The hunters' quivers were stocked with more and more dragonroot. Their ships were more resilient to attack. They had somehow developed an arrow capable of piercing Nightstriker scales with ease.
Dreamer took a long, slow breath as he looked down over a lush island, trying to organise his thoughts and motivate himself. It was a fairly typical island of the Greater Archipelago, rocky and harsh but with green forests and a sweeping plain of tall grass swaying in the wind.
If he could not fight the hunters directly, he would attack them indirectly, via their source of income.
He groaned under his breath as he pulled in his wings to descend, and landed on a large rock jutting from the ground that happened to have a reasonably flat top. Wanderer and Hookfang landed nearby, and set about rolling their wings and stretching their bodies. As Dreamer rolled and folded his own aching wings, he couldn't help but stare sadly at the way Wanderer gingerly held his hindleg, the one that had been hit with the dragonroot arrow.
How could he fight without putting others in danger? It was stupid to think he could do all this alone. But equally, he couldn't just leave and ignore the hunters, or assume someone else could handle them. This must be how his sire felt, almost every day…
"Where these dragons at so we can hurry up and go home," Snotlout said impatiently.
Wanderer snorted at him disdainfully, but Dreamer could understand where he was coming from, and walked to the edge of the rock to look out over the island. "I think we should look there," he said, gesturing out to a jagged, rocky field. It looked the sort of place that would have rocks to easily chew on.
He hopped into the air and winged over to it, keeping his eyes sharp for dragons. He hadn't seen any by the time he alighted on a tall pillar, but he noticed the edges of his perch were rounded and sported teeth marks. They were in the right place, just hopefully they weren't too late…
A shadow passed overhead, Hookfang flying over, and Wanderer alighted on a pillar nearby. "Smell Rock-Scales," he hummed, head twitching into the breeze.
"Good," Dreamer rumbled, and leaped down to the ground. He could indeed smell the distinct scents of Rock-Scale, an earthy, almost dusty musk, wafting through the maze, and some of the chipped-off rock looked recent. It was all very promising.
They began wandering through the maze, Dreamer lost to his thoughts, which were just as turbulent as when he'd landed. So much so, that he almost managed to walk straight past a Gronckle snoring in a patch of sunlight.
Although Gronckles could be notoriously difficult to wake, this one cracked an eye open to watch him as he approached. From the scent, it appeared to be a male, and he was lying on his side to expose his belly to the warm light.
Dreamer warbled politely and dipped his head, and the Rock-Scale rolled to his chest. He didn't reply or anything though, just watched Dreamer with partially narrowed eyes. Strange… Rock-Scales were usually quite friendly with other dragons…
There was a rustle behind him, and Dreamer turned to see Wanderer give a short hiss at something on the ground – a torn segment of netting, partially covered in drool, looking that it had been left here a while. If hunters had already been through this area, it might explain why this Rock-Scale was so wary, particularly of a new dragon.
Wanderer crooned and walked right up to the Rock-Scale, who hummed and scented him back without fuss. "Much danger here?" he asked.
"Some," the Rock-Scale replied with a cautious glance at Dreamer. "Long-Paws maybe hunt here…"
"Yes," Dreamer chuffed-
The Rock-Scale warned him off with a low rumble, and Dreamer took a confused step back. This wasn't normal, he was the original friend of dragons, how could he be failing at this?
"Relax," Wanderer hummed, giving Dreamer a brief nuzzle. Huff, he would relax when Viggo was dealt with. Wanderer then turned back to the Rock-Scale. "Yes, Long-Paw hunters come here. But not all Long-Paws bad. We also can show you safe place, many Rock-Scales. You have kin here?"
The Rock-Scale eyed Dreamer again, then hummed quietly to himself. "Some… Also danger here…"
Snotlout chose that moment to bumble onto the scene, and the Rock-Scale scrabbled to his paws and almost fled, but Hookfang darted in and snaked around behind him with a warning hiss back towards the way they had come. "Oh good, there you are," Snotlout said, out of breath and a little harried. "Small problem with the Gronckles…"
Dreamer groaned. "What you do?"
Four Rock-Scales buzzed in, landing around Hookfang, much to the Fire-Scale's disapproval, and nosing at Snotlout and his saddlebags. "I just fed them! You'd think they're starved or something!"
Great… Shown up by Snotlout… Next time, I'm bringing fish.
Wanderer roared a farewell to the three pawfuls of Rock-Scales they'd moved to the Rock-Scale small-land, 'Dark Deep' as the Long-Paws called it, and took to the air. It was a nice day for flying, firm steady winds with a warm sky-fire and low clouds, but he had been very active this light, and was looking forward to a nap. It would be at the Defenders' small-land, where Dreamer wanted to check for anything new, but that was closer than their nest and had nice warm ground.
