of course Wanderer cheerfully bounded right ahead and dove into the fire, completely ignoring the cries of alarm. He knew as long as he was in there, nobody would try to pull him out.

Dreamer sighed and padded over, dropping his fish next to Wanderer's near the pit to thaw, then swatted at him. Wanderer grabbed his leg in his teeth and tried to pull him in with him. Oh no you don't, a wrestle in the fire was just asking for trouble, Dreamer growled and dug his heels in until he was released. Mmrrr, the warmth was very nice though, even with Wanderer laying over most of it. After casually picking up the errant embers and returning them to the firepit, he stretched out next to it and purred as it ate away at the lingering chill.

After the dried fish had defrosted and been consumed, he went ahead and sought out Astrid. There weren't many places she could be hiding, and sure enough he found her sat on her bed.

She looked a wreck. Her glazed eyes stared forward, glistening with a light dampness, and she slumped with a deep lethargy that even seemed to pull at her face. Had she been this bad at the anniversary? He hadn't actually seen her face.

Dreamer warbled concern and hopped onto the bed, accidentally knocking his tail against the floor with a hard sound of metal on wood that stirred her from her daze. "…Hey Hiccup." She huffed a bitter laugh. "Hiccup… To think, that we would give you his name without a second thought. Not that I ever gave him a second thought, before… Gods, how could I even face him now." She laughed again, a little more genuine. "What should I care? He's in Valhalla. No amount of suffering would keep him away after going out like that."

Astrid looked at him for the first time since he'd entered. "So why won't it stop haunting me? Not that you understand a word I'm saying anyway…" She pulled him onto her lap, and he shivered as her fingers absently ran between his frills. What would he even say to this? He was glad she wouldn't need to face him, and he her. That just sounded like a whole tangle of awkward.

Apparently having followed, Wanderer hopped up onto the bed as well, though he remained out of reach. "You understand," he said. There wasn't much of a question in his tone, but Astrid nodded. "Good. You should feel bad, for what you did." He huffed, and she sagged further.

Wanderer looked at her thoughtfully, then at Dreamer, and tilted his nose at Astrid. Dreamer cocked his head in confusion. "Tell her?" Wanderer hummed quietly, maybe too quiet for human ears. His tone was mostly spiteful, knowing she would need to face what she had done, and if Dreamer hadn't told her on that cliff then he never would, but he tried to imagine how it would play out anyway.

There was his optimistic side suggesting a heartfelt reunion, followed by her apologising and treating him like a respectable person… which didn't thrill him all that much, honestly. It would be awkward for both of them, as it had been with Fishlegs. His pessimistic side envisaged an arduous battle to get her to believe, then her only seeing magic regardless of what he did or said. That was far worse, Vikings had a deep fear of anything they couldn't swing an axe at.

"That Long-Paw dead," Dreamer eventually warbled. "He not care now. No thing you can do for him. We angry because he our friend, we feel his sad. You want make things good with him? With us? He not here now, but you here. Show us you can be good. That you better than you were." There, everything he had wanted to tell her without betraying his identity.

"Alright… I–" she started, but cut herself off. "Yes. I think I understand," she said in Dragonese instead. "Sorry." She'd been saying it unintentionally a few times, but this time she meant it.

Dreamer purred and nuzzled her. He'd much rather just forget about it all anyway, it was really only Wanderer who was angry. He had an idea to cheer them both up, and shook his head free off the fingers to tackle Wanderer, and they tumbled off the end of the bed with a bark of surprise.

Predictably, it was hard to resist watching a pair of small Nightstrikers wrestling and rolling on the floor, and Astrid was a sucker for the cute routine. It didn't completely snap her out of it, but her face looked softer in the few glimpses Dreamer got of her.

Well, as long as they were play-fighting… Dreamer gave a more threatening growl with a slight nod. He was determined, and fought off the rotten instincts to cower and surrender at the dangerous snarls, narrowed eyes, and bared teeth. They fought more slowly and deliberately, Dreamer fighting himself as much as his opponent, until he could take no more. He turned away, panting heavily and trying not to curl up on the floor, though he couldn't stop trembling.

Wanderer refused to 'win' like this, but he tackled Dreamer and just hugged him close with gentle purrs. A good way to lose, the comforting was greatly appreciated, and it helped mask his unease; not that it was a risk, his time on Berserk was the perfect cover, but it wasn't something he much wanted others to see.

Speaking of, Dreamer realised they had gathered something of an audience, several kids he recognised from last winter all watching with a sort of revered awe. He could actually see their hands twitching in anticipation, and huffed a laugh. He could hardly fault them for wanting to touch a dragon, and he didn't mind; a distraction would be welcome. He gave Wanderer a grateful lick and pulled himself to his paws.

Seeking out the youngest first, he hopped up onto the bed she knelt on, and she gasped as he padded around her and over her lap with a purr. From there he made his way around, hopping over beds and winding between the kids as they stroked and scratched him.

Wanderer wasn't one to be left out, and they were quickly getting to everyone, but a splitting wailing sound started and multiplied from downstairs at which point some of the older kids were called away and left with bitter grumbles. Babies? Dreamer continued his rounds until the audial assault ceased, then trotted over to the hatch and awkwardly down the steep stairs.

Conflicted annoyed, resigned, comforting sounds and hushing was coming from the closed back room, but the tense gaze pricking at the back of his neck gave him the impression he wasn't welcome back there. He was fine with that, he had no more interest in them than last year. There seemed to be quite a few more this winter though. Wrrr, Berk was doing quite well for itself, and they did need to replenish the losses suffered at the hands of the Berserkers.

He shook his head and turned – then almost fell on his face as his body didn't respond properly, stiff and aching as it had been lately. The fight had loosened him up a bit, but it was setting back in. Just normal growing pains, apparently, but he felt he was wearing a shirt that was fitted too closely, just a bit too small. It was even more stifling than being stuck inside all the time.

After stretching – with a grimace at his creaking joints – he went to go back upstairs, but a man staring into the fire piqued his curiosity. Dreamer quietly approached and sniffed his leg, scenting a strong connection to Astrid. Probably her father, though if it was, he looked a lot older now. Hrrr, though he hadn't been one to play with the Nightstrikers last year, and Dreamer had rarely seen him before as Hiccup, so it had been a long time.

Dreamer shrugged and padded back towards the stairs, but a gentle clicking sound pricked his ears. He turned back to find the man watching him hopefully, holding out a hand and rubbing his fingers together.

His frills perked and he approached placidly to nuzzle the hand, purring as it stroked his head and neck. He soon found himself draped over the man's lap with curious fingers tracing his wings and sometimes some of the scars he'd accrued on Berserk.

It was hard to tell what he was purring at more; the warmth from the fire, the gentle and pleasant attention, or that he had cured someone else of their hatred and distrust.

"Keep still ya silly lizard, ah did no make this tae come off easily."

Dreamer tried and failed to still his wriggling tail, crooning impatience, excitement, with his wings twitching restlessly. Wanderer was nearby, bouncing and bounding his own excitement.

"Here, let me help," Fishlegs offered as he stepped over to lean heavily on the tail. Dreamer blinked, momentarily forgetting his excitement – had Fishlegs shrunk? No, of course not, that was silly, Dreamer had simply grown. How hadn't he noticed? He'd spent enough time with the teen this winter.

His hesitation was enough that Gobber managed to get a grip on the small wingnut and spin it loose, and paradoxically Dreamer did go still as he felt the clamps loosen.

"…There! Ya–"

Dreamer rocketed from the bench of the forge and tumbled into the snow, chirping happily at how light he felt, and sort of naked in a strange but exhilarating way. He kept flipping himself over, expecting more weight on his tail and to need more strength to move it, but he didn't care.

He darted at Wanderer, intending to pounce him, but his head caught up with him and he skidded to a halt in the white powder. He almost didn't dare look; even if he was truly grounded it wasn't a lifetime sentence, but he'd only just started really growing and didn't want to need to start over again.

The hesitation only lasted a few moments, and he whipped his tail around in front of him and fanned the fins.

His first impression was that it had failed – he could still see the kinks in the fingers. But then his heart rose and soared as he stretched them out, and the membrane between them pulled taught.

Wanderer squeaked happily and tackled him to lick his face, then jumped off and stood tensely in the courtyard with his wings stretched out, waiting impatiently. Just for a moment, Dreamer appreciated how big he was too, bigger than any wolf. But there was too much going on, too much to do, so it was only a moment.

He spun and leapt back into the forge and onto Gobber, staggering him and ignoring the protests as he licked his face.

And then his impatience caught up with him again. He leapt off Gobber, bounded off the counter, and screamed into the sky with a thundering roar.