Dreamer went over everything in his head again.

They had followed the lead from Viggo's map, given under the pretense of wanting a truce, and discovered the Defenders of the Wing, a tribe of dragon-friendly warriors. But that had, in fact, been a ruse that allowed the hunters planted on the island to coerce many with grudges against Nightstrikers to betray the Defenders and ruin their fleet in the process of joining Viggo.

It had also put the Nightstrikers into proximity with people who were both difficult to read, and were willing to try to kill them. What was more concerning there was that Dreamer did not know whether Viggo knew this or not, and thus whether it was actually part of his plan. What almost certainly was planned though was that it had nearly ruined a powerful alliance with the Defenders, one that otherwise would have been inevitable sooner or later.

The deserters had drifted to a nearby fortified island that seemed to act as a hub for the hunters. That was extremely useful to know about, and provided a number of opportunities, though the defences of the island and ships were a problem. But that in itself had been a mask for another hunter camp beyond that, where they had been using Gronckles to somehow make a very light and strong metal to reinforce their ships with.

So going forward they would likely need to break the deck in front of and behind each mast to weaken the thick support beams that held them in place, and even that was not guaranteed to cripple the ship. At least they had put a stop to those improvements, but while the Defenders had taken much during the raid, prisoners had not been part of the plan, and the hunters had not appeared to keep a recipe or any sort of documents.

But they had freed dozens of Rock-Scales in the process, and it otherwise had gone according to plan, stealing a dozen hunter ships to replace the ones the Defenders had lost. They were even now sanding the hunter's crest from the decks and scrubbing it from the sails, and the holds were being refitted for human occupants and cargo.

In addition to all that, they had shared their stories with each other, and learned a little of what was going on down south, what Southerners called 'the mainland'. The recount of one affected by Nightstriker attacks was extremely worrying, but that would have to be a quest for another day.

Following the day of the raid, Dreamer had spent much time probing the ships for weaknesses, then tested the lump of the hunters' metal and discovered it impervious to all forms of his fire; the most he managed was that an extended stream of fire heated it up a little, not enough to even dent. He'd also had strategies to go over with Mala, plans to keep in contact, and arrangements to have the riders visit in the winter for Astrid's and Snotlout's training.

Yes, it had been a very busy three days… So Dreamer figured he could be forgiven for almost forgetting to ask about Dragon Eye lenses.

"It is one of our ancient artefacts," Mala explained as she opened a small felt-lined box, "dating back to the original Defenders of the Wing. But if it will help in the fight against Viggo, it is better you have it than it collect dust here."

Dreamer warbled appreciatively as he stared at the pristine lens inside, then gently took the box in his mouth and bounded over to… Tuffnut, he decided, who was lounging on Belch while he waited.

"Ooh, a Dragon Eye!" the twin exclaimed as he peeked inside. "No, wait, that doesn't work. A Dragon Eye Eye? No… Dammit, we didn't think this name thing through."

"Should'a gone with the Dragon Mouth," Ruffnut lazily chipped in.

Dreamer rolled his eyes and returned to say farewell to their hosts. Throck was knelt by Wanderer, giving him a very friendly and hearty scratching around the head and neck, and Dreamer happily bounded over to receive his own. Immediately, his eyes began fluttering and his leg kicked happily against the ground as the firm fingers deftly scratched over the back of his neck.

He tilted his head a bit and groaned as the man read his desire and found an itch just behind his ear, and happened to catch a glance at Mala staring uncertainly at him. He hurriedly sat upright – realising that his tongue had been hanging out, how embarrassing – and bowed respectfully to her, flaring his wings a little. Beside him, Wanderer did the same.

Her hand, stiffly held a little forward much like a Viking when awkwardly waiting their turn to shake hands with the Chief, returned to the small of her back, and she straightened a little more, nodding respectfully back at them.

After checking that Tuffnut had actually stashed the lens in his saddlebag, Dreamer bounded once off the ground and flapped hard to lift himself into the air, closely followed by Wanderer and the other two dragons. He easily oriented himself and set their course for Dragon's Nest, finding a pleasant tailwind as they rose to travel height. It was still early in the day, and the chill air was a reminder that spring was still wrestling with winter's icy grip; the Defenders' island was warm from the volcano, the magma managed by the elusive Eruptadon they'd not actually met.

He had a lot to think on as they flew, predominantly what their next move against Viggo would be. He felt on the back paw with absolutely everything, he needed to see the bigger picture and stop letting Viggo lead him around, take some initiative for a change.

But first, he had a lens to read, and given where they'd found it, he suspected he knew what was on it.

Dreamer growled, confused, and shut off his plasma, leaving Fishlegs' mostly tidy hut to the warm light of the fire. "Try another eye," he suggested, flicking the bag of lenses over.

"I was just using it today," Fishlegs huffed, "I'm pretty sure it's not the device." Regardless, he picked out another lens and swapped the new one out, and Dreamer lit his fire to reveal-

"Wait, that's a Terrible Terror," Fishlegs exclaimed, hurrying over to the wall, then back again to check the settings on the Dragon Eye to make note of them. "I thought this was the lens of the weird spiky dragon… Hang on…" He finished documenting the current setting, then set the dial and buttons back to how they had been originally, and there indeed was the dragon they had been expecting. "Huh. I haven't looked at this lens that much. I wonder how many more dragons are here that we just haven't found yet…"

"We need look more," Dreamer huffed.

"Well Toothy gets bored easily, and you get out of breath," Fishlegs replied defensively. He wasn't wrong, and regardless, holding fire like that for any real amount of time took concentration that he then couldn't use to think and plan.

"I think something," Dreamer rumbled, pleased that his fire was just about replenished from using it to test the metal the previous day. "You have… hot-sand-thing for keep things in?"