"Why Rock-Scales not trust me…?" Dreamer growled quietly as they levelled off just above the clouds.
"Not know," Wanderer hummed, uninterested; they would likely not see them again, as the Defenders regularly checked these waters for hunters, and it had all worked out well enough. "Maybe you think too much. Maybe they not like smell on paws." He yawned widely, feeling drowsy. "Maybe you wake them from sleep."
"First male, maybe," he rumbled back. "But not others."
Wrrr, if there was a problem, he would figure it out; he was a very clever Nightstriker.
"I'm going back to the Nest," Snotlout announced, then lay back and pulled his hard-head-thing over his eyes as they drifted away; how they all managed to keep such wobbly things from just falling off was beyond comprehension.
They flew swiftly, at a nice fast pace the other nest-kin could not maintain for long, and Wanderer let his mind descend into the almost-doze facilitated by long, uneventful travel.
Weary…
The small-land was a relief when it came into sight, familiar and comforting, and they angled towards it. Running around looking for Rock-Scales after a long flight, and then a slow, boring flight after that, had taken its toll.
Peace…
Mrrr, he was looking forward to sleeping on the warm ground, maybe up the… mountain? Wanderer looked over the small-land, confused.
Hungry…
"Death-Song!" Wanderer shrieked, failing to match the thoughts in his head to what they were doing, and forced his wings to bank away – then swerved back and barged into Dreamer when he failed to react. "Death-Song!" he repeated, swatting at him and getting in his way. Dreamer barked in alarm and angled away, glaring at him, and then his eyes widened in horror as he realised.
Now that he was aware of the bad thoughts, Wanderer found he could ignore them with some difficulty. It was very tempting to fly down to the flat, dull small-land, but he could resist.
"Hunters," Dreamer snarled.
Wanderer glanced at him incredulously before looking back at the small-land, fighting off the invasive thoughts to focus. It didn't take him long to spot the cluster of Long-Paw flat-tree dens to one side. "They hunt Death-Song?" he asked hopefully; that was one particular wing-hunter he didn't mind getting hunted down.
"I not think that," Dreamer growled, then pulled a face and vigorously shook his head. "We leave!" he shouted a moment later, then angled back on course and flapped hard for speed, even angling down to trade height.
That was a good idea, and as they put distance to the terribly tempting Song, Wanderer could think more and more clearly. They must have drifted quite a way north, if he was correctly recalling the clever small-land markings on the 'map' Dreamer was constantly fussing over, some of which could be explained by the stiff wind in that direction.
"I think," Dreamer warbled slowly, "hunters use Death-Song… Maybe take its prey, but it protect them. We not can attack them there…" Not without killing the Death-Song first, which was a huge risk in itself. Wanderer growled, again both impressed and appalled by Long-Paw ingenuity. "I tell Defenders. They attack those hunters."
Good. And a safe, unassailable place with a constant supply of wing-hunters? He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if they found the hunter alpha there. And hopefully, they would kill him where he stood and put all of this to rest.
A little daunted by the conversation to come, Heather prompted Windshear to roar a greeting as they descended to an island she had recently pointed the Riders at. There were various factors that had her stomach churning and her shoulders tense, but she tried not to think about them.
A distant roar came from below, one she recognised, and she tensed up again as Windshear angled to it.
Somehow, it had taken a fortnight to arrange this meeting. Whenever she could get away from the hunters without raising too much suspicion, Hiccup had always been off on some mission, something about moving dragons. She had left a message to try here, where she had managed to keep a few Nightmares hidden under the Hunters' noses, with a note that if he wanted to know where the hunters were growing their dragonroot he would be here, at noon, today.
She found the elusive Night Fury having something of a stand-off with a young Nightmare, both staring tensely at each other with the tips of their tails flicking from side to side. "What are you doing?" she asked him curiously as she hopped down to the ground.
"Need him trust me," Hiccup replied without taking his eyes off the other dragon, which growled at him.
Heather rolled her eyes and walked up to the Nightmare, then gently ran a hand down his neck. "It's okay, he's a friend," she assured him. For some reason, Norse was far more effective at communicating with dragons until a bond could be established; Hiccup himself had even displayed this behaviour, though he had no trouble talking to her.
The Nightmare slowly turned to look at her, uncertainty thrumming in his throat, then relaxed and snaked around her, nudging his head and neck under her hands. "Alright, alright, you big tart," she teased as he hissed and purred happily under her fingers. "To be fair," she said to Hiccup, who was staring at her, "we've met before."
