Dreamer glared at the big black lump of iron. Some help you were, he thought at it snarkily, then trotted off to tell Fishlegs to tell Olga they'd found their big cooking pot. Apparently, it had rolled halfway down the village and under a cart; Astrid had probably kicked it at the Fast-Paw that had charged her or something.

The aftermath of Berk's brief occupation was surprisingly light, a few kicked in doors and a lot of missing food accounted for the majority. Though, that was not including the damage from the initial takeover. There were several bodies, some that had been taken by the fleeing Hooligans and some that had been left behind and dragged out of the way by the invaders. About as many again were still missing, probably dropped into the sea.

Everyone was either preparing for the funeral that would be held at sundown, or piecing their lives back together. Some had more of a job of it than others.

Dreamer was just trying to put the events behind him. He thought back on the fight with mixed feelings, detesting all the death that surrounded it, but he couldn't deny a measure of elation and confidence at having fought and won against the alpha. No weapons, no tricks, just his muscles, claws, and teeth. At the same time, that terrified him.

And he'd be significantly more dangerous in a couple of years. How easy was it to breathe fire? He might as well have a sword to the throat of anyone he looked at.

Telling a relieved Fishlegs of where the pot had ended up so it could be retrieved was only a small distraction, and then he was back with his thoughts. Where was Wanderer? He needed to play or something, going through events over and over was only going to drive him mad.

Maybe he'd gone back to their den, there hadn't been any sign of him in the village. Dreamer jumped into the air and beat his wings to stay airborne while he picked up speed. Even they felt stronger today, sturdier and more confident. Maybe they could try capping Berk's mountain again.

He didn't need to go as far as the den to find Wanderer, as it turned out he was racing around Stormfly in the training ring. She suddenly lashed out at him, but he dodged teeth and spines with ease. However, when he lunged at her, she just rebuffed him with her superior bulk. It was quickly clear neither could really do anything to the other.

Well, in a real fight she would be trying to flame him, and he'd be going after her wings. Or just fleeing. Actually…

Dreamer drifted down and landed on the fence around the ring, then barked to get their attention. "Race!" The word was said in growl of challenge while flaring wings; a race in the sky.

"Fight," Wanderer suggested back, a growl of challenge with bared teeth and flexing claws. Dreamer didn't really–

"Race!" Stormfly growled happily, and Dreamer smirked at Wanderer. Outvoted.

But Wanderer growled off to the side. "I… not can fly good." He swung his tail around and flexed the fins to demonstrate, and sure enough they moved stiffly and slowly. Wow, we really have terrible luck with our tails. Well, it was still only the next day, the Fast-Paw venom would wear off soon.

Stormfly nudged him with a squawk and plodded off to sit at the side of the ring. Dreamer sighed. No race then.

Wanderer flapped up onto the rail and stalked along it, moving deliberately. Dreamer groaned, he didn't want to fight, not so soon after the alpha. He needed more time to process; he might not have been the one to strike the killing blow, but its blood was on his claws, figuratively and literally.

Why was Wanderer so set on fighting anyway? Hrrr…

"You know," Dreamer said mildly, inspecting his claws and ignoring Wanderer's advance, "I win fight against alpha that win fight against you…"

Wanderer hissed at him. "That not mean you fight better."

"If you say that, you not need fight me then." He shot Wanderer a toothy grin, then trotted along the narrow rung away from him.

A deliberate clicking behind him told of Wanderer stalking along a little faster. "If you fight better than me you not need worry."

"I not worried," Dreamer called over his shoulder. Riling his friend probably wasn't a very bright idea, but he seemed set on fighting either way. This way he could be baited into something more fun. "I just happy I know I fight better."

That did it, Wanderer sprinted along the rung with a snarl, teeth snapping down behind Dreamer's tail as he leapt into the air. A race it is after all! Albeit a slightly different kind of race, where Wanderer was trying to catch him instead of overtake him, but a race nonetheless.

He reached a comfortable height and levelled off, glancing back – and then ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding a grapple. Dreamer snorted at him; so much for being slow.

Actually, no, his tail wasn't warped as Dreamer's had been, it was just stiff. That would restrict his turns and manoeuvrability, not his speed. Dreamer gave him another toothy grin and rolled and looped around him, forcing the Nightstriker into sharp turns he couldn't make as quickly. Stormfly joined them at some point too, but just drifted around to watch.

