Meathead Island – or, to be more specific, South Island of the Meathead Islands – was a verdant land. Even the village sported scraggly green trees, some of which had kids climbing through them, and the grass was green and soft.
Dreamer happily bounded around within their circle of influence as it moved through the village, smelling everything he could reach and rolling in particularly green patches. The blades of grass were so soft that most of his scales didn't even notice them, but they pleasantly tickled his wings and underside. He looked forward to being allowed to roam later, there were some out-of-the-way patches of longer grass that looked even softer and more inviting.
He noticed that Wanderer was also avidly sniffing everything, but not nearly as enthusiastically and nor was he enjoying the grass. Dreamer chirped and happily bounded around him, but he just snorted derisively and kept a wary eye.
Hrrr, maybe he would relax later. Dreamer was particularly looking forward to the inevitable feast, as the Meatheads were so named for their culinary prowess involving meat; that was the polite reason, anyway. Even meat bought from them and cooked elsewhere was just better, but it still didn't compare to what they cooked themselves.
At least, that was what everyone else said. He grimaced as he remembered the only time he had been here before, when he'd brought along a harmless little spinning toy he'd made that had, via a series of exceptionally unfortunate circumstances, culminated in a yak charging through the village whilst on fire. That one he truly could not have been blamed for, he thought, but it had only been down to his toy and a mountain of bad luck; it was easier to punish him than misfortune, thus he hadn't even been allowed to attend the feast.
So he was very much looking forward to it now, particularly with his new appreciation of meat.
They were led towards the Great Hall in the centre of the village, though it was strange to consider a wooden structure as such. Every village defended themselves differently, and the Meatheads had commissioned the Lava Louts for slate. It apparently worked for them, at least for this one building, though they hadn't been raided nearly as often as Berk so there was a much lower risk of needing to rebuild it.
It was a tall structure, visible for quite some distance, with the typically tall and steep roof to prevent the build-up of snow, though the slate made it strangely dark. Heavy windows, high up the walls and hinged at the top, were propped open by broad wooden poles.
"Can't yeh calm 'em a bi'? They're makin' the escort nervous." Dreamer turned to see Spitelout talking quietly to Fishlegs as he walked beside Kingstail, keeping a heavy hand on the wary dragon's neck.
"Can't you calm them a bit?" Fishlegs shot back sardonically, walking beside his own dragon. "They're making the dragons nervous." Dreamer stifled his laughter; he probably shouldn't be laughing at that, but hearing Fishlegs build some witty confidence was amusing to no end.
It was a conundrum though, the Meatheads and dragons were making each other increasingly nervous, but that hopefully wouldn't be an issue much longer. Dreamer returned to happily sniffing everything, hoping to offset the tension a bit. The scents were all familiar, that of Long-Paws, leafage, leather, dirt, and so on, but every scent was slightly different. The grass smelled greener, the dirt tangy and wet, the people more pungent. It was also strange to smell bark and leaves, both fresh and rotting, that had fallen from the occasional trees and been scattered around; Berk had barely a shrub in the village itself.
They arrived uneventfully, Spitelout and Mogadon coming to another quick agreement at the threshold, and then Snotlout was told to wait outside. He had to be told what an important job it was, and it was; Dreamer had doubts he was even up to the task should there be a problem, though there shouldn't be. Hopefully. No problem with leaving a bunch of dragons in the middle of a Viking village.
He blinked as the door was shut in his face, abruptly reminding him that he was one of those dragons himself. Wrrr, at least he could keep an eye on Snotlout, though he had to resist the temptation to paw and yowl at the door. Some of this was to be expected, for now.
That didn't mean he had to like it. He grumbled and sat on his haunches, eyeing what was going on in the village.
They had a guard of some dozen warriors, spread around the perimeter of the group, and while their weapons were not in hand they were obviously ready to arm themselves at a moment's notice. Behind them, villagers went about their lives; some of them glancing at the dragons and hurrying past, others hanging around to gawk. There would be time to get to them later, the plan was to stay a week or two.
He took a moment to inspect each of the guards' faces, looking for the telltale signs; twitching of the muscles around the mouth, glancing at the other guards, whether the eyes were tense or wide. Body language, and the communication of raw feelings and intent without spoken words, were becoming so ingrained in him he had started recognising the unconscious, unspoken cues of his former race.
His incredibly sharp eyes were a big part of it though. He could see the twitching nose hair, indicative of flaring nostrils, on one guard some fifteen paces away. He wasn't entirely sure how he was able to discern that as a sign of distrust and aggression from the more curious twitching of the man next to him, but he could.