"No, it harder now for me," he growled quietly. "We talk while he here, so he know me." Heather hummed agreement, though Windshear then wound her own head into things, tangling Heather between them. "You find where they grow sick-making plant?"
"Before that," she said, careful to sound stern but not spook the dragons entwined around her, "we need to talk. About Dagur."
"You want know why we want kill him."
"Yes," she replied, remembering at the last moment to keep her voice low and calm, though even still, Windshear and the Nightmare tensed a little. "And I'm not comfortable with how you tried." Him or Toothy, it didn't matter which, but she was feeling ill again. She'd killed quite a few people in her life, but she didn't want to know what a Night Fury could do to someone. She didn't want to think about what Windshear would have been left holding had the shot connected, and that assuming her somewhat more vulnerable underside could have withstood the blast.
Hiccup sighed and lowered himself to the ground, folding his paws. "He do me very bad… but that not why. It because he not stop hunting us. We stop him, put him in place he not could leave. We try not kill him… but he still hunt us. He still try kill us." He sagged, resting his head on his paws and looking utterly exhausted. "We not will wait for him kill us."
"So you're going to kill him first?" Heather asked flatly, and the Nightmare wound around her pulled back a bit to look at her. She scratched under his chin, and he rumbled contentedly before curling up again. "Whatever you have to do to do it?"
"Nightstrikers never miss," Hiccup huffed. "You not were in danger."
"That was you," she hissed quietly at him; it riled her how nonchalantly he stared back at her. "If you'd hit him, did you consider what you would have done to Windshear? She was holding him."
"You know what he want do with us?" he asked in reply, his eyes narrowing. "He not only want kill us."
Great, now she was also imagining what his skull would look like; Dagur was all too detailed in his plans for them. "I know that," she mumbled. "If you just want him gone, I can do it."
"I not think you could," he growled back worriedly; that was surprising, she had been expecting him to tell her not to kill again. "He not normal. He very fast, very strong, very…"
"Crazy?" Heather offered.
"That also. I not think you could kill him. I not think I could kill him." He shook his head. "That our fight. It too dangerous for ask you do."
"Well, fine," she huffed. "But I don't want you putting Windshear in danger to do it, okay? No more firing on us. I want… to make it up to you, somehow…" Hiccup tilted his head at her, one of his angular ears lifting into the air. "...But that doesn't mean you can just do whatever you want."
He warbled a simple reassurance, and she sighed heavily, absently stroking the Nightmare. "He seems more comfortable with you now," she said. Hiccup purred, and then Windshear nuzzled her face and demanded her own scritches. "Viggo's got a base directly to the west of here, you can't miss it. The dragonroot is grown over the island, and there's a cave they process it in. You wouldn't see anything from above. I think there's at least one more island, but I haven't found it yet."
Hiccup stiffly rose to his paws and looked to the west, though all there was to see were the rocks and trees. "This night, I go see, make plans," he rumbled, then took a deep breath. "I not think you bad. I not think you would hurt us again. You her friend," he nodded at Windshear, "she trust you. I… trust you also. Maybe… one light, we can be friends."
She stared at him thoughtfully for a few moments. "I think that good," she said in Dragonese.
He nodded at her and stretched as she extracted herself from the dozing dragons with a small smile on her face.
Dagur didn't know why Viggo wanted him on this island, and he didn't really care. All he really cared about was his Night Furies…
"That's not true." He cared deeply for his tribe. "Even if they're weak." More so than ever, again fractured and now with many of the tribesmen following Viggo. His own fault. "My fault."
A Night Fury would have been the clincher. Truly united the clans under him, no more sidelong looks or whispers about his age, giving him the reputation and respect to lead the tribe into a golden age. Granted, twenty was too young to become Chief. "Immature. Bratty." But he'd tried his best. "It wasn't good enough."
But the little squirt he'd learned from hadn't been enough either. He'd known that back then, somehow. He needed to best a Night Fury, with all the speed and power that name implied. "It would be enough now." Now that it had its fire. The trick was actually getting it to fight him. Or them, but he suspected the only way was if one was hit with dragonroot. "Careful," yes, they were very careful.
"Careful of what?" Heather asked, walking over and sitting down next to him where he sat staring out of the little cave.
"Oh. Am I talking to myself again?"
"Yup."
"Oh."
She looked at him. "So what is the great Dagur careful of?"
Him? Careful? "Oh, no, not that. Night Furies. They're careful."
"I suppose there's a reason nobody's ever seen one. Until recently, anyway."