Fishlegs visibly puzzled over the butchered description for a few moments. "A jar? Sure, got a few here somewhere…"

One located, he gave it to Dreamer, then had to take it back to take the lid off. Dreamer huffed in frustration as it was handed to him again. He did occasionally miss having dexterous hands and fingers; even aside from how awkward his rigid claws were for interacting with anything, even his forepaws were more similar to feet than hands, with all the awkwardness that implied. Still, he wasn't about to complain.

He set the jar on Meatlug's slab of a bed, then carefully poured some of his plasma into it. The substance immediately burst into flame as it left his mouth, and flickered merrily in the jar with its signature blue light.

Fishlegs said nothing, though he was undoubtedly paying rapt attention. Dreamer found it amusing, given he himself had no idea what he was doing. Wrrr, from experience he knew that it would burn itself out after a minute or so, and therefore still wasn't all that useful. The first obvious thing to try was to put the lid on it, which he did himself given how hot the jar had become when filled with literal liquid fire.

Awkward, but he managed it. They watched curiously as the flames died down to a mere flicker over the glowing blue liquid. This was the first time he'd seen it in its inert state, and it was strange to think he held a quantity of it inside himself.

Though, not totally inert… The glass at the bottom was beginning to glow-

Dreamer leapt at Fishlegs, covering himself with one wing and his fragile friend with the other, not even a heartbeat before the jar exploded. He was immediately pelted with sharp shards that deflected harmlessly off the taught membrane of his wings, and a few hot globs that stuck to him uncomfortably. He shook the glass off and quickly checked Fishlegs wasn't harmed any more seriously than some mild shock, then churred apologetically and looked over what was left of the jar.

Of course, the first step he took was onto a small shard of glass that jabbed painfully right between the pads of his paws, and he hissed in pain as he shook it out.

"What was that!?" Fishlegs exclaimed, still looking bewildered. "I thought you knew what you were doing!"

"If I know how do this, I would do already," Dreamer huffed.

"Well what the Hel are you doing it in here for!?"

Dreamer was turfed out – Fishlegs looked ready to do so physically when he'd gestured to the glass-covered floor – with another jar to experiment with. In hindsight, it was stupid to try that in there. He needed somewhere it wouldn't matter if there was broken glass left lying around.

His first thought, one of the beaches, wasn't a good one; the shards would remain there, invisible and dangerous. But that gave him an idea anyway, and he flew to the nearest beach to fill the jar with sand. If it melted glass, would it melt sand into glass?

It took him a little while to work out where was safe, but he could think of no way to clean up after another explosion to keep the area safe. The obvious conclusion from there was that if he could not make the area safe, he would simply start somewhere that was already unsafe.

And it just so happened there was such a place on the island, a small valley of sharp and splintered rocks that no sane dragon would go prancing around in. Except perhaps Rock-Scales, and similarly tough-hided dragons, as he noted by the Rock-Scale playing in the shards that rolled to its paws to watch him curiously from further down; probably one of Meatlug's.

He landed next to the valley and, with the jar in his teeth, gingerly walked out over the snow-coated rocks, wincing as they jabbed into his sensitive paws; they were rough from running through various forests, but softer than his scales for a few necessary reasons, including to expel heat to cool him down. Growling to himself, he carefully set the jar down and flicked the lid off from where it was resting.

Nothing for it, he supposed, and dribbled some plasma inside, which slowly sank into the sand. It quickly became clear, however, that he could expend all his plasma and it would not be enough… though when he tipped it all out, there was a curious lump of thick, faintly glowing, very hot sludge inside, so he was on the right track.

He tried again with much less sand, and achieved something more workable, a lump of grainy glass in the bottom of the jar that didn't seem to burn out as quickly as his plasma. He was beginning to understand that the plasma reacted to air, similarly to people; if it was in too small a sealed area, the air stopped being breathable. There was no air within glass, so after the plasma melted the sand, it stabilised.

He had come to these realisations as he observed his handiwork. While it had noticeably dulled to start with, and there had been some small blue flames dancing over the surface of the glowing substance, there was now no noticeable change. The lid wasn't even on, which was a great sign. He gripped the rim in his claws-

And the bottom crumbled away as it shifted against the rocks. Glass was clearly not the right container to use – at least it hadn't exploded this time – though it might not need to be… iron might be better, but that would involve forging it.

Dreamer groaned. There was no way he could use a hammer for a multitude of reasons.

But then he put his mind to it, and really began thinking. His claws were hard, his legs were strong, and he had a lot of weight to put behind them. He wouldn't be able to beat the iron into shape, but forming it? That would be more than enough for this purpose. He laughed as he took to the air, realising he didn't even need a forge.

A small iron cup was, as it turned out, easy to make, simply arranging a crude form and then pressing the heated metal lid of the jar into it; he resolved to get more materials from Johann, in case he came up with more projects to put his mind to. Once he had the basic shape, he simply used his raw strength and weight to smooth out most of the imperfections, for no reason other than that he could, and then for fun he used a claw to draw a simple pattern over it, periodically reheating it with his fire to keep it malleable.

When he was done, it was no thing of beauty, but he had created something. In fact, he might be the first dragon to ever make something in this sense. Despite the object's simplicity, and that he probably could have just picked out something just as suitable from Johann's stock, it was a good feeling, and he had enjoyed putting his mind to a problem that wasn't actively trying to fight back.

Of course, it wouldn't count as an invention until he used it for its intended purpose; until then it was just an ugly cup. Unfortunately, he was almost out of fire.

He debated the merits of keeping his last shot. There was no danger at the Nest, not to him, and either way it would fully recharge by tomorrow. It seemed almost pointless to stick so vehemently to that rule at this point.

On the other paw, Wanderer likely still had plenty. That seemed a sensible solution. Dreamer flew to the beach to grab some sand, found the other Nightstriker frolicking in the lake with Stormfly's fledglings, and received the requested plasma with no fuss whatsoever. He purred thanks to his dripping wet friend before taking off and returning to the Nest.

Fishlegs' grudge for filling his hut with broken glass was quickly forgotten when presented with a means of using the Dragon Eye without actually needing a Night Fury, and though the images weren't quite as crisp and bright as using a Night Fury directly, they were clear enough.