He did accrue a few scrapes, Wanderer landing light slashes with some surprising aerobatics, many of which Dreamer tucked away to work out later. One such trick was angling into a sudden gust of wind to both brake and launch him much higher, right into Dreamer's path as he flew above and behind, so that he was forced to tuck in his wings and dive.

Sufficiently burned out, Dreamer let gravity take him nearly to the ground before flaring his wings and slowing into a landing, then collapsed onto the cool stone with a purr. He ignored Wanderer coming up behind him, but then squeaked in alarm and surprise as a wet tongue ran up the back of his ear.

Wanderer was just trying to bait him, but it came very close to working. Dreamer rolled over so that the wetness didn't dribble into his ear itself, slashing wildly to force the perpetrator back, then tried pawing off the slimy stuff. "We fight tomorrow," he tried bargaining.

"Tonight?" his friend growled through heavy panting, but grumbled at Dreamer's expression. "Tomorrow."

"I… not know what happened in fight," Dreamer said quietly. "I just… fought."

"Not think for fight," Wanderer agreed. "No time for thinking. Just do."

"But… if not thinking… what if I hurt you?"

Wanderer chortled in amusement, then ran his claws down Dreamer's wing, across the scrape from the fight. "You hurt Fast-Paw without meaning to?"

Dreamer thought about it. Twice he had hit the alpha hard, and both times his claws had been out, but while they had definitely done damage it hadn't been severe. Not until he'd been trying to, anyway, to stop it kicking and biting him. He dipped his head in acknowledgement of what Wanderer was saying.

"Not thinking not mean you different person," his friend continued. "You not kill Fast-Paw alpha. You still Dreamer."

"I should have killed it…" Dreamer mumbled.

Wanderer gave a low, comforting croon and sidled up to him. "Yes. But you also should have killed me, that first night. You not." He hummed thoughtfully. "You thinking other challenges your fault?"

"If I killed alpha, no more challenges. No more dead."

"No. You lead them to other small-land, leave them there? Then they fight, die."

That was a horrifying thought. Why would anyone throw their life away so readily? Fighting for the position of alpha made sense, Vikings weren't all that different, but to then kill the other would mean less strong fighters in the pack overall. "That not make sense. Why?"

Wanderer shrugged. "Fast-Paws aggressive. Maybe too much fighting if not to death. I not know. Not care."

Maybe, if they were aggressive dragons then fighting to the death would be a measure against constant challenges… but surely there was a better way. Some rule or…

Dreamer slumped. They were wild dragons, simple in mind and nature. Even as much as he liked Stormfly, it was clear she simply wasn't as intelligent as Nightstrikers, and she was still one of the smarter dragons. That didn't make the deaths any lighter, but if there was truly no way around it…

He growled under his breath. He didn't want to just leave it like that, but they were long gone now and it appeared to be just something else he didn't have the power to change.

There was a plodding approach, then a squeak, and Dreamer was suddenly a bit battered by Wanderer rolling over him. He wriggled free and shook himself, then glared at Stormfly who was chittering happily to herself. She reached forward with a leg, her long talons extending under Dreamer's chest, and then he squeaked in surprise himself as she flipped him over with little difficulty.

Dreamer growled indignantly as he got to his paws again, sharing a mischievous look with Wanderer. They hadn't played with Stormfly before, and she was a lot tougher than Tuffnut or a few toddlers…

On her usual morning jog to the training ring, a little later than usual after dealing with a few things on the way, Astrid slowed as she heard playful draconic sounds. Recognising Stormfly and the Furies, she crept the remaining distance and peered over the rim of the ring.

Stormfly stood in the middle, very still as two black shapes growled and crawled over her. One was hanging from her face to chew her horn, the other somehow got onto her back and seemed unsure what to do from there.

Without warning, she flicked her head and sent the first one skidding across the ground, and then she leaped into the air and bucked wildly, the black shape on her back clinging for dear life with wide eyes. After a few impressive jumps, he remained in the air a little longer than she did, shrieking and flailing wildly until he met the ground with a slap.