A squeaky yawn made it laughably easy. Five he instantly assigned red flags to, jaws tense and hands twitching for their weapons at the innocuous sound, but two were showing more signs of curiosity than of aggression. One was between two of the flagged guards, so Dreamer calmly padded up to the other and stood up on his hindlegs just out of axe range.
As expected, the attention of all the guards was onto him the moment he started moving – Hookfang's derisive show of falling asleep was, typically, being misinterpreted – but he was just focused on this one man. No doubt Wanderer would gauge the reactions of the others, wary as he was.
The man he'd approached furrowed his brow in a confused curiosity, and while his axe-hand tensed it didn't twitch. Dreamer flared his frills and tilted his head, wondering what the man would do.
He didn't get to find out, his attention taken by the sound of the heavy door opening behind him.
The Hooligan Chief had made a lot of claims, ranging from unlikely to downright ludicrous. A dragon the size of a mountain? Such a thing would not have gone unnoticed for hundreds of years. And yet, nobody could deny that right as he'd made that claim, there had been no more raids.
Then there was the matter of the dragons they'd taken in. It was a wise choice to openly admit that from the start, but that was the same for if the claims of peace were truth or lies.
Mogadon was openly suspicious. Trade with Berk had dropped dramatically in the last two years, and now they had a potentially very deadly weapon that could be anywhere almost instantly. They'd left at noon, Spitelout had said! That day! A two-day boat journey reduced to half an afternoon.
He watched the squat boy pull open the big door and call outside. Mogadon didn't like the idea of admitting dragons into his Hall, but nor did he want to be openly hostile to the wildcard that was Berk, at least not for such a small reason.
Two dark shadows stepped inside, the first dragons to see inside these walls since they'd been built. They glanced around curiously, claws clicking on the wood as they walked to the Chief's table where Mogadon sat on his throne, a big but simple seat of solid wood.
The Night Furies weren't offered a seat – that was too much to ask – and sat neatly on the floor off to the side of the table, a casual axe-toss away. They surprised him by bowing their heads slightly, though their eerie green eyes remained on him.
"So. These be Stoick's pet Furies, eh?"
Hands went to hilts as two quiet growls echoed in the empty Hall. "Not pets, no," the squat boy said matter-of-factly, holding a hand towards the dragons to quiet them. "They are intelligent and think like us, these two more than the others. As you may have gathered, they even understand Norse, or enough of it, anyway."
Well, that they understood something was clear, having instantly taken offence. "Wha', then?" He wouldn't voice his other guesses; one insult was enough for now.
The boy, Fishlegs, scratched his temple. "I don't really know how to put it to words. They're considered part of the tribe, but they aren't really." He watched the Furies for a moment. "They say it's convenient. They help out here and there, and don't risk going hungry. It's pretty much the same for us too, their help and companionship is worth a few fish."
"They say? Do no get smart with me, boy." Teaching a few words to an animal was one thing, teaching them to speak back was entirely another.
"Their talk is nae all sounds," Spitelout interjected. "The lad can read it on 'em somehow. Yeh can dig inta tha' later, if yeh want." It wasn't like Spitelout to show anything other than complete composure, but he sounded impatient, and his eyes kept flicking to the door.
Perhaps that wasn't unwarranted, there were dragons sat in the middle of the village; something was bound to happen eventually.
"Aigh' then. Le's forge' the 'ow fer now." Mogadon leaned forward and planted his elbows on the table. "Wha's the real reason yer 'ere?"
"We told you–"
"An 'alf-truth," Mogadon cut the boy off. "Berk fough' off a Berserker armada. Ain't nobody wanna figh' you lot 'less yeh give 'em reason. An' now, of all times. Wha's changed?" He settled his one eye on the Night Furies. "An' wha' der they have ter do with it?"
Fishlegs fidgeted nervously. "Unofficially?" He shared a look with Spitelout, who nodded with a shrug. "He asked to come."
The smaller Night Fury walked forward a few steps, then sat down again.
Mogadon absently ran his fingers through his beard. He had pressed for answers knowing that there was a reason they had had been abstracted, but this was still a little far-fetched. And yet, the dragon was cooperating. Had Stoick himself been here Mogadon would have suspected manipulation of some sort, but this boy, although intelligent, was only speaking his mind.
He hated all this political manoeuvring, thinking in circles like this was giving him a headache. It was far easier to just assume that these Hooligans really were what they were saying, just a peaceful envoy here to improve relations. It wasn't that he didn't trust Stoick, the man was honest to a fault, just that he had clearly been more than a little unstable over the last few years.