Dreamer settled in next to Meatlug, who had returned from presumably caring for her fledglings for a nap, and listened to Fishlegs pore over details from one of the lenses using the new torch. He wasn't actually sure which one… With his task now complete, he was just so very, very tired…

"Yeah, just go find the riders. Just go off and find them. Should be easy enough, right? Of course they'll have their big sign up, 'this is our base'! Not like they're going to have dug into a mountain or anything, that's what dragons do, Viggo. Honestly, you're as bad as Alvin."

Heather sighed deeply, having finished her rant, and lay on her back, gazing at the blue sky above. The cold wind picked at her hair, trying vainly to pull it from her braid, and she could no longer feel her ears or nose, but the rest of her was comfortable enough.

A low croon sounded below her, and she patted one of the long wings extending out to either side. At least she was playing Viggo, rather than the other way around. He had no leverage on her as Alvin once had, she could just up and leave at any time. The only concern was that they would trap Windshear, the beautiful 'Razorwhip' as Viggo called her, but Heather was always careful about putting herself into such situations that they could try. As far as he was concerned, she was a mercenary, and thus predisposed to such paranoia.

At least this beat the pants off sailing anywhere. Those months she had drifted the sea, alone, had been torture, nothing but her thoughts and her survival skills. Up here, she was lost to her thoughts in a similar way, but she was not alone. She wasn't even the one in charge at that moment, Windshear knew far better where she was going and what to look for, so Heather left her to it.

She only roused from her daydreaming when Windshear jostled her in the saddle to alert her that they were descending, and she dragged herself upright to stretch and look around. They were coming down to a huge island, host to a pair of mountains that were tall enough to be snowy for the year round, though at the moment everything was snowy. It would take a whole day to search this island alone, how was she supposed to find-

She noticed exactly where they were descending to, what looked like a few rough huts built high up off the shore on great stone pillars. Really? They weren't even trying to hide. What, were they stupid?

"Hello?" she called out as Windshear pulled into a hover, roughly in the middle of the crescent shape the five huts were arranged in. She wasn't quite certain this was the riders' base, but the arrangement pointed to the occupants mostly relying on dragons to get around, with wide landing areas in front of each hut and a seemingly secondary concern to actually getting to any of them.

Windshear drifted to the centre hut and alighted in front of the open door, an enormous thing hinged at the top and easily big enough for a Nightmare. She tentatively ventured inside, and Windshear followed, the long silver spines over her tail held at the ready.

The inside of the hut consisted of a single circular room, large enough for several dragons to comfortably lounge about. A round stone table sat in the middle, the cold remnants of a fire visible in a depression in the centre. A table to one side sported a few rolled parchments, surrounded by a few crates containing an assortment of things. "Smell wing-hunters?" Heather asked.

"Yes, some," Windshear replied. "Fire-Scale, Two-Head, Rock-Scale, Spine-Tail…" She walked over to an empty section of floor and thoroughly scented it. "I not know this scent," she growled.

"Nightstriker," Heather guessed, inspecting the plethora of claw marks covering the floor. Even if she could recognise a Night Fury's tracks, there were too many to tell apart.

"Hey, what…?" a familiar voice said from the door, and she spun to face it. "YOU!" Snotlout shouted, then drew his axe and ran at her, shouting at the top of his lungs. His Monstrous Nightmare slithered into the hut a moment later, quickly intercepted by Windshear.

"I'm not here to fight!" Heather explained, stepping around Snotlout's swings; she had some difficulty in avoiding injury, he was much less clumsy than he'd been the last time she'd seen him. She left her axe on her back, not willing to draw it and vindicate his actions. A glance at the dragons revealed them to be staring each other down in a stand-off, poised to act but predominantly keeping an eye on their riders.

"Well I am!" Snotlout shouted back, switching to more reckless swinging to force her back, probably hoping to back her into a wall. It was working too, he wielded the blade with a speed borne of sheer strength, and prevented her from circling around him.

"Look, would you just-" Heather groaned in frustration, then hit the fingers holding his axe with her open palm and shoved him back as he dropped the weapon, then stood there with her hands peacefully out to her sides. "I just want to talk!"

"You know, most people talk with words, not with jabs to the throat," he gritted, then bulled forward and shoved her with one hand while he grabbed his axe again with the other.

"If I wanted you dead," Heather gritted back, kicking his arm as he swung the axe up at her, forcing it out of his grip again, "you would be." That went for when she had helped Alvin take the Furies too, she had specifically struck him in the throat then so that Alvin wouldn't kill him.

"Well you must not be as good as you think you are then," he nonsensically growled back, swinging a meaty fist at her.

Heather clenched her teeth, grabbed his wrist, twisted it over her head to spin him around, then planted a foot in his armpit. "Do you want me to break your arm?" she shouted at him. "Because I will if I have to!" She noticed both dragons were now just watching, Hookfang looking somewhat amused, obviously having worked out nobody was in any real danger.

"Snotlout," another familiar voice said from the door, "down boy." Astrid sauntered inside, coolly looking between Heather and Snotlout, perhaps deciding which of them to side with. Heather, not wanting to appear the aggressor, kicked Snotlout away. He stumbled, grabbed his axe, then spun-

He dropped to the ground at a single punch from Astrid, gasping and groaning pitifully. "If you're gonna keep leaving it open, I'm gonna keep hitting it," she snapped at him – he must be injured there or something – then took a calming breath and looked haughtily over to Heather. "Given you're not trying to kill our resident idiot, I assume you're not here to attack us again," she said, starting cool and level but descending into scathing as she spoke.

"No, of course not," Heather agreed. "Alvin had my mother before, but… well, that… won't be a problem any more…"

Astrid eyed her sceptically for a long moment, then appeared to relax a little. "I see. May she feast with her ancestors." She didn't sound all that sincere, Heather suspected she was just playing along; that was more than she felt she deserved, though it did sting a bit. "I'm going to guess Snotlout here just attacked you on sight?"