Astrid was worried for a moment he'd hurt himself, but he scrambled to his paws, gave himself a vigorous shake, then bounded back at Stormfly and clung to her leg. The first Fury had also recovered, and while she was distracted he jumped up to drape himself over her neck and chirped demandingly. She kicked the one off her leg, flinging it across the stone, then flattened her crown of spines over the other and shook wildly.

Flattening herself to the stone so as to not distract them, Astrid watched the scene unfold, trying and failing to not get teary with unbridled joy. She'd been intending on going flying to unwind before throwing herself back into her duties and training, but this was much, much more effective. She occasionally had to wince though, they were all playing very roughly, but were quickly proving their wings were a lot less fragile than they looked.

Lucky little dragons, not a care in the world, just living day to day and taking everything as it comes. It was times like this Astrid envied the simplicity of their life; not that she begrudged her own lot in any way, it was just nice to fantasise about sometimes.

Wanderer sighed, still rubbing the morning weariness from his face, as Dreamer finished explaining his plan. He could see the reasoning behind it, and agreed with the principle, but it was all just… very Dreamer.

"You want do this now?" Wanderer asked. "Not when have fire?"

Dreamer fidgeted. "I thinking after Fast-Paws leave, where they go. Also not need fire, good we not have for this." Wanderer disagreed wholeheartedly with that, but he knew better than to argue. This was Dreamer, when he got a bone he chewed it until either he broke it, or it broke a tooth; that had been funny the first few times. Wanderer might as well just accept it was going to happen.

Wrrr, he probably could hold him back quite easily, but again with the bone, Dreamer wouldn't just forget about it.

He shook himself to clear his head and prowled around to block off the entrance of their den, eyes narrowed. Dreamer glanced up and groaned. "Why you always want fight," he grumbled.

"Because I need get stronger," Wanderer growled in frustration at himself; he was still bitter he'd let himself get hit by that tail. "You also need get stronger."

"Yes," Dreamer groaned and took his stance.

Huff, that wasn't the attitude to fight with. Wanderer wanted him to give it his all. "I not want fight like this," he said, stretching and padding forward.

Dreamer groaned again. "You want fight, you not want fight, what you want?"

It was always satisfying seeing that moment of realisation, the raised ears and narrowed eyes right as Wanderer got him. His tail flicked Dreamer's leg out from under him, dropping him to his chest, then Wanderer pounced and got his tongue up the back of his ear before it could flatten.

"Again!?" Dreamer griped loudly, desperately pawing at his ear, then lunged with a snarl. This was more like it! Wanderer darted to the side, but Dreamer sped around behind him and clawed onto his back.

He was forced to roll to throw him off, then kicked him away for time to get to his paws. They prowled around each other with low growls, waiting for the other to make the next move.

It was Dreamer to lunge first, ramming into Wanderer; his claws scraped the stone as he was pushed back. Wanderer was quite a lot bigger though and quickly found his footing, then jabbed at Dreamer's neck with the wrist of his wing. It was enough to put him off-balance enough to lunge and grapple him, but he twisted out of it and clocked Wanderer with his tail as he spun around.

Seeing the opportunity, Dreamer got his own paws around Wanderer's neck, but with the size difference was easily overpowered and pinned to the ground. A painful kick to Wanderer's side loosened his grip enough that Dreamer threw him off and darted back. He was very slippery, Wanderer had to give him that.

Dreamer was favouring his right side, the steps on those paws just a little shorter than his left, so Wanderer kept moving around him to abuse that minute advantage. He lunged forward while Dreamer was mid-step, slightly off balance, and swiped at him, keeping him on the defensive. Teeth, claws, shoulder, claws, shoulder, wing, teeth, he kept up the assault to push Dreamer back into the wall, then–

The fight bled out of him as he realised Dreamer wasn't fighting back anymore. Wanderer took a deep breath to calm himself, feeling hurt for the shivering Nightstriker who was clearly doing everything to stop himself curling into a ball. He padded forward and nudged Dreamer with his snout, then winced and crooned apologetically at the violent flinch it elicited.

This didn't make sense… but he buried that for now to sidle up against Dreamer and drape a wing over him, offering a comforting purr and nuzzling him until the tense breaths calmed a little. They stayed like that a while; Wanderer didn't know what to say at these times, and he felt bad for pushing Dreamer like this, but at the same time knew Dreamer wanted his help to overcome these bad instincts.