And the sort of things an unstable man might turn to… such as some way to control the beasts that had killed his runt of a son. Mogadon wanted to trust, but fantasies were not a luxury a Chief was afforded.
On the other hand, if Berk could control dragons and wanted the Meathead Islands, there wouldn't be a lot stopping them. That simplified things, it was in Mogadon's interests to play along either way.
"Aigh' then. Wha' does it intend on doin' here?"
The Night Fury made a strange mellow sound, catching his attention, then twitched and fidgeted with a few more sounds. "He says, 'I want to show Vikings we don't want to fight. I want to show you how to make peace with… my kind.'"
There was a strange hitch to the way the boy said those last few words, but at this point that could mean anything. Mogadon was even less convinced they were even talking now, there was no way those few sounds communicated that much. "And wha' does it gain by doin' tha'? Nobody ever downed a Nigh' Fury afore 'Iccup."
More fidgeting and mellow barking. "Without constant raids, humans will expand, colonise new islands. It's better if we meet with words instead of swords and claws." Fishlegs scratched his cheek. "It's not an exact translation, but that's the general message." The dragon nodded at him.
That was incredibly insightful, even were it coming from a Viking… Mogadon was still considering it all when both Furies suddenly spun their heads to look back at the doors, ears standing straight up. "Oh man, do I need to get out there?" Fishlegs asked the dragon, then listened to the apparent reply. "Yeah, alright. Erm, sorry Chief, but we should wrap this up before something happens out there. Anything else you want to know? We can go over details when we're settled."
"Ah think ah've got enough ter mull over fer now." He was at least pretty sure they weren't intending on burning the village down in the immediate future. "Ah'll show yer to somewhere yeh can sleep, an' ah think we can clear ou' a barn or somethin' fer yer dragons…"
Wanderer didn't know how he felt about this. It was so wrong in so many ways, a crazy illogical Long-Paw thing that made absolutely no sense. And yet, he had to admit there was a certain level of genius to putting a wing-prey inside a land-prey, and then that inside a bigger land-prey.
Although, he'd lost some of his appetite after watching how such a thing was achieved.
He wondered what they were going to do with the insides that had been removed to make room. Some of them had been used already, but there was a shallow hollow-tree-thing with a sizeable mound of good meat, the types needed to stay healthy.
"Toothy, that- not for you," the rock-head chided happily.
Dreamer surreptitiously brushed his side with a wingtip and Wanderer glanced over, quickly catching on and adopting the look; staring up at the female handling the meat with big dilated eyes, frills out a little, wings tucked to his sides, and so on.
Most of the male Long-Paws were immune to such methods, but nearly all the females were highly suggestible, and this one was no exception. She glanced at them, then locked her eyes as if she could not look away, her expression softening and lifting. It took only moments for a few wet organs to be dropped onto the grass and snapped up. It was good to get some now, as the Long-Paws did strange things to them that usually made them unappetising, so they weren't likely to get any later.
Dreamer then apparently decided it would be a good idea to gum his face. Wanderer sat there and endured it in confusion for a moment, then batted him off with an irritated chirp. Dreamer had an approving, mischievous expression, and rolled over to wave his legs in the air.
"Awww, – cute!"
That was a word Wanderer understood to mean that they liked him and he was likely to get whatever he wanted, but also that they would watch him as much as to be uncomfortable. Wrrr, though Dreamer didn't seem to mind it.
"–, they – fast-, strong- dragon –," the rock-head said in a low hum, gesturing to the Nightstrikers. Hrph, of course they were the strongest and fastest 'dragon', whatever that meant. The rock-head earned no respect for noticing the obvious, but Wanderer did appreciate the praise, flaring his wings a little and holding himself high.
Dreamer huffed and rolled to his paws. "He say good things about us for make himself sound good."
"What?" Wanderer responded with a low, surprised bark. "That not make sense. He say we good, why that mean he good?"
"Because…" Dreamer fidgeted, then sighed and started walking to the rock-head. "I stop him, not worry. But he talk like we his."
Wanderer growled angrily at that, but Dreamer had already said he was handling it. Both Long-Paws stopped talking to stare at him, and he met the rock-head's confused gaze levelly. Which allowed Dreamer to walk around behind him and climb onto his back.
Of course, Dreamer had grown many times bigger since the last time he had done that, so really all he was doing was rearing up and draping paws over his shoulders. The unexpected weight staggered the rock-head, but he remained upright with some difficulty.
"What – you doing!?" he barked in confusion, concern, but Dreamer ignored him to knock away the horned thing with his nose. The exclamation became panic, disgusted, as a torrent of drool ran over the fur on his head.
The female laughed uproariously while the rock-head struggled, which was totally futile until Dreamer decided to let him go with a little push. He stumbled forward, then bent over and shook his head and tried to paw the saliva out of his head-fur.
It wasn't as if Dreamer had licked behind his ear or anything, but this Long-Paw seemed to really hate it. Wanderer purred, committing that little tactic to memory for future use.
"We show these Long-Paws we fast?" Dreamer asked mischievously, flaring his wings.
Who needed an excuse? Wanderer leapt into the air by way of reply, and they soared and whipped around on the strong thermals above the nest.
"Alright there Fishlegs?"
Fishlegs looked up from the crackling fire in the wan light to see Thuggory, a hulk of a teen, approach with a leg of mutton in each hand and very pointedly sit down next to him. The Furies, sat to the side of the fire, looked over in surprise. Some Meatheads had worked up the nerve to wander over and ask some questions or offer food at least, but none were comfortable actually sitting there with them.
"Uh, yeah, actually. Seriously, what did you do to this boar, this is incredible!"
Thuggory grinned at him. "Wouldn' you like to know. Clan secret." He finished off one of the legs and tossed the bone into the fire with a shower of sparks. "Kinda sucks when we go somewhere else and have to eat their lame food though. Ah well. So these are the runt's pet dragons eh?"
Hiccup snorted, then slowly and casually walked into the fire to retrieve the bone, totally unfazed by the tall flames and brightly glowing coals. "…Okay, gotta admit that was pretty impressive," Thuggory allowed.
"Yeah well at least they're not laying in it, they do that too. And I'd be wary speaking ill of the dead, there's no way Hiccup went anywhere but Valhalla after going out like he did." His own sort of Valhalla, in a way.
"So I heard," Thuggory rumbled quietly before tearing into the second leg. He looked annoyed about something. "How big, really, was the thing he killed?"
"Hmm. About as big as that island to the east of The Slice of Death."
Thuggory paused mid-chew, then shook his head. "It's true!" Fishlegs pressed.
"Maybe. Just hard to believe the runt took down something that big."
Fishlegs caught a few words between Hiccup and Toothy, and was reminded of the mauling of Snotlout. "Uhh, you might want to stop calling him that," he advised quietly.
"What?" Thuggory asked with his mouth full. "Runt? He was ain't he?" Toothy's eyes were narrowed at Hiccup, who was ignoring him to chew the bone.
"Maybe he wasn't big or strong, but it isn't a nice term. He made up for it in other ways, evidently." Heh, if only Thuggory knew how strong he was getting now…
"What's he gonna do about it? Once a runt, always a–"
He was cut off by a wing loudly snapping out towards the fire, between Thuggory and Toothy. From where he sat, Fishlegs could see Toothy's bared teeth and narrow eyes; Hiccup, aside from extending his wing, was otherwise ignoring the both of them. "Yeah, more because that 'runt's' 'pet' dragons understand Norse. And they were rather fond of him."
Thuggory scoffed, but Hiccup made eye contact with him and then very loudly cracked the bone he was chewing. "Prove it then," he said to Hiccup. "Go sit in the fire." Toothy chuckled at Hiccup's reply, and Fishlegs snorted but otherwise held his silence. Thuggory looked between them, confused. "Somethin' funny?"
"Maybe… He says he'll sit in the fire after you do."
"…Definitely Hiccup's dragons. At least you got claws to back up that smart mouth." He tossed the remains of the second leg to Toothy, who snapped it out of the air and looked at him in surprise.
Fishlegs was surprised as well. "You seem to be taking the 'talking dragons' part pretty well."
"Yeah, well, that weren't the sort of thing you'd say. You ain't changed that much. An' that one," he pointed at Hiccup, "got somethin' in his eyes. The way he looks at things, like he sees them." The crackling of the fire was the only sound for a few moments. "I dunno, Chiefin' goin' to my head maybe," he mumbled. "At least I'm no crazier than you are."
Toothy chose this moment to loudly crack his bone open and noisily crunch into it.
"Wha' d'ya think, son?" Mogadon asked as he lumbered into the light, waving at other fires as he passed them. It was an interesting way to feast, outside around individual fires, but it was actually quite pleasant, weather allowing. "They full'a smoke or wha'?"
"Spitelout pulled 'imself away from ya then?" Thuggory asked back, taking the whole plate from a passing server and offering some to Fishlegs.
"Aye, did done a runner while ah sprung a leak." He dropped onto the log opposite the Furies, then reached over to snatch a lump of meat from Thuggory. "Bah, let 'im 'ave some fun. 'Tis a night to celebrate!" He hefted the tankard in his hand and drank deeply from it.
"You dragons had enough yet?" Thuggory called over, offering the plate.
Fishlegs and Toothy both scoffed. "They don't get full, their bellies just get bigger." Hiccup responded by widely opening his maw and then loudly snapping his teeth out; it got a small jump out of the Meathead heir, and then some meat was tossed over with a scowl.
Not to be totally outdone by the Chief and heir, other Meatheads began to join the fire until three sides were packed. One brave soul even plopped down next to the Furies, albeit on the other end of the log they sat in front of. Somehow the talk all spiralled into a big retelling of Hiccup's Saga, Fishlegs was no skald but he felt he did the story justice at least. Hiccup only corrected him once, anyway.
True to Fishlegs' word, the Furies just ate anything offered to them and showed no signs of slowing. There was a bit of a "don't waste it on the dragons" attitude, but there was plenty of food to go around even as the night wore on, and eventually even the servers started tossing them things as they made less frequent rounds.
Fishlegs was listening to one of the Meatheads wrap up his story, of a strange and somewhat frantic recent encounter with a Thunderdrum, when there was a sudden and violent storm of movement between the Furies with a few growls and squeaks. Fishlegs jumped a little in surprise, but a few of the Meatheads actually fell off the back of the log they were sat on, including the one sat on their side of the fire.
"What's gotten into you two all of a sudden?" he asked, a bit nervous about having frightened their hosts. Toothy ignored him, and wide-eyed Hiccup was busy having his head pushed into the ground.
The guy telling the story laughed awkwardly and tried to continue, but nobody was listening anymore, and he himself kept getting distracted as Toothy licked at Hiccup. Before long, even he fell into the awkward silence. At first Hiccup just grinned and rolled his eyes, relaxing with a purr, but soon there was another tense scuffle and Hiccup was then thoroughly pinned on his back, looking much less comfortable with the situation.
He squeaked, growled and groaned as Toothy, ignoring the one free paw swatting at his shoulder, went through their odd cleaning routine. Their very thorough and personal cleaning routine; not that Toothy had any modesty whatsoever.
"Think I'm gonna turn in," Thuggory suddenly declared, jolting to his feet and stiffly walking away. The Chief and others murmured similar intentions and made their own swift departures, leaving Fishlegs alone with the dragons. He sat there awkwardly, not wanting to interrupt but not able to just leave them on their own.
Though, it wasn't long before there was another tense scuffle as the dragons parted, Toothy hopping back from wild slashing and baring his teeth in that feral grin that meant they were playing tricks on each other; something Fishlegs had pieced together after seeing it more than a few times.
"You do that before," Hiccup grumbled as he cleaned his face.
"Yes, I still need get you then," Toothy warbled consideringly, then leaned back from a few more swats.
"It might have helped your image a bit," Fishlegs offered, catching the attention of both Furies. "I mean, helped show them you're not just deadly killers, at least."
Hiccup let out a low hum. "Yes, maybe. We should play much next light." He yawned widely, those fearsome teeth sliding out as he did so.
"Hey, what do you guys do with shed teeth?" Fishlegs asked, suddenly realising he'd never actually seen one laying around before. He had plenty of the other dragons', to the point they were putting them aside to trade to Johann, but nothing resembling a Night Fury fang.
"Not shed," Hiccup said lethargically. "Make sharp in mouth." He snapped his teeth in and out a few times, snick snak snick snak.
"Wait, what!?" Fishlegs crossed the distance in a single step and ran a finger along the gums, though it just felt like a flat, hard surface under the flesh. He cursed the darkness under his breath, as the fire was dying down and–
A growl had him hastily withdraw his hand before the teeth snapped out again; those he could see quite clearly, down to the wicked tapering. "Hey, why did you–" He cut himself off as Hiccup just glared at him, then deliberately worked his mouth and neck. "Oh… Er, sorry… But, can I have a look tomorrow?"
Hiccup harrumphed, then shared a look with Toothy. "We sleep now," he said to Fishlegs. "You can look, if get thing for me this night…"
The vast array of mixed sounds of the Long-Paw nest, muffled through the thick flat trees of the big and hollow Long-Paw den, drew Wanderer out of a peaceful sleep. It hadn't started peaceful, but at some point during the night Dreamer had thoroughly groomed him to a point he was able to relax.
Dreamer was here, and the Rock-Scale snoring nearby, though placid, was a friendly nest-kin and would fight for him if necessary. He suspected the Spine-Tail lounging near a wall would also fight, but didn't know him quite as well. Between Dreamer's ministrations and his full belly, his remaining unease had eventually given way to exhaustion.