"She was snooping," he growled, shakily getting back to his feet and clutching his side, just under his left arm.

"I wasn't really, and I called out," Heather assured Astrid, "but nobody answered, and I did come in here uninvited, so it would have looked like it. Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

Something clicked in Astrid's expression, and she suddenly relaxed a bit. "Don't worry about it, we know all about people not thinking," she said with a glare at Snotlout. "Come on, let me show you around." She only then seemed to notice the dragons in the room, and that she didn't recognise one of them. "What is that?"

"Windshear," Heather warmly addressed her dragon, who walked over and nuzzled her. "I think she's called a Razorwhip?"

"She looks so… May I?"

"Fair is fair," Heather said with a light laugh, and guided Windshear's head to Astrid's proffered hand. "Her fire is like a Nadder's, and she can throw her tail spines too, but more heavily armoured and faster on the ground."

"I can see that," Astrid agreed, stroking over the long head and quickly finding the softer skin under her jaw, much to Windshear's delight. "How'd you meet? I thought you were going home."

"That's a long story," Heather sighed. "We did go home, and nobody had noticed we'd been gone, thankfully. But Mother didn't get better… When it got bad enough I went for help, but it wasn't enough. When she didn't make it… Before I knew what was happening, all our land and belongings got sold, and me along with it."

"Oof, I pity whoever bought you."

Heather shook her head. "They got off lightly, for what they did in the week it took me to escape."

An unearthly growl sounded at the door, seizing her attention and sending freezing chills down her back. "It take us longer than that," a large black dragon said as it prowled into the room, closely followed by another; she wasn't all that surprised to discover he understood her. The two Night Furies watched her with angry, narrow eyes, and their movements were slow and menacing. They could only be the same Furies, but she struggled to believe these were the two little dragons playfully running around Berk, draping over her lap, staring fearfully and defiantly…

She bowed her head, closing her eyes. She could not hide her regret, so she freely let it show, but she had to squash any hope it would earn their forgiveness. Dragons instantly saw through to any such ulterior motives, so it was simply best to be pure and honest with them.

They offered her no reassurances, as much as she expected, but after a long moment she looked up at an impatient huff. "You went back to them," the Night Fury growled, Heather now noticing the one talking was slightly smaller than the other.

"Getting things a bit out of order here," Heather muttered-

"You went back with her," he growled a little louder, tipping his head at Windshear, who backed up a step.

"It's a bit more involved than that, but yes-"

"You kill them," Hiccup snarled, and Heather had no doubt she would be on the ground with claws digging into her chest had Windshear not been right next to her.

"They deserved it," Heather shot back. "They took everything from me, they didn't care, they just took what they wanted and didn't think about who they had to hurt to do it! All for a few handfuls of gold!"

Hiccup walked towards her, then slowly sat down just out of reach. "I should kill who take from me?" he said levelly, and Heather suddenly felt very cold. "I should kill who take me away from him?" he asked, gesturing back to Toothy.

"That was different," she objected. "I didn't have a choice…" With the disparaging huff, she didn't believe it either. "I didn't know I had a choice," she clarified.

"Maybe they not know also," he countered, maintaining that dangerous level stare. She'd never been regarded so coldly and intensely by a dragon before, it made her feel as if she was teetering on a precipice with massive waves crashing into jagged rocks below.

"I…" She trailed off, mouth open but unable to say anything else. She still believed that those disgusting men had been far more in the wrong than she, but here, faced with a dragon named after fury itself, one she had so severely wronged, any arguments she could come up with felt insignificant.

The Night Fury grunted disdainfully. "I not want hear that she," he gestured to Windshear, "kills any more Long-Paws. You want kill? Go there alone. Fight alone."

"Even if it's Viggo?" Heather offered smugly-

"Even that Long-Paw," Hiccup snarled through his bared teeth, startling her.

"Do you even know what he's doing out there? How many dragons he's sold already? How many he's killed? He's a monster, he needs to die!"

"Why he hunt? My kind, their kinds," he gestured to the other dragons in the room, "all 'dragons', why he hunt them?" The Night Fury sighed deeply, looking unsettlingly human in his expressions and the way he slumped wearily. "He think dragons dangerous, he think we only kill. We only want live, hunt fish, hatch eggs." He fixed Heather with an intense stare, his ears and frills rising again. "We not can stop this fighting with showing that he right."

Again, Heather found herself at a loss for words. She still believed Viggo needed to die, but at the same time she could see where Hiccup was coming from.

"What if I did it?" She offered. "Without Windshear's help? I would just be a human killing another human." Surely he couldn't argue with that.

"You speak for dragons now," he sighed, then slowly shook his head. "I not want you kill for us."

"...Alright then," Heather conceded. "I see your point. I'll try it your way."

"That, or I try your thing," he said lightly, scratching behind his ear with a hindpaw, though she heard the warning in his words; if she killed anyone else, he would kill her with just as much justification, and she would be powerless to stop him. She shivered as she unwittingly imagined that.

Hiccup yawned widely, giving her a gratuitous view of his evil fangs, then turned and walked back to Toothy. The two Furies nuzzled each other, shared a few words she couldn't make out, then lay down to watch her from near the door. Compared to Toothy, Hiccup looked very tired and weary… Heather could relate, such a tense discussion had left her feeling drained as well.

Windshear nudged her side, looking up at her, and Heather smiled and accepted the offered support, subtly leaning on the armoured neck. She cast a glance around the room, noting all the teens – now adults, if she guessed correctly – were now present. Fishlegs watched her with something of a suspicious scowl, the twins were paying her dragon far more attention than her, Astrid seemed to be trying to appear in charge and judgmental, and Snotlout was… back to staring at her body.

"You were saying you escaped," Astrid prompted, waving a hand from where her arms were folded.