"More than that," he replied. "They're smart. Recognise traps and stuff easily. Don't take fights they don't know they can win."
"Why is it so important to you?"
"Me? Heh. No. For the Berserkers."
"Right."
They sat in the torchlight – the sun had set at some point, he'd been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed. "That's something that happens now…" Since being cooped up in that tiny little cave for Odin knew how long-
"What is?" Heather asked, looking across at him again.
"I'm talking to myself again aren't I? I need to stop doing that."
"Maybe you should go for a walk," she suggested.
"You think it'll help?"
"Sure. Get some fresh air. Some sand between your toes. Relax." She punched him, though he barely felt it, and she shook her hand after. "Really, relax."
He stared at her, confused, but then shrugged and picked up his axe and shield, affixing them to his back, and walked out of the cave.
There was a noticeable difference the moment he stepped out of the light, a background noise he hadn't been aware of just disappearing. He supposed the Hunters inside were busy, doing Viggo's work. Did Viggo expect him to help? Not that he would either way, not with that boring stuff.
"Hey Windy," he waved at Heather's dragon on the way past, which snorted at him. A dumb beast, but well trained and obedient. Not very effective at hunting other dragons with, though. Not bad at it, but not great.
This was a good idea, taking a walk. There was something… invigorating about the darkness, about how the wind blew through the moonlit trees. Before he realised it, he was on the beach, staring past the ship dragged onto the sand and at the endless stars stretching down to the horizon. It felt… massive. He was a tiny little man in such grand schemes as simple as the sky moving between night and day.
It was almost enough to bring him peace, however temporary it always was.
But he could not be at peace. Not until he had fixed, again, what he had broken.
He growled to himself and started walking along the shore, trying to recapture some of that feeling, that moment of awe, but it was slipping as water slipped through cupped hands. Still, it had been nice.
Without thinking, he shoved his arm into his shield and held it above his head, twisting sideways and pulling his stomach back. He looked down over the first glowing blue shot as it passed inches from his belt, a long and curiously angular shape that hissed as it cut through the air. The second shot then slammed into his shield from above as heavily as Mjolnir itself, even though he angled the explosion to his side.
The first shot exploded just past him, and he watched in fascination as most of the explosion carried on in the direction it had been going – but not all of it. He was thrown back by the blast, slashing with his axe even as he left the ground, and then he landed on his backside and tumbled over himself. His feet planted themselves in the sand and he slid to a halt, holding out his shield and then raising his axe to wait for the next strike.
"Nearly!" he shouted into the night. His own voice was dull in his ears, and something about his head didn't feel right, and there were persistent blue lines streaking across his vision, but he wasn't easy to kill; they weren't going to get him here!
A deep shadow with vivid green eyes emerged from the trees, moving slowly and unhurriedly, and an ecstatic, giddy joy rose through Dagur's whole body. "You, you're going to fight me? Really? Here? Finally!" He laughed uncontrollably-
And just barely lunged out of the way in time, but claws appearing out of the darkness from above him still raked down his shoulder and back. His axe met a little resistance, something that moved with the blow, and then he was blocking a shadowy strike with his shield – the impact slammed his arm into his side and sent him stumbling back, forcing him to prioritise his safety rather than attempting another blind swing.
No words were spoken. The dragons obviously could not, but for some reason he could not either. He was just having too much fun! He lunged before the dragons could move to surround him, the bright spots in his vision now faded enough to see the dark shapes against the pale sand in the moonlight. He swept his axe through the sand to fling it up at his opponents, keeping his shield carefully positioned to block any more fire or claws, and then brought it back down – but he found nothing but air, and then the wind was driven from him as something collided with his side, a small shot of that lethal fire was just barely blocked by his shield again, and something struck him in the chest that had been very close to being in his throat instead.
There was no reprieve. Claws tore at him from every direction, teeth snapped at his limbs that were only just pulled out of the way in time, and blunt strikes were absorbed by his body because it was either taking them or something far more fatal. Eyes and gleaming white teeth flashed around him as he frantically reacted to the impossible number of attacks, only a few not aimed to kill and those always leading into attacks that were.
They were actually going to kill him at this rate! Him! What an exhilarating feeling! But he couldn't die here. Somehow, he knew that what he had done to the Berserkers was a death knell, and that only he could fix it. His tribe was worth more than any death.
He would just have to suffer the consequences. His careful restraint built up over years of managing his condition, his iron grip on himself… He let it go.
He was no longer having fun. He was no longer anything, just a vessel; the ultimate warrior. The attacks on him faltered for no reason he cared to discern, and he immediately capitalised on their weakness, his axe slashing across the chest of one and his shield taking the other in the side of the head. A sound to his side and he twisted, using the weight of his weapons to move himself out of the way, and then he brought his elbow down on the wing as it passed him by.