He groped around himself for Dreamer, but found only the hard dirt ground of the den. There was a strange smell in the air, the same as on the things Fish-Legs had brought for Dreamer but much stronger, he must already be up. With a wide yawn, he blearily pulled himself to his paws and looked around, quickly locating the Nightstriker a short distance away. He was hunched over in a way that looked depressed and forlorn, but that Wanderer knew just meant he was intently focused on something in his Dreamer way.
After a satisfying stretch, Wanderer padded over and sniffed at one of the hollow things arrayed around Dreamer, then gagged and pawed at his nose. He had no idea what it was, but it smelled bad. What could Dreamer want with it?
In front of Dreamer was some of the soft and thin bark Long-Paws liked to make lines on, but these lines were colourful instead of the usual black. He tilted his head with a curious warble, watching Dreamer use his claw in various ways to spread the stinky stuff around. He recognised a tree, a Long-Paw den, and a Nightstriker curled up on some grass, but the rest were just blotches of colour to his eyes. It looked like he'd done better at some than others.
Dreamer grinned at him and gave him a nuzzle with a purr, apparently finished with what looked like another tree, then started on another. "I show Long-Paws I can do this. Show we smart."
"Show you smart. I not can do that."
"You smart also."
Wanderer snorted. He held no illusions about the difference in their intelligence, but Dreamer swatted at him. "You smart! You fly very good, much better than me."
"I fly much more than you," Wanderer grumbled at him.
"Yes, I do this much also."
That made a sort of sense, Wanderer supposed, he couldn't really argue with it. Which only proved his own point, really, as Dreamer would probably be able to.
The den-mouth opened, letting much light inside, and Fish-Legs walked in. He stared at Wanderer a long moment, then glanced at Dreamer and rubbed his head with a quiet laugh. "– that- why."
"Yes," Dreamer responded without looking up, still making lines. "This good."
Fish-Legs made a somewhat disbelieving noise. "What- – with these?" he asked, nudging one of the things that had been set aside.
"Not can see those," Dreamer explained, then gestured to the five in front of him; grass-colour, sky-colour, blood-colour, one that was simply darkness, and one that was just pale. "Only can see these." He took one of the further ones in his claws and set it nearby. "What colour this?"
"Yellow."
Dreamer nodded. "I see it grass-colour." He pointed to a hollow-thing in front of him.
Curious, Wanderer peered into the grass-colour hollow-thing, trying not to take in too much of its scent, then the yellow one. They smelled quite different – both still bad – and the latter was much lighter, but they were the same colour. Long-Paws saw it differently? That was beyond comprehension.
Fish-Legs made a surprised noise. "I – why you – grass yellow." Dreamer made a confused sound and began looking over his lines again, and Fish-Legs noticed Wanderer tilting his head in confusion at the hollow-things. "That- 'paint'." He pointed to the flat bark in front of Dreamer. "That- – 'painting'."
That might be a useful word, Dreamer did a lot of painting with sand and sometimes dirt and in other things. He nodded in the Long-Paw way to show he understood.
The Rock-Scale waddled over and gave Fish-Legs a big lick, happily receiving some scratches, then Fish-Legs and Dreamer talked for a bit about what they were doing next. Something about showing the painting later.
Fish-Legs opened the den-mouth again and let them out into the morning light. "You want fly?" he asked.
Both Nightstrikers snapped their wings out in response and waited for him to climb onto his Rock-Scale. "No sound-sight," Dreamer reminded him, and Wanderer huffed in acknowledgement.
They leapt into the air and soared on the thermals rising from the nest in the warm light. After a brief but necessary trip over the sea they swooped and flipped and spun and just generally showed off while Fish-Legs hovered around them and called if they ventured too far. Many Long-Paws below even stopped walking around to stare up at them. Wanderer levelled next to Dreamer and stared pleadingly at him.
Dreamer rolled his eyes, but didn't protest, and Wanderer grinned happily as he folded his wings and dropped away. He snapped them back out near the ground and swooped back into the air, then folded everything to arc through it as little more than dead weight in a slow backflip. He threw his wings open again to pull up, narrowly missing the big tree-den in the middle of the nest, then held them in close to corkscrew back into the sky.
He totally let loose, showing off absolutely everything he could think of and pushing his whole body to its very limit. Finally, wings burning with exertion and chest heaving, he pulled up and levelled out next to Fishlegs. The awe in his expression was very satisfying.
"I not see all that before," Dreamer warbled incredulously as he levelled next to him. "You fly very good."