"Right…" Heather took a deep breath, and tried to shift back into the story of what she'd been up to in the last few years. "Well, I snuck away on a small boat and drifted for months, hopping islands, and just surviving. I don't even know what I was looking for…" She had been stricken with grief and rage, just going through the motions to stay alive...

"I drifted further north than I thought, over the months," she continued with a scowl, "and nearly died in the winter. That's when Windshear found me, she kept me warm and even shared her food." She scratched her dragon under the chin and smiled warmly, and Windshear purred back at her. "We've been best friends ever since."

"So then you went and got your revenge," Astrid helpfully summarised. "And then?"

"I… went back to drifting, I guess. I chanced on some dragon hunters before winter, and fell back into doing what I do best, inserting myself and…" She trailed off, noticing that everyone was glaring at her. "Well, I guess you'd know," she said quietly. "I've been trying to get to Viggo, but he's really careful. Hardly anyone knows where he is at any one time, and his giant of a brother is always watching his back. I don't even think Ryker suspects me specifically, I think he just plans for everyone betraying them."

"Bald guy, two swords on his back?" Snotlout asked dryly. "Yeah, we've met him."

"Then a few days ago I got a message to search for you guys in this area, and here I am."

"You're clearly not going to tell him where we are," Astrid said sternly.

"No, of course not!"

A low bark caught their attention. "I think you should," Hiccup said thoughtfully. "He know we nest here somewhere, we ground hunters here but they slowly search. If you tell him, maybe he trust you."

"Chyeh, not like they can get close to us," Ruffnut chuckled, then elbowed Tuffnut. "Remember when we used to have to sail to get places?"

"No?" Tuffnut replied, looking confused. "When did we sail anywhere? Except that one time to the nest, to get our dragons back, and man, did that suck. Good thing we didn't need to sail home too, for everyone's sake… I think Stoick was pretty close to Outcasting us."

"I thought he was going to kill you for putting those fish in his beard!" Ruffnut laughed heartily.

"That was you!" Tuffnut replied, shoving her away. "And I want no credit for that one. Maybe if he wasn't so blind, it wouldn't have taken him a whole day to notice!"

"What?" Heather asked, simultaneously amused, confused, and incredulous.

"Oh, you know," Snotlout said mildly, inspecting his fingernails, "Astrid sold the Night Furies to Alvin and they took all our dragons to Dragon Island after they escaped."

A tense silence fell as Heather gaped at him. Windshear even huddled a little closer, as if protecting her from some imminent danger. There seemed to be some weird tension between him and Astrid, something that drove him to provoke her and her to respond violently, if earlier was any indication.

"Fishlegs," Astrid said, sounding the type of exaggerated calm that one used to mask a deep, unsettled rage, "help Hiccup get whatever details you can about the hunters. I need some air." She then turned and strode outside, her Nadder backing out from where she stood on the doorway, and then they were out of sight with a few heavy wingbeats.

Heather reviewed everyone's reactions, reading into the two of note. Tuffnut had a clenched jaw and had watched Astrid out of the corner of his eye as she left. He had been in something of a guardian role, if memory served, so whatever Astrid had done had been serious.

Hiccup, on the other hand, openly glared at Snotlout, looking disappointed and tired. He, and by extension Toothy, did not think ill of Astrid for it, and disapproved of Snotlout stirring up trouble, something he seemed to be doing regularly.

Maybe this was something she could offer, something personal to the group. Helping against Viggo was good, but would not help mend the friendships she was realising she wanted. Doing something more personal for them, something that would affect them directly and stay with them, would be much more effective to that end. It would also do more to assuage her guilt for what she had done to them.

"She did what?" Heather asked, giving the Furies a significant look; she wanted them to know it was an act. Hiccup watched her for a moment, then his eyes dilated and he nodded.

"There was a kidnapping," Snotlout said as he leaned back on the table, trying to sound bored but clearly relishing every word. "She and Gobber trapped them in a hut and traded them to Alvin. She's mad because she wants to hate you, but she did the exact same thing. With the same guy, even, and knowing what he would probably do to them."

A low warning growl sounded from the Furies, but Snotlout waved them off. "What? It's true isn't it?"

"So you hate her for that?" Heather probed.

He shrugged. "Nah, I hate her because she's stuck up and bossy. And I hated you because you cheated. But maybe I'll let you make it up to me…"

Ugh, certainly not in the way he was clearly thinking, given his expression. Heather was glad that being around the Outcasts and Dragon Hunters had desensitised her to such things. "She did seem pretty bossy," she replied, sidestepping his intention and making a few guesses to appear commiserate. "It's not as if she's in charge or anything." Ideally she wouldn't be doing this with an audience, but Vikings weren't the sharpest tools on the farm, and Fishlegs would understand if he noticed what she was doing.

"Yeah, exactly," Snotlout agreed, holding his hands out, "thank you! Maybe you're not so bad. We should go flying some time, get to know each other again."

"I'd like that," she said truthfully with a smile, though she subtly sidled around Windshear as he advanced on her. "Have you got a map or something?" She asked the room. "I know a few things about Viggo's operation, we should plan what we're doing first." Hopefully she could also get a few of them alone to work out what the deal was between the two muscle heads of the group.

Wanderer watched the sky as night claimed it once again, the sky-fire quenching and dimming in the impossibly distant water. The dying embers cast a warm light over the horizon, reflecting off the sea and casting an ominous haze over the small-land laid out below him.

Ominous for its occupants. The night was safe and familiar for Nightstrikers, but less so for Long-Paws. Particularly hunter-Long-Paws. Particularly these hunter-Long-Paws, as Wanderer could smell the old Spine-Tail nests scattered over the mountain, and guess what had happened to their occupants, and that was to say nothing of the scents in the Long-Paw nest itself.