He purred more genuinely and gave a happy nuzzle when Dreamer licked him; the last thing he wanted to do was make Dreamer afraid of him, so the reassurance was appreciated. "You still… not can fight me," Wanderer said, an observation only.

Dreamer sighed. "It like before. I not…" He growled quietly to himself.

"What different for fight with alpha?" Wanderer asked, careful to keep his tone curious, as he had to admit he was a little hurt that Dreamer apparently only had a problem with fighting him. Wrr, but there had been the teeth-hurts on his neck when they were separated…

"I not know," the smaller Nightstriker said as he vacantly stared outside. "I just knew I needed fight alpha…"

So, it was only when he absolutely needed to? That sounded like Dreamer… though that didn't explain the teeth-hurts…

Wanderer purred. Those hurts had been before they'd figured out what the problem was, and had been working to fix it. That had to be it. It shot down Wanderer's hope of finally fighting him properly though, as the only way to accomplish that would be a real fight which he wasn't willing to do; Dreamer was too smart to fall for a bluff, though he wouldn't do that either.

Wrrr, Dreamer had been sullen long enough, time to break him out of it. "Now you tell Long-Paws your stupid plan?"

"Not stupid," Dreamer growled, batting at him. "But… yes, we do that."

A high bark left Wanderer's throat as a wet tongue ran up the back of his ear, and he threw himself to the ground to rub it against the stone with agitated growls.

"See? It not nice." Dreamer batted Wanderer's snout a few more times, then hopped from the den.

"You want – do what!?"

Wanderer rolled his eyes. He picked out the key Long-Paw words more readily every day, ignoring the meaningless words that strung them together, but the more he heard the less he really wanted to hear. They were a very energetic species, putting too much fire into their shots.

Take this, for example. Dreamer's plan to visit the other Long-Paw nests was dangerous and reckless, but he was determined to do it anyway, and he was determined to do it now.

And now the Long-Paw fledgling-alpha was being very dramatic about it herself, gesturing wildly and shouting about danger and a lot of other words Wanderer could only guess the meaning of. He yawned and lay lazily on his side, fully intending the mild offense towards the outburst.

But he went completely ignored. Huff, Long-Paws had no appreciation for anything not in their strange language. Maybe that was why they were so loud, each thing needed to be shouted at them for them to hear it.

Dreamer and Fish-Legs finished explaining, again, and the female began pacing. It was an inane and reckless plan, sure, but it didn't really warrant all this fuss.

"I need – talk this – with – Chief," she clicked and hummed. That was to be expected, apparently, Dreamer's sire insisted on controlling everything everyone did. And, of course, Dreamer was going with her…

Wanderer weighed his options. A windy day, but sunny and warm, or listening to everyone talk. Well… maybe he would learn some new words. He had a feeling it would be useful where they were going.

This next talk turned out to be much more sensible, with Dreamer translating for him. The alpha was apparently happy for them to go – something about the other nests being nervous – on the condition they went with another Long-Paw, who was unfortunately not present. The sire of the rock-head, Dreamer explained, was a sort of sub-alpha so that more alpha things could be done. That sounded complicated, how many alpha things could need doing? Hrrr, though Long-Paws did do everything very differently.

Wanderer tried to commit to memory the hiss, click, and growl that made the name of the sub-alpha, the rock-head's sire. The hardest part about it was he was incapable of making the sounds himself, so they were somehow quiet when he tried to think them.

Before long, however, he was regretting not sunbathing or swimming instead. There was a lot of talking going on, Dreamer was translating but it really wasn't interesting or engaging so it was hard to match the words to the meanings.

He was unwittingly drifting into a nap when he heard the den-mouth close, and pulled an eye open to see the Long-Paw fledglings had left them alone with Dreamer's sire. As nice as the fire was, though, he didn't really want to nap here, and Dreamer didn't look like he wanted to nap at all. Wanderer stretched with a yawn, happy to go flying or something instead; it sounded like the wind might have calmed a little.

The sooty lantern burned into life, doing a poor job of lighting the room furnished with a sturdy but old desk and bed, but for some reason Alvin preferred working in the dark. Fuel was common and simple to smuggle, so it was not an expensive habit.