Wanderer did a happy roll in the air before they coasted back down to the ground. Some of the Long-Paws were making unnervingly loud noises, roaring and slapping their paws together loudly, but Dreamer and Fish-Legs didn't appear nervous about it so he tentatively followed them down to land in a clearing.
Dreamer nodded slightly at the one-eyed alpha, the Chief, as he approached them. The Chief gave Wanderer a strange look, but then shook his head and smiled at him. Most of the words he was saying were new and unfamiliar, but he spoke impressed, respect.
Four Nightstriker ears went straight up at the mention of breakfast, the word for eating at the start of the light. Why they needed a different word for that over eating at any other time was beyond Wanderer, but apparently, they did. He bounded ahead and paced impatiently at the mouth of the big flat-tree-den while he waited for Fish-Legs to catch up, then followed his nose to the smell of food. He shouldn't be hungry after eating so much the night before, but his stomach pawed at him regardless.
A young female Long-Paw brought out a tray for them shortly afterwards, staring at Wanderer for most of the time. He tilted his head at her, and she hid her mouth behind a paw before leaving. Well, it was of little consequence compared to the pile of food in front of him – eggs! When was the last time he'd had eggs? He snapped one up with a purr, they were one thing he absolutely agreed that was better to have cooked.
The two of them made short work of everything set in front of them, then were lazing around waiting for Fish-Legs when the rock-head approached.
"…Fishlegs, what- you do – Toothy?"
He perked his ears at his Long-Paw name and sat up to regard the rock-head.
"-not – me, they – play –" Fishlegs replied.
Wanderer blinked and stared between them, but they kept talking in words he didn't know yet. "What they saying?" he asked Dreamer.
But Dreamer just shrugged and continued gnawing on the bone that'd come with the food, his frills twitching in an amusement he was trying to hide. Wanderer eyed him suspiciously, then gave himself a thorough shake just in case. Nothing felt unusual.
The sub-alpha poked his head in the door and barked at them, and Fishlegs gulped down the last few bits and led them outside.
"What we do this light?" Wanderer asked.
"Hrrr, we show scale-wing-hunters can do things. We maybe fly more. Show we smart." He glanced around. "Nest-alpha, sub-alpha, here now."
As long as the light would be interesting. The things Dreamer came up with always seemed to be one of three things; utterly boring, wildly exciting, or recklessly dangerous. So far it didn't seem they would be flying for their lives, so he was just hoping it wouldn't be boring.
The Long-Paws were all gathering and talking, but this nest's sub-alpha was looking at him strangely. Wanderer glared back at him, he'd been the one insulting Dreamer the night before. But now, he was looking at Wanderer in confusion. "Why – his ears yellow?" He asked Fish-Legs.
Wanderer barked in surprise, stood an ear out to the side where he could just about see it wasn't the expected black, then tackled Dreamer with a snarl.
"A dragon paintin'. Now ah seen everythin'."
Fishlegs considered telling Chief Mogadon that he could also write, but that wasn't common knowledge even on Berk. Granted, this was also sort of cheating as it wasn't so much the dragon Hiccup that had learned, but nobody had to know that.
Hiccup sat in front of a makeshift easel, basically just a board propped up, using a long claw in inventive ways to smear paint over the parchment. Fishlegs had no idea how he managed it, it all just looked like wonky lines and smears to him, until Hiccup finished with the area and moved on and it suddenly resolved into Stormfly's head; albeit with all the colours slightly wrong.
Toothy gave up trying to claw the paint off his ears, leaving a haphazard mess of black lines through the yellow, and stalked over to glare at Hiccup and what he was doing. It wasn't long before he got the obvious idea for retribution.
"…Hokay, now ah seen everythin'," Mogadon corrected himself, as Toothy painted bright green patterns on Hiccup's wing. Hiccup didn't seem to mind, and even stretched it out for better access. The patterns were just random lines and occasional dots, but as Fishlegs looked there was a sort of evenness to it that was aesthetic in its own way. Hiccup finished the painting while his other wing was being painted, then inspected himself with an amused rumble.
"Hey, hold your wings out for me," Fishlegs asked, pulling a notebook from a pocket, then quickly sketched the patterns. While he did that, Toothy grumbled some more, then dunked his paw in the green and pressed it onto Hiccup's head. There was some grumbling and swatting, then Fishlegs had to finish the rest from memory as they tussled.