This night was the third and hopefully last night they were raiding the place. It was a big hunter nest, and clawing away their defenses had taken time, but Nightstriker tactics were prevailing; the hunters could not react quickly enough to the speed afforded by flight, or the ferocity of hot fire and sharp claws. Late into the first night, while the hunters attempted to chase them while they withdrew, Tuffnut and Ruffnut had somehow snuck their Two-Head of all things into the middle of the nest and made a very large explosion that had ruined what had to be most of the hunters' food and water. There had been some attempts to fish for more, but they had been thwarted in various ways; Wanderer's personal favourite had been sneaking up behind them and roaring as loudly as he could, scaring the three hunters into jumping into the sea.

The only thing they were allowed to do was to abandon the nest using the single ship that remained intact; it was either that or starve.

But still, they seemed intent on fighting. They had a seemingly endless supply of sick-making claws to shoot from their bent-tree-things, and he could see them readying the weapons as the light faded, expecting another attack as with the last two nights.

It did not take long for night to truly fall, most of the sky-sparks obscured by thick clouds. The world grew dark, all except for the nest below them, the nest that feared the dark enough to spread fires through it to keep it brightly lit.

"We should go now," Dreamer growled, stepping up beside him.

Wanderer huffed affirmative and spread his wings, then pushed off the ledge and into the air. The wind rushed over his ears in the short moment it took to pick up speed for a simple glide, and then he was drifting over the hunter nest.

The hunters were tired and desperate, but still they clung to hope, many of them arranged in a big circle around a large fire in the middle of the nest. Dreamer thought it meant something that they fought back so hard, but Wanderer didn't care. He had Long-Paws to hunt.

As planned, he laboured high into the air, up to the clouds, then let himself fall. As he picked up speed he rolled his shoulders, preparing for the imminent fight, and flicked out his sub-wings to catch the air in a rising wail. The circle of hunters below him shifted nervously, visible even at this distance, pointing their claw-throwing-things aimlessly at the sky as if they were of any use whatsoever.

While he dove, he watched his nest-kin steal into the nest, and watched for threats to them; his fire would protect them, if necessary. But the hunters were too distracted to notice.

Deeming himself low enough, he released his fire, the small bolt streaking down and striking one of the fires out of sight of the hunters. As he peeled away, Dreamer started his own dive high above, his sound-sight rising as Wanderer put his nose back to the clouds.

The nest looked much darker by the time he turned, hearing Dreamer's shot explode below. Again he dove, narrowing his eyes at his target and wondering what Dreamer was planning from here. Dreamer wanted fear, and the darkness encroaching on the nest was a good start, but there were too many to just run in and fight.

He watched Stormfly dash out into the open to scatter one of the few remaining fires, unnoticed with the hunters distracted by the diving Nightstriker. The last fire, the big one in the middle of the ring of hunters, the one that they felt so safe around, fell prey to Wanderer's concussive blast, the bits of burning trees flying out in every direction and pelting the hunters with embers.

Wanderer pulled up and circled around, coming in low to silently alight on one of the dens. The Long-Paws were carrying on and fussing over the bigger chunks of burning trees, trying to collect them back into a pile, but the fires had mostly died off already. Of course, that was not a problem to a Nightstriker, so Wanderer could clearly see Dreamer stalking out from behind a den while the hunters could not.

Dreamer rolled his neck and wings in preparation for something, then hunched down and crossed his wings in front of himself, over his head. When he removed them…

An amused rumble sounded in Wanderer's throat as the hunters' angry and frightened shouting became frantic and hysteric at the sight of Dreamer, his claws coated in plasma and burning with bright blue flames that licked up his legs and lit his body in strange ways. He snarled, revealing more plasma in his mouth that then trailed flames up his cheeks. He looked funny and juvenile.

The Long-Paws clearly did not think so. "Fire!" a pawful of them shrieked at the same time; Wanderer remembered what that meant, even as worry gripped him, though it was at least a more relevant thing to shout this time.

Dreamer immediately ducked under his wings again, flat to the ground, and the claws deflected off the tough membrane and scale. Additionally, he had hidden all the blue fire under himself and his wings, so the hunters couldn't see him again! Wanderer couldn't help it, he laughed-

And then ducked down behind the tall roof of the den as it was pelted by more claws, a lucky shot skimming harmlessly off his shoulder before he could get out of sight. He chuckled, using a paw to hold his snout to his chest to stifle the sound.

An explosion sounded, and Wanderer peeked back up over the den to see one of the other dens had become airborne in uncountable tiny pieces; the smell-alikes at work with their Two-Head, no doubt. Then Dreamer revealed himself again, prowling forward and leaving patches of blue flames in his wake. He only got a pawful of steps before having to duck back behind his wings, effectively disappearing to the Long-Paws again.

That looked like fun! Wanderer crawled to the edge of the roof and blocked himself behind his wings to quickly dribble some plasma into his mouth and dip his claws into it, then dropped down to the ground with a gleeful snarl. It was even more difficult to contain his humour as he then also had to duck down as Dreamer had, feeling dull impacts over his wings and back; these claws had no hope of piercing his hide at this angle, even from only two or three pawfuls of body-lengths away.

The impacts stopped quickly, and he waited a little longer to be certain before rising again. Many hunters were groping at the long round things at their backs, now empty of claws, and pawfuls were already fleeing. Even more fled as they caught sight of him, now faced with two of these funny blue-flaming Nightstrikers, and then the rest followed.

Something thumped painfully into Wanderer's flank, the long thin claw clattering to the ground by his paws, and he spun with a very real snarl at the offender. A hunter he had not noticed made a suitably frightened sound, and dropped its bent-tree-thing in its haste to flee with its hunter-kin.

Wanderer snorted and craned around to lick his flank, but then gagged at it. The claw had left a tiny trace of something sick-making on him, and he felt that even that small amount would not be good for him. Instead, he dropped onto his side to rub it on the ground, then licked his paw to wipe it instead. That made him feel better. Then he remembered the other impacts he'd endured, and resolved to go for a quick swim as soon as he could.

He met up with Dreamer as the fire in their mouths burned out, and they followed the hunters at a distance to ensure they were actually climbing aboard their one ship to leave the small-land. With how many of them there were it did take a little while, but they got there eventually.