Particularly when Berk and its dragons were within reach. His sources reported tamed dragons were not only useful for transport and burden, but also for the resources they naturally provided, some of which were generously "shared" with the Outcast network. After the report of the "queen" dragon and its downfall, Alvin had worried about the fate of his Archipelago without a constant supply of dragons, but it seemed Berk had the answer. An even better answer than his own mixed success with stolen fledglings.

And he wanted it. Whoever controlled the dragons controlled the Archipelago.

With a sigh, he began sifting through the crate of sealed reports, setting aside the less interesting islands to peruse later and vainly hoping for something from Berserk; as easy as it was to plant people there, they were not afforded any real freedom to move around.

One parchment caught his eye as it rolled and the name tilted into view – Berk.

He rubbed the stump on his right arm with a scowl. News from Berk was always about how great the island was to live on and how they were constantly doing the impossible, but that news would eventually be the key to taking power. He missed Mildew's reports, they had always painted a wonderfully bleak and miserable picture.

However, this parchment looked longer than normal. Alvin reluctantly cracked the seal and skimmed the first few lines, expecting the usual drivel… then went back and started reading properly.

So they weren't completely impervious to dragon attacks after all. Although, those damnable Night Furies had been the ones to pull them from the fire, so it seemed likely most other tribes would not have survived…

Five marks against that note, another six on the outside. Five days before it was collected, six days in transit, so the information was eleven days old; a simple and foolproof system.

But it didn't end there. There was another section of news, only three marks against it. He read through it sceptically… and then a second time with a wide grin. This was something he could work with, a big piece of a plan he'd been wrestling with for some time, and it opened another door that would allow him to try so many things in the meantime…

The Hooligans were a progressive tribe. Constant raids forced swords into everyone's hands, and it was hard not to respect someone who saved your life regardless of gender; this had an additional benefit of gaining the respect of the Bog Burglars, who consisted entirely of women. Slavery had also been abolished generations ago, for being inefficient in the harsh extremes the island was subjected to.

But, when it came down to it, they were still Vikings. Something that Dreamer was unexpectedly reminded of, as he sheltered from the firm wind in the mouth of his den, by three longboats pulling into the docks and beginning to unload large baskets of loot.

The boats had been visibly low in the choppy water, but it was surprising they'd made the full journey at all – just over a week's sailing – given how much was being heaved up the ramps. Gobber would have a field day with all the metals being brought in, and some of it shone in a way that could only be gold and silver.

And what exactly were they going to do with all that? Had it really been necessary to go and take it from others, at the cost of lives? Dreamer growled his disagreement.

An enquiring warble sounded behind him, and gentle footsteps preceded a nose nudging his shoulder. Dreamer huffed and gestured at the activity on the docks, and Wanderer hummed thoughtfully. He probably didn't get it, but Dreamer didn't feel like explaining. There was no guarantee he would get it – or want to, given how much raiding he himself had done – so Dreamer just huffed and stalked back inside, tail flicking irritably.

Wanderer trotted around and lay in front of him, noses claw-lengths from each other, with his tail twitching in amusement. Dreamer snorted and shifted his head a bit, and Wanderer copied him.

…

A paw lashed out, but Wanderer copied that too and they batted each other away. They both snorted in agitation, then blinked in surprise; except Wanderer was grinning happily. Oh great, I really am that predictable.

Dreamer huffed again and tucked his head against his side. For Wanderer to copy him now, he'd have to look away as well. Too easy.

His ear flicked as something irritated it, and then again. He looked up to give his friend a tired glare, receiving an innocent look back. A quiet warning growl didn't faze him, so Dreamer tucked his head under his wing.

Something tickled the tip of his wing, which he threw off to grab at whatever was annoying him – Wanderer's wing. It wasn't pulled back but was difficult to grab, so he rolled onto his side to swipe and try to grapple it with both paws, and then ended up on his back.

Wanderer reared and dropped himself bodily on him. He was still a lot bigger, and two of Dreamer's paws were pinned under himself, so he couldn't just be thrown off. Dreamer shoved a hindpaw out of his face, then swatted at the flank laying across his neck, but Wanderer just purred loudly and curled up a little. Biting the paw likewise went ignored.