They both lunged at him at once, fearsome eyes and absolutely wicked teeth telegraphing their attacks but at the same time distracting from their claws, which were invisible in the darkness. His arms strained as he spun his axe and shield, over and under himself, the momentum pulling him off his feet and threading him between those lethal claws, and then he planted his boots in their backs and pushed off them, slashing at the wing of one as he passed over it.
The hit was good, dragging down near where the appendage met its back, but it moved as water under his blade and avoided any real damage. Then he was landing on the sand behind them, and immediately leaped at their tails.
They parted and he momentarily lost sight of them, and then something struck him in the leg and bounced off his taut muscle. He immediately punished its momentary unbalance-
Except there was no unbalance. His strike was easily deflected and something hit him in the chest, lifting him off the ground. He twisted and landed on his feet, ready for the next attack, but his opponents were gone, the sound of beating wings taunting him from where he could not chase.
He yelled wordlessly at the sky, at the fire coursing through his body, agony and invigorating at once, thirsting for the kill. He did not feel pain, but he could feel the toll his berserk trance was taking on his body.
But he could not relax, not yet. He sprinted for the trees and a way into the forest, before lodging his axe deep into a tree. Now, under the cover of the canopy, he could force himself back under control, to restrain the Berserker blood coursing through him into something more manageable.
He grit his teeth and fell to one knee, wresting back control of his muscles and forcing them to respond to him alone. He was not like the others, he could not just cool off and come down from it, he fought a constant battle that rarely relented.
It was his gift and his curse. He strangled another yell, lest he call upon his head the lethal dragons possibly circling above, and focused. The sounds of the wind gently playing through the trees. A browning leaf on the ground, a crack running from its stem to the edge. The coarse and dry dirt under his fingertips. He felt himself inside his own body, and then slowly eased his taut muscles, slowed his breathing.
This was the hardest thing to do, to force himself to do nothing. The inherent paradox had taken much time to learn, and he wasn't even close to mastering it; he doubted he'd live long enough to, given how much he literally tore his own body apart with every battle.
He took a deep, slow breath, nearly blacking out from the lack of air, and held himself at that point to ease the rest of the way to something resembling normal. The fire, the Bloodlust, still burned in his veins, but that never relented. It was just harder to deal with after handing himself over to it.
With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet, grimacing as his body audibly creaked, then strode back to the camp. His injuries didn't hurt, but he could feel them, the blood sticking his clothes to his skin and dripping from his fingers, his legs not quite working the way he wanted them to.
The expected light of the camp looked different somehow, and when he cleared the last few trees it became clear why. The cave entrance was collapsed, a bunch of Hunters milling about outside who all suddenly found themselves somewhere else to be in a hurry.
All of them except Heather. "Woah, what happened to you?" she asked, staring at him with wide eyes.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said, unable to make his teeth part to say the words properly. Instead, he walked right up to her, and held his hand inches from her neck. He needed to know.
Her eyes got wider, and she looked fearful, though she did not move other than a slow motion with her hand that was not in any way aggressive. He stood there, fingers poised to grab her by the throat and strangle the life out of her.
But he didn't. He exhaled in relief and forced his hand to drop, safe in the knowledge he would not accidentally hurt her. Could not hurt her. She was his sister, his last remaining family, and at this moment, all he had left.
The wind hummed quietly over Wanderer's ears, a muted, hollow sound in the otherwise silent night sky. The leading edge of his left wing stung with every flap, a multitude of shallow cuts burned over his body, and the side of his head ached. Dreamer was in worse shape, a mildly worrying gash across his chest that clearly pained him to fly with.
This was a new feeling. The Queen of the warm-nest had been big and slow, and her dreadful Song could not quite walk him to his death. The various threats he had encountered as a fledgling were exacerbated by his small size and lack of fire.
This not-alpha Long-Paw, Dagur, outright frightened him.
It wasn't just the way he brushed off their fire, even with no warning. It wasn't how quickly and precisely he was able to react to two Nightstrikers doing their best to kill him. It wasn't the way he had targeted their wings and tails with unerring accuracy, coming very close to grounding either or both of them. It wasn't even really the way he didn't seem to notice the significant damage they inflicted on him.
It was the way he had laughed, constantly, as if fighting for his life was the funniest joke he had ever heard, and that after rolling in sweet-grass. And mostly, it was the way he had abruptly stopped laughing, and then somehow fought even faster and harder than he had been.