Dreamer let out a long sigh and slumped to his haunches as they watched the ship slowly drift away. Wanderer bumped heads with him, offering an encouraging purr, and Dreamer leaned into him. "Thank you, friend-mate," he purred, and licked his cheek.

Wanderer nudged him under the jaw with his snout, and gestured behind them. "Want burn dens now?" he asked.

"Soon," Dreamer rumbled, then turned and started walking back to where the hunters had made their last stand. The Long-Paw-nest-kin were there with their wing-hunters, kicking the flaming bits of trees back into a pile for some light and maybe warmth, but Dreamer walked right past them, towards a large nearby den.

There was a scent prevalent through this nest, one of blood and rotted meat that Wanderer had been doing his best to ignore, but it was very strong around this den. "Dreamer," he warbled uncertainly, but Dreamer ignored him to claw the latch off the big door to open it, and walked inside.

The den was maybe two body-lengths wide and four deep, and parts of the far side were dark even for his eyes. The hard dirt ground smelled heavily of salt and the sea, but it could not mask the blood, so many different types it was impossible to pick any out. In the centre stood a low flat-tree-thing, the top and parts of the legs darkly stained.

Dreamer suddenly howled anguish, despair, regret, and Wanderer joined in without hesitation. He did not know the countless wing-hunters he could smell, but they had deserved better than this, and at the very least deserved someone to mourn for them.

They trailed off, a bitter anger taking prominence in Wanderer's heart. He was definitely going to enjoy burning these dens, though he didn't have that much fire to spare. Maybe he could carry burning sticks.

He turned, and found Dreamer standing in the doorway staring at the ground with his ears tense. Wanderer walked around him, to follow the gaze of his disturbingly slit eyes.

A Spine-Tail head-quill, one not even the length of his claw, lay against the mouth of the den, and a quiet whine escaped from his chest. It had to be from a fledgling, maybe even a hatchling, and there was rotting, roughly-hewn meat still attached to it. The Spine-Tail it had belonged to definitely had not deserved this…

Dreamer slowly rose and walked outside, and Wanderer followed numbly. He had known what these hunters were doing, of course, knew the atrocities they were committing, but seeing it like this… He was starting to question… his…

He watched Dreamer walk back past the small fire now flickering between the Long-Paws. "Good work guys," Astrid said lightly. "I don't think they'll be forgetting that. Ready to start burning?" But Dreamer ignored her, his wings stiff, tail tense and flexing in agitation.

"Dreamer?" Wanderer churred, a bad feeling churning in his gut, and trotted up next to him. Dreamer's eyes were furious slits, staring out to sea. Out to the ship… His lip curled and he took a deep breath, opening his mouth-

Wanderer barked in alarm and leapt around in front of him, throwing his wings out wide.

"Move," Dreamer snarled, seeming to stare through him.

"No," Wanderer growled back, lowering his head to meet his gaze. "You not want do that."

Dreamer wordlessly growled his disagreement, baring his teeth. "You not can stop me."

"Maybe," Wanderer grunted, pulling his wings into a fight-ready position and gripping the ground with his claws. He was fairly confident he could subdue Dreamer, but maybe not before he got a shot off.

"They deserve death!" Dreamer roared, his eyes full of fury and pain and sadness. "Why you not think that!?"

"I hate them for this also! But-"

Dreamer barked disbelievingly and shifted his weight, preparing to do something. Wanderer wasn't sure what, so he turned sidelong, quickly located the ship, and fired a blast that was probably slightly larger than it needed to be. Two heartbeats passed as it crossed the distance, and then it struck the rear end of the ship, causing it to lurch in the water and leaving it with a gaping hole as wide as the ship itself and just as deep.

"That what you want do?" Wanderer growled. "That probably killed pawfuls of hunters." Dreamer just stared at him, still undoubtedly feeling the uncontrollable rage Wanderer was all too familiar with, but with an edge of confusion. "You my Dreamer," he crooned, pouring his heart into the name. "You not kill. You not want kill. If you do this, I think it break you." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I not want you broken," he whined. "I want you happy more than I want them dead."

The sound of someone approaching tugged at their ears, but neither looked away from the other. "Hey," Tuffnut said gently, coming up beside Dreamer to lightly run a hand down his head; Dreamer flinched and twitched at the touch, but did not move away from it. "He's right. This isn't you. If you do this, you're just going to hate yourself for it. They're not worth that."

Dreamer continued staring at Wanderer, his eyes warring between dilated and narrowed. Finally, he broke eye contact to snarl off to the side, then spun and fired at the offending den. The shot detonated inside, blowing the walls out and turning it into a big smoking fireball, but Dreamer fired again, and again, obliterating the roof and then just adding to the cloud of dust and debris. He kept working his mouth, but had nothing more to give.

Wanderer padded forward to drape a wing over him, and Dreamer collapsed against him, curling up to his chest and whimpering in grief. He sighed into the back of Dreamer's neck, then looked up to Tuffnut. "Burn these dens," he growled, then took time to find somewhere he could lick without making himself sick, settling for the top of Dreamer's head and around his ears.

"You know what," Astrid growled nonsensically, "they're out of arrows and scared witless. I'm going to see if any of them know where Viggo is." She stormed past, the tip of a tiny quill poking from her clenched paw.

Viggo lurched awake, fighting off the lingering haze over his mind to reason through what was going on. "Viggo!" Ryker called again, his voice rife with urgency.

"What?" Viggo shouted back, forgoing eloquence for haste.

"They're 'ere!"

That was a pair of words to get his blood moving, and in seconds he had donned his armour and was emerging from his cabin onto the upper deck. He was met with the tail end of a battle between three furious dragons and one angry girl, and the twenty or so Hunters that had been manning the ship, most of whom were now unconscious, otherwise incapacitated, or missing entirely.