Dreamer gave up with a sigh. His friend made it impossible to mope, and he couldn't even just stay annoyed with warm breaths playing pleasantly down his flank and a purr rumbling into his midsection.

Who needed things to be happy? Hiccup had surrounded himself with things, making new ones constantly, but it had never done him any real good. Wrrr, though Long-Paws were significantly more fragile in practically every respect, they couldn't even survive without clothes, houses, fishing boats, and so on. When he was Hiccup, he'd surrounded himself with things to make up for his shortcomings. All Long-Paws did the same thing, just on a smaller scale.

As a dragon, he no longer needed things. He did miss the problem solving and meticulous crafting involved in inventing something, but he could take or leave it. With no end product he really wanted, he had no inspiration or desire for it.

He wished he could share this peace with–

…Never mind. The whole point of Vikings striving to reach Valhalla was to avoid peace.

There was something fundamentally wrong with that, but what could he do? Vikings wanted to fight and kill each other, to die in battle, and depriving them of that felt disrespectful. On the other paw, letting them throw their lives away felt callous.

Wanderer fidgeted, and Dreamer was brought from his thoughts by teeth biting into his tail. He yipped and squirmed in surprise, but the weight on him held too firmly for him to really do anything about it. A tongue quickly soothed the discomfort, and he relaxed again.

Dreamer growled half-heartedly, just let me mope you useless reptile. Well, just like with the dragon laying on him, there wasn't a lot Dreamer could do to change Vikings without outright fighting over it. The most he could hope to do was stop them slaughtering dragons, who most definitely did not want to be killed for the fun of it, and show them how to get along. But Spitelout would want a few days on Berk before heading off again.

But once those few days were up… he could finally start to make the world a better place…

Wanderer stretched his wings and yawned, bored of waiting. Long-Paws had a funny definition of "now", as after summoning the Nightstrikers to leave "now" they were still running around collecting things.

The fledgling-alpha pouted as she watched, having been told by the alpha she needed to stay behind. It was logical, she was a sort of sub-alpha and sub-Fish-Legs, so would take care of both their duties while they were gone; whatever they actually did, Wanderer didn't really know or care.

He groaned his boredom, wondering what Dreamer had managed to occupy himself doing, then tilted his head as the Rock-Scale waddled over and growled a pleasant greeting. What had Dreamer said her name was again? Food-Carry? That couldn't be right.

He stood and took a step back, warbling uncertain, when she wagged playfully; she was much rounder and heavier than him. But she waddled away to uproot a nearby stick that was in the ground, and waved it enticingly at him. She tried to swing it out of the way of his lunge, but he was too fast! He tugged on the sturdy wooden length, though it didn't budge at all, and then she tilted her head and he found himself dangling.

"Meatlug!" The name was said scoldingly, and they both looked guiltily over at Fish-Legs, Wanderer still halfway into the air – at least until she dropped it, and him with it. Fish-Legs sighed.

Dreamer trotted up a few moments later and batted his head a few times. "Not play with that," he chastised, grabbing one end and tugging on it, then growled when Wanderer didn't let go.

He tugged harder, and Wanderer tugged back and growled playfully. "No!" Dreamer said as he growled around the stick.

"Yes!" Wanderer shook happily, jostling the stick and Dreamer with the word. He put all his weight into another tug and Dreamer staggered forward before finding his paws again and planting them firmly.

"– one way – this," Fishlegs mumbled, walking up beside them. A tie-breaker? He didn't need it, he would eventually–

He automatically leaned into a firm scratch on his neck, then collapsed onto his side with a happy groan as it found the sensitive spot behind his jaw. Hrrr, that not fair… But Dreamer was similarly collapsed in front of him, so maybe it was.

"If you- not do- -thing, can you help – these two –?" Fishlegs asked the fledgling-alpha as he picked up the stick.

"They – playing," she said dejectedly, but happily approached Wanderer and dove right into some blissful scratching around his shoulders and chest. His claws flexed and tensed, but her blunt paws could do him no harm and her broad Long-Paw-claw was dangling uselessly by her side… and he did trust her, to some height. So he stretched out and enjoyed the tiny, soft and blunt claws over his chest.