That gave him an idea, he should record paw prints in the new Book of Dragons… It would be useful for categorisation, and recognising the tracks of each dragon. He'd need to get a mould of a paw and then sketch it, except maybe for Terrors…
Hiccup got a paw in the red paint and subsequently a few stripes over Toothy, which caused him to hesitate. Toothy inspected the stripe down his wing with an unreadable expression… then perked happily and held it out. Hiccup blinked, then happily painted more defined and symmetrical shapes over him.
"Bi' o' a waste o' paint though," Mogadon grumbled unhappily.
"Well, not to them," Fishlegs replied. "And I'm learning things too, so not really." Mogadon knew better than to tell him what to do with it after Fishlegs had been traded it for promised labour. It was valuable, or at least not cheap, but they'd been intending on showing off some of the dragons' skills anyway so really they weren't losing anything. And it'd turned out over half the pots were useless anyway, as Hiccup apparently couldn't see them? That was weird to think about. He had a whole sheaf of tests to go through when they got time.
But that was a task for another day. "Anyway, so what do you think of them now? Not exactly the scary demons of legend, right?"
Mogadon combed his beard with his fingers. "Ah don' know wha' ter think ye'… bu' simple beasts they ain'…" He actually sounded a bit frightened, but having one's worldview turned on its head was a wild experience; Fishlegs would know.
"Definitely not," he agreed. "I think we're done here though. You can keep the painting, by the way. Let's go find Snotlout to escort these guys, unless you're okay with letting them-"
"No," Mogadon firmly cut him off, fixing him with an intense stare of his one eye. "They ain' ter be left unattended."
"Okay," Fishlegs said placatingly, holding his arms up. "It was just a suggestion."
The stranger beheld the island as he approached, a huge rock that reached for the highest of clouds in its majesty. He'd been here once before, but it was still impressive; nowhere else in the Archipelago could one get an idea of just how much land there was all in one place.
He idly adjusted the sail, feeling for that point it pulled back the hardest, to speed him along the choppy water. It wasn't a big boat, but enough for one man to spend on for a few days at sea, barring any particularly nasty weather. Still, just passing through the middle of spring as things were, it was a fine time to be out.
He was no Viking himself, not really, but knew their ways. He approached the dock slowly, respectfully, and tossed a loop of rope over a cleat to pull the boat in, but didn't try to climb up.
"What business do you have here?" the slender girl standing above him asked. She had a head of tidy blonde hair and held herself proudly – possibly a little too proudly, given her youth – and looked down her nose at him. Somehow, the Deadly Nadder standing further along the docks lent her a presence beyond her stature.
"I hear you have mastered the art of working with dragons," the stranger said carefully. "Personally, I am fascinated with them, and would learn what you would teach me. Unfortunately, they do not seem much to like me in return." He shook his head. "I have some skills in most things to offer."
"Oh?" The girl made a short motion, and the Nadder hopped and flapped over to perch next to her, overlooking the comparatively tiny boat. "So this doesn't bother you at all?"
He stared up at the dragon with wide eyes as it calmly regarded him. "Never in all my wildest dreams…" A dramatization, but he couldn't deny it, the control they held over the beasts was incredible! He extended his hand up towards it, and it calmly leaned forward to sniff him–
The telltale narrowing of the eyes had him hastily withdraw his arm before teeth bit down on the air it had been occupying a moment before, and he stumbled back into the opposite side of the boat. While he was accustomed to general hostility from them, this was something on another level! He would need to be careful around this one…
"Stormfly!" the girl shouted, sidling in front of the dragon and practically hanging out over the boat in the process. "What's gotten into you!?" The Nadder hissed and paced the dock, trying to get around the girl, but she moved to remain in front of it and it didn't seem to realise it could just go through her. "Thor's hammer, you weren't kidding about them not liking you. Stormfly!"
The Nadder, Stormfly, stopped pacing and stared at the girl. "Calm down girl, it's okay. Go take a break." She made a motion with her hand, then again more firmly when the dragon just hissed at her. Finally, it relented, flying up to perch on a nearby ledge up on the big cliff that separated the village from the sea, though it remained tense and watchful.
The stranger calmly pulled himself back up and straightened his simple tunic. "No harm done, learned that lesson the hard way," he said with a grin, holding up the hook he had instead of a right hand.
"You're a puzzle, and I know someone who loves puzzles. He's not here right now, but I'm sure we'll find something to keep you occupied in the meantime. Come on up." She offered a hand – her left, as he couldn't take her right – and he quickly secured the boat a bit more permanently before taking it and clambering up. "What's your name?"
A wide grin slipped across his face, which he hid behind a gesture of straightening his long, thin moustache, as Astrid started leading him up towards the village. "They call me Aldin the Honest Farmer."