Wanderer did not like this feeling. He didn't feel safe, knowing that thing was hunting him, and that they had seemingly no way of killing it. He didn't like that it knew where he slept, however much warning he would have. He didn't like that it had played with his Dreamer as an impressionable young fledgling, as a hatchling might play with a small-flying-thing-prey to learn hunting. He didn't like that it existed at all.
"We not can kill him," he said, blankly staring ahead as they drifted over the trees.
Dreamer said nothing. Wanderer could only imagine what he was feeling, though he tried not to for his own sanity, and whined worriedly.
They flew to the other side of the small-land and glided to the beach, Wanderer setting about licking his wing and some of the other easier hurts before lending his tongue to Dreamer's hurts. He was then a little surprised by a tongue on his shoulder, Dreamer tenderly treating his wounds, given how distant he had been lately – though he whimpered quietly at each one, and Wanderer got an idea of why. "This not your fault," he said sternly.
Dreamer grunted, probably trying to sound neutral, but Wanderer could hear disagreement buried in it. "Just not do stupid thing," he said with a sigh. "I your friend-mate. We fly together always, even in bad winds."
Agreement, reassurance, Dreamer purred back, much more sincerely, then tipped his head at the two 'barrels' just within the treeline, and they both trotted over to pick them up.
They were lighter than they looked – there'd have been no way to carry them both here otherwise, even made at the much closer Defenders' small-land as they had been – and Wanderer grappled his own and gripped it with his claws to lift it into the air. "Where?" he warbled enquiringly as they drifted back over the small-land.
"There," Dreamer gestured with his nose, and Wanderer flung his barrel out into the air. He watched it fall, waiting for just the right moment… then fired his last shot, which struck the barrel a short distance from the ground, just as they had briefly practised.
It exploded, of course, but then the explosion bloomed into bright billowing fire over an immense area that settled over the ground below, the Fire-Scale fire spreading and burning hot. He huffed, satisfied with his shot – it not the renewed sense of fear and helplessness that came with being down to his reserve – then watched Dreamer take a long breath before flinging his own barrel out and expending his own last shot, and then they watched the small-land burn from above.
They had not killed the rot-head not-alpha as they had planned, despite the sneaky female Long-Paw luring him out into the dark for them to ambush, but they had severely injured this nest and its ability to make sick-making claws. For now, that was enough. It would have to be.
Raised voices reached Astrid's ears as she worked on her ballista, fixing a slight issue with the tension and then smoothing over the barrel where the wood had warped a little. She was about to give it a fresh coat of paint, complete with patterns of teeth and skulls, but the argument sounded heated.
She sighed, figuring she'd best go find out who had done what and why someone was getting on their case about it. The Furies might handle it, but then she hadn't seen them since they'd flown off yesterday to burn the island Viggo was growing his dragonroot on; the rest of them had been busy moving a large nest of Nadders out of Viggo's waters so that it would be easier to protect them.
She climbed down from her hut and Stormfly offered her the saddle, which she took gratefully, and then with a powerful jump they were in the air. She had loved having Stormfly's fledglings around, and it was somewhat strange to see her dragon literally chase one of them away, but it was very nice to have her dragon back to herself again. Stormfly even looked relieved to have dropped the responsibility, as much as she also looked exhausted and now spent much of her time sleeping. Still always keen to help out though, when Astrid needed her.
Stormfly landed firmly on the deck outside the communal hut, and Astrid used the rebound to bounce out of the saddle and thump down herself. Snotlout, Fishlegs, and the twins all went quiet to look at her expectantly. "What's all this about then?" she asked, calmly and sternly.
Snotlout pointed aggressively at Fishlegs. "Fatface here ate our entire store of jerky! There isn't a scrap left!"
"Hey, I was hungry!" Fishlegs said in his rather weak defence. "I've hit a block with the Dragon Eye, Hiccup wants it figured out yesterday, and there wasn't that much left to begin with!"
"There was at least half a boar's worth! I just snacked on it this morning!"
"I dunno," Ruffnut piped in with a grin, "I think there might have been a whole boar's worth." Astrid shot a glare at her, and she stared back innocently.
"Maybe not a whole boar's worth," Tuffnut said casually, "but certainly most of one."
"See!?" Snotlout said loudly. "He needs to make up for it, catch and make some more!"
"Oh right," Fishlegs scoffed, "and I suppose while I do that, you're going to figure out where the Whispering Deaths are?"
"First of all," Astrid loudly cut in, "we're not taking the twins' statement as fact."
"Astrid!" Tuffnut gasped, "Your words wound us!" Astrid glared at him, confident that the eager glints in both twins' eyes meant they were only playing the situation for their entertainment.
"You can say what you want," Snotlout argued back, "there was a huge pile of jerky there and now there isn't!"
"Secondly," Astrid said over the top of him, "you admitted to having got some this morning, and you went back for more. If you're eating it like that, you've probably eaten more than your share yourself!" She herself rarely saw any of it, beyond taking a piece whenever a new batch was stored, though she found a hearty breakfast and dinner warded off any need to snack through the day.
"Firstly," he retorted in a sneering, immature, high-pitched mockery, "you're not the boss of us!"
"This is a waste of time, guys," Fishlegs announced. "If Hiccup asks about my progress, I'm telling him you held me back."
Astrid held in a groan of frustration. "Just hold up a moment Fishlegs, we need to sort this out first."
"What, you're gonna go whining to the Night Fury?" Snotlout jeered. "Hiccup! Help! Snotlout's suggesting I take responsibility!"
"Oh and what would you know about responsibility?" Fishlegs shot back, and Snotlout glared murderously at him.
"Guys, just stop arguing!" Astrid shouted over them, Stormfly adding a warning screech to back her up.
"Getting your dragon involved now?" Snotlout snapped at her.
"Fight! Fight! Fight!" the twins chanted.
"This isn't constructive!" Astrid shouted, but it had just become a shouting match now, everyone talking at once and nobody listening to anyone. She sighed, turning to Stormfly to ask her to intervene and regain control-
There was no warning, the deck suddenly shook under their feet as a Night Fury slammed into a landing, the only sound then being the deep, dangerous growl rumbling from him. She couldn't help but stare, initially at his tired, bloodshot eyes, but then at the wounds.
Hiccup, she thought, looked almost as beaten up as he had when they'd rescued him from Berserk. First she noticed the long cut across his chest, still raw and glistening in the overcast light, then the smaller ones crisscrossing his forelegs, a pale line over one ear, and a short cut on his shoulder.
Fishlegs cleared his throat. "We were-"
Hiccup snarled, and then everyone was quiet again while the dragon fixed each of them with an intense stare.
"I not had good night," he growled, seemingly not focusing on any of them in particular. Astrid wondered what, exactly, his night had entailed, and was a little worried for Toothy, but she had the impression that if she tried asking she would only get snapped at. "This," he waved a paw, "very stupid. Fish-Legs."
"Yessir?" Fishlegs squeaked.
"I know you like food. Next time, leave some."
"Yessir!" he squeaked again.
"Snotlout," he said with a glare, "you want get your share? Go make more. Just you. Keep all for you. Not whine like hatchling." Snotlout just petulantly but silently glared back at him.
Hiccup stared at the twins until they wilted under his gaze, giving him apologetic grins. He shook his head with a sigh, then turned his fierce eyes on Astrid.
She felt herself straighten a little under his scrutiny. Those eyes, bright forest-green with a red gradient creeping in from the sides, seemed to judge her, and after a long, drawn-out moment, fell away in what she could only interpret as disappointment. It struck at her in a way words never could, and she leaned back into Stormfly, who began nibbling her hair to try to comfort her; it worked, a little.
Hiccup sighed and turned to leave.
"Don't think," Snotlout said under his breath, "that this is over, Fatf-"
Hiccup spun and lunged faster than Astrid could blink, driving Snotlout onto his back and snarling into his face. Snotlout winced at the clear fluid dripping off the razor-sharp fangs and onto his cheek, otherwise looking utterly terrified.
"No more," the Night Fury snarled, and Snotlout nodded frantically. Hiccup then leapt straight up from where he was and disappeared back towards his cave in the cliff.
"I think we might have woken him," Tuffnut said, very quietly.
"Ya think?" Snotlout hissed back, climbing to his feet. "Not a word," he whispered tensely to Astrid, then quietly stomped off. Tuffnut shrugged at her and walked after him.
Ruffnut groaned. "I just know I'm going to regret this. Fishlegs… Want to show me where you're stuck at?"
"Woul-!" Fishlegs clamped his hand over his own mouth at the exclamation. "Would I," he said much more quietly. "That often does help. So, there's this new slide I found, right? I'm calling them slides. Anyway, it only appears…"
"I'm doomed," Ruffnut moaned quietly as she walked past Astrid, Fishlegs still rambling as he led her to his hut, and Astrid gave her a grateful smile.
Astrid found herself alone outside the communal hut, at a loss. She should go back to painting her ballista, but she wasn't motivated to do that right now, it could wait an hour or two. She was on the fence about going flying to clear her head… but then Stormfly curled up and nestled her head under a wing. She decided to leave her dragon to her rest, and began walking around the hut to make her way onto the island. A jog to the lake for a swim sounded like a great idea before going back to her ballista.