Dreamer tried to nose his way in on it, but Wanderer swatted at him. He could wait his turn, or find something else to do. He wasn't the one who had been laying around in boredom for half the morning.

The female – he knew her name to be Astrid, he just found it difficult to think of her as that – started scratching at Dreamer too, but that meant she was paying less than half of her attention to Wanderer now. He huffed and grabbed the Long-Paw's foreleg, then pulled it back to himself.

She laughed and gave him both paws again, and he flexed and stretched with a purr… only for Dreamer to nudge his head under her paws again.

Wanderer growled and swiped at him – then flipped upright as Dreamer staggered back with a shrill cry of pain.

Had he clipped his eye or something? Wanderer was always sure to be very careful about that, but he'd been distracted… he tried to check him over, but Dreamer turned away and blocked him off with a wing. That wasn't very fair, he had to know it'd been an accident…

Wanderer paced as the Long-Paw checked Dreamer's face, murmuring to herself and then settling down with Dreamer's head on her legs to gently stroke and scratch him. She didn't seem to think he was hurt, and he was starting to purr…

Wanderer tilted his head with a suspicious rumble… and Dreamer gave him a sideways toothy grin. All a ruse! That eel-sniffer! Wanderer paced again with a growl, but the Long-Paw growled a few Long-Paw words at him and then cooed at Dreamer.

This was very unfair. He stalked around in front of Dreamer and silently glared at him from claw-lengths away, but he had his eyes closed and his grin only got wider; his ears and frills also went up in amusement, and promptly received scratches under and between them. Sss, Wanderer was going to make him regret this later…

At least it wasn't long later that Fish-Legs announced they were leaving now, again, but this time he seemed to mean it. He still didn't mount his Rock-Scale, but he didn't run off to do anything else either, just stood there impatiently as if waiting for something.

There were already the two Nightstrikers, the Rock-Scale, and the Spine-Tail, plus the two Long-Paws. And… a third Long-Paw and his Fire-Scale, who had just made a blustering landing amidst the little gathering outside the tree-den, carrying a bulging not-skin.

Wanderer huffed. This was going to be a long flight…

"Tha' be it up ahead!"

Fishlegs peered through the afternoon haze at where Spitelout was steering them, spotting a vague outline that could just as easily be land as his imagination. Just went to show how often he'd made this trip, he supposed.

It hadn't been an overly long flight to the unimaginatively named Meathead Islands, about half of the short afternoon. It was sort of difficult to tell how long a flight would take; when currents had no bearing on flight and winds had different effects, there was no strict conversion between sail and wing. Fishlegs estimated dragons to be between five and twenty times faster than boats, depending on the journey and weather.

Five dragons approaching the island would probably not be received well, so Spitelout went on ahead. Fishlegs could see him holding the shield aloft as he descended, and the scramble of defences on the ground.

He winced as Kingstail hovered next to the docks; until they were provided hospitality it would be considered trespass to set foot or paw on the island, but Nadders were not well suited to hovering. Hopefully this could be resolved quickly, and they would need to consider alternatives for future, as deciding whether to give hospitality could often take quite a long time. Maybe some sort of off-shore platform, or an envoy on Gronckle…

It wasn't too long before Spitelout was riding a thermal up to meet them again, and pulled into the formation where they wheeled above the ocean. "We're ter wait the Chief's word, an' been cautioned against flyin' over the island."

"That's fair," Fishlegs agreed. "We're good for a while longer. Aren't we girl?" He scratched the back of the scaly neck in front of him, and Meatlug chattered back happily. Movement caught his eye, the Furies having some aerial fun to pass the time. At least Hiccup would know better than to do any Night Fury dives here, didn't need to go scaring the Meatheads now of all times.

They wheeled for quite some time before a small group approached the docks and stood there. "Well, time ter find ou' wha's wha'," Spitelout said cheerily and nudged Kingstail into a dive.

He again hovered by the docks and presumably spoke with the party, then edged along and set down on a pier. "Guess that means we're good, come on Fishface," Snotlout called over, and Hookfang folded his broad wings to plummet down after him. Fishlegs followed suit, albeit quite a bit slower.

They were regarded warily by maybe forty warriors, all armed with bolas and blades, but the eyes that didn't stick to the enormous Nightmare covering an entire pier by himself were gawking at the Furies.

"Ah know we did get nae as many attacks as Berk, bu' ah know mah dragons," said a large man with a big curly beard, an eye patch, and a tall wooden leg as he stomped forward. "E'sept them ones. An tha' would make them yer Nigh' Furies, no?"

Spitelout nodded to Fishlegs, who cleared his throat. "That's right. The smaller one is Hiccup, and the larger is Toothy." Each Fury nodded at their name, though their eyes remained warily scanning the weapons held ready. Fishlegs had no doubt they would suddenly be well out of range if anyone so much as hefted a bola. "Stoick has told you about them at the Thing, but would you like me to recap anything in particular right now? I can give a more detailed–"

"Yeah," Mogadon rudely cut him off, "yeh can tell me wha' they're doin' here."

"Jus' a frien'ly visit to our allied neighbours," Spitelout said casually. "The Furies are here a'cause they wanted ter be, an' it's no in our interests ter hide them away like secret weapons."

"Are they weapons?" Mogadon asked sceptically.

"No. An' that's wha' we're here ter show you."

The Meathead Chief ran his fingers through his beard as he mulled that over. "Aigh' then. The condition stands, though. Yer dragons must burn their shots in the water afore yer granted access ter my island."

"Hol' on, boyo," Spitelout called over to his son, who had started turning Hookfang around. "Got a spare barrel?" Mogadon eyed him suspiciously, but jerked his head at an aide who ran off and returned with a standard iron-bound barrel. "To the Nightmare, lad," Spitelout told him.

The young man was reluctant to get too close, dropping the barrel and pushing it the last few feet onto the docks, well out of range of any claws or teeth, before scurrying back. "Hookfang, fill," Spitelout ordered tersely, and Snotlout boggled as his dragon prowled to the barrel and took it in his mouth. There was a gurgling sound, and then he released it and awkwardly edged back.

"Fishface, we are going to have words later," Snotlout growled through gritted teeth. What was he complaining about? He already knew about this.

But Mogadon wasn't paying attention. He was busy staring at the near-full barrel of pure and highly flammable Monstrous Nightmare gel. "A gift," Spitelout said casually. Before the Green Death had been killed the stuff had been extremely valuable, belonging to one of the most dangerous dragons and being notoriously difficult to extract from a corpse. Now, Fishlegs and Spitelout had worked – behind Snotlout's back, it later transpired – to get Hookfang providing a constant supply of it, and it was stockpiled high. This was nothing.

"Tha'… is appreciated," the Chief said slowly, then shook his head and gestured to two of his tribesmen to take it. "Can the others…?"

"Nah, jus' the Nightmare," Spitelout said neutrally as he turned Kingstail and had him burn the water in bursts. Fishlegs did the same, prompting Meatlug to fire her six shots with hisses and clouds of steam.

"An' the Furies," Mogadon said in a low voice.

"They don't have any fire, not yet," Fishlegs explained. "They're too young."

"Tha's a migh'y convenient explanation…" An atmosphere of tension rose, adjusting grips on weapons and shuffling feet, and the Furies slowly spread their wings.

"Ah, er, well, why would we lie?" He was blowing into the sail now, but he had to try. "They're Night Furies. If they wanted to use their fire, they'd do so from waaaay up there." He pointed up at the clouds.

"Wha' the boy is tryin' ter say," Spitelout cut in, "is tha' they got a bow an' arrow, an' they jus' walked up ter shake yer hand."

Mogadon ran his fingers through his beard again. "Ah see yer point. Can' say ah like it, bu' ah suppose there's no way ter prove it. Aigh' then. Ah offer hospitality, on the condition tha's already been met, an' tha' the Nigh' Furies 'ave no fire." The unspoken part of that was that if either Fury was caught breathing fire, the lot of them would be killed on the spot and sent straight to Hel. Thankfully, Fishlegs had it on good authority that wasn't possible.

"We accept, on the condition tha' none approach any o' the dragons withou' our consent," Spitelout said carefully. "For their own safety." Mogadon nodded and the tension bled out of the air, both sides of the meeting visibly relaxing, and then the Meatheads parted to allow them access to the island.