He thought quickly, processing everything in an instant. For one, it was broad daylight, he expected any attacks to come at night. This was the last leg of the journey though, so either they wanted to talk or they had only just found him and rushed to intercept. Given only the Nadder and Night Furies were present, the fastest dragons, it was the latter. Regardless, this would potentially interfere with a lot of his plans, and he could not get messages out in time to fix it.

Heather did not know where he was, he had made sure of that, so she had not tipped them off. He ran through interactions with everyone who knew of his presence on this boat. No, he had not slipped – but the trap under construction required materials, and there were a few links to the hunters on the processing island. Someone had worked it out and snitched on him; a pity they had not proven their intelligence before betraying him, he would have made sure they'd been given a more exciting job.

Of course, that did mean the riders had taken the bait and gone for the processing island. It was no secret, so either Heather had betrayed him or they'd known about it from the Defenders. Which path had led them there was irrelevant, the important fact was that they'd been there, and they'd been successful in holding the riders' attention for a few days, as instructed. It was a morbid place anyway, he was glad to be rid of it.

He casually leaned on the rail and let his eyes follow the Night Furies as they brought the last man down. "My my, Astrid, you're looking-"

"Cut the crap, Viggo!" she snapped at him, apparently unperturbed that he mysteriously knew her name; she was no fun.

"You should not swear, my dear, it does not suit you," he said mildly, carefully positioning his Gronckle Iron shield to bring up at a moment's notice.

"What do I care what you think, you animal!?" she practically shrieked back.

Viggo huffed in amusement, even while Ryker shot something down about her watching her tongue. He honestly didn't consider it an insult, animals were pure, positive additions to the world. Humans and dragons, on the other hand, had no end to their propensity for cruelty just for cruelty's sake. He had thought he'd known which was worse, but recently, he'd begun to wonder…

"So then what brings you to my humble ship?" he asked, silently wishing his escort would hurry and catch up; with the ropes slack, the ship was slowing to a halt, but he didn't know how far behind the other ship currently was.

Rather than responding, Astrid threw something at him, and he avoided it more out of surprise and reflex than anything. It bounced off the cabin behind him and clattered to the floor, a tiny little quill… That of a Nadder, if he had to guess, but very, very small. "Where did you get this?" he asked darkly.

"At your little processing island," she spat, the Night Furies adding their own snarls as they stared up at him, prowling back and forth across the deck.

"Am I to understand you have dispensed appropriate justice?" he asked levelly. "It would save me the effort of doing it myself." Her face twisted into something confused and somehow even more enraged, and he rolled his eyes. "I am a businessman, Astrid, and a live dragon sells for a small fortune. Their scales and spines, on the other hand, can be bought from any of your little Viking tribes. It is in my interests to keep them alive and healthy."

She glanced at one of the Furies, who seemed to speak in that curious language they had. "You didn't treat your Gronckles so well to make your metal," she said angrily.

"And that is news to me also," Viggo sighed. "Again, do you have any idea how valuable they are?" Particularly as the second hunt of the Gronckles' home island had been thwarted, that had been particularly inconvenient. "I implore you, if you find any more dragons dead in my care, kill the ones responsible. It will save me having to arrange it myself."

"We're not your tools," Astrid shot back. That was hypocritical of her.

But in the side of his vision, he could finally see the other ship pulling up alongside them, slowing down to match their speed. He and the dragons stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments while he waited…

"Ooh, ooh, are they my Night Furies!?" a voice called over, the Furies' eyes widening and their dark pupils narrowing even further than they were already. "It is! HaHA! Hello-!"

Kse-KA-KA! Twin flashes of light crossed the short distance in the blink of an eye, engulfing the deposed Berserker Chief in a cloud of thick smoke. KA-KA! KA-KA! They again fired into the smoke, and again, demolishing the other ship and sending many of the crew fleeing overboard for their lives. The middle sail keeled over into the water, the reinforced mast and base entirely ineffective against such a brutal assault. The Night Furies then prowled along the edge of the deck, ignoring Viggo and Ryker to watch the haze clear with wild, feral eyes and deep, dangerous growls.

"Ha, ha, wuahaHAHA!" came a mad laugh, freezing the dragons in their tracks. "You nearly got me! But you gotta do better than tha-at!"

The Night Furies backed away, breathing heavily, moments before Dagur leaped out of the smoke and impossibly crossed the distance between the two ships. His axe hooked the rail as he hit the side of the ship, and he easily lifted himself up a moment later – one-handed, as the arm holding the shield was limp and probably broken. Viggo twisted his arm in his own shield, now less secure in what safety it offered.

"Nobody interfere!" Dagur shouted back at the men remaining on what was left of the other ship, three of whom had drawn arrows. "They're mine to fight! Mine to KILL! HAHAHAHA!" He let his axe drift behind him and sprinted forward faster than any human had any right to move, but the Furies were already leaping off the opposite rail and fleeing into the sky. Astrid, totally ignored by Dagur, was in the saddle and lifting off moments later, only slow when compared to the unnatural forces she was racing against.

"COWARDS!" Dagur shrieked hysterically, waving his axe.

Viggo took a slow breath while Dagur ranted, hating that he could not control the slight shake in it, then looked across to Ryker, who was staring dumbfounded at the scene below with his mouth hanging open. "So, brother," Viggo said, keeping his voice light and curious, "knowing how they will respond, what do you think of taking them seriously now?"

Ryker could only stare at the remaining men, forced to abandon their wreck of a ship as it snapped in half and quickly sank into the sea.

Author's Notes

Hehehe, I've been envisioning that last scene since Dagur got himself captured. Hopefully it was as fun to read as it was to write.

In other news, I had this week off work - naturally, this means getting a whole bunch of writing done!

...Or not. I failed to account for sleeping past noon (something I haven't done in years) almost every day, despite mild efforts not to, and recovering from apparent exhaustion. I also learned I'm a teensy bit blind, so eye strain is really not helping matters, but the fix for that is still on the way. But I've written most of a chapter, and it'll be with Vigo today, so it's no big setback.