She finished climbing up a ladder, pulling herself up onto the ledge, and suddenly heard voices. Curious, she crept over to that edge and peered over it, finding Snotlout and Tuffnut with their feet kicked over a cliff.
"...supposed to do?" Snotlout finished asking something she had missed the start of. "It's not like he has any control as my dad anymore, but he's the Marshal. Can he do that? But I don't even really know what he wants!" Astrid didn't dare move, far too interested in what she was hearing.
"I see, I see," Tuffnut replied, his dreadlocks bobbing as he nodded sagely. "Nope, I got nothin'. You talked to Hiccup about it?"
"What?" Snotlout asked, sounding truly confused. "What would he know about it? He's a dragon."
"True," Tuffnut conceded, "but you can't see the outside of your house from the inside. Sometimes, you gotta ask someone who's outside, and they'll tell you that your door has a funny face painted on it-"
"You say the weirdest stuff."
"-and there's a bird on the roof, but it's like, stealing the stuff you put between the wood, I dunno what that's called-"
"Alright, I get it," Snotlout waved him off.
"I'm just saying," Tuffnut said casually, "he's a smart dragon. He sees things differently."
"Sure, whatever."
Astrid crept back from the edge and lay on the short grass, staring up at the sky and wondering what it all meant.
The island of the Defenders of the Wing was always a warm place, but now that summer was well underway that warmth extended into the skies around it, particularly downwind. It was further emphasised by the warm light of the sky-fire that always seemed to be shining down on it, now that it burned hotter.
Putting his thoughts on the weather aside, Dreamer roared loudly to announce their presence; him, Wanderer, and Fishlegs to translate. It might have been his imagination, but the tidy streams of people marching around seemed to shudder at that, freezing for just a moment before marching just a little bit harder…
Surely his imagination. He folded his wings to drop towards the water below, then spread them again to speed over the village and backwinged into a landing in the village square-
"Dreamer!" Mala called out, sounding harried and beckoning tensely. "You must come with me at once!"
Dreamer shared a glance with Wanderer as he landed next to him, then trotted after her; Meatlug's wingbeats were still approaching in the distance behind them, but she would just follow and land nearby.
Mala abandoned the usual pace of the Defenders, striding straight through the middle of the path at an impressive speed to move without running. "We raided that island you found," she started to explain, and Dreamer let his hopes get up a little bit. "It was definitely Viggo's main base, although the man himself wasn't there." Oh, well there went that hope. "But we found…" She glanced back at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. "...something."
Something? That was ominous. Fishlegs landed next to him and jumped out of the saddle, and then he and Meatlug were running to catch up. "What's the hurry?" he asked, but Dreamer shook his head cluelessly.
Mala abruptly turned and stopped outside one of the many identical buildings for a man standing outside to hand her something, and she nodded warily at him before turning back to Dreamer. "We found these first," she said, holding out an arrow. "Dozens of them, all slightly different."
Dreamer inspected it, finding it a similar design to the one that had hit Wanderer, a careful melding of Gronckle Iron and regular iron. This one had cracked along the seam, the tip of the arrow slightly askew. "And then we found…" She looked truly worried, almost distraught really, and at a loss for words.
The suspense was unbearable. He huffed impatiently, and she gestured wordlessly to the hut. He glanced at her, then trotted inside.
What met him made his stomach drop, where it turned uncomfortably.
"Rest assured, the island was cleansed of hunters," Mala asserted, peering in from outside.
Dreamer walked forward and scented the stiff shape, and Wanderer gave a confused growl behind him, though he paid him no heed.
It was a wooden statue, very slightly smaller than himself, fashioned into the shape of a Nightstriker. But one with no wings or fins, and a tail that ended abruptly. Its bare head had a deep gouge across it, as if someone with immense strength had embedded a sword into it. But that was not its most worrying feature.
It was covered in scales. Nightstriker scales, from its neck down, small patches of hide carefully stitched together, only a bit of wood poking from the bottom of each paw. And, sickeningly, it was covered in cuts and punctures, varying in size from just a pinprick to as wide as his claw; or an arrow.
He turned away and walked back outside, feeling nauseous and unsettled, his hide prickling uncomfortably.
"Did… you know them?" Mala asked, almost timidly.
"Hiccup," Fishlegs said disbelievingly as Wanderer walked out, looking thoroughly disturbed. "Is… this…?"
"Yes," Dreamer growled, seriously entertaining the urge to remove Johann's limbs from his body. "That my scales. My hide."