How many days?

They blurred into each other almost without start or end. With nobody to have to make time for, time lost meaning. The sun rose, and then it set. In between were things to do, but what did it matter as long as they were done, that day or the next?

It was with an odd detachment that Snotlout roamed the Greater Archipelago on his dragon. He had nothing but what happened to be in his saddlebags, and needed barely even that. A waterskin, some knives, and a grindstone were all he used. He also had a coat in his other bag but couldn't remember what was under it and felt no need to find out.

Of course, it hadn't been long before he'd spotted hunter ships on the water, but… he felt no desire to engage them. That fight had been sullied somehow, and the thought of charging into battle at this stage made him feel uncomfortable. So they kept flying the open winds, setting down wherever they happened to be, doing whatever they felt like doing, sleeping whenever and for however long they wanted, then flying off in whatever direction the weather seemed nicest.

Over time, he began to feel a little lonely. How long had it been since he had heard another human voice…? Weeks? Months? But then he remembered who he'd had to listen to. Tuffnut? Half the time Snotlout couldn't tell if the twin was pranking him or not, and the other half of the time, he was wrong. Fishlegs? It was more interesting to watch grass grow. Ruffnut? She was no looker, and he was getting bored of trying to work around her scorn. Heather… when she was actually around, which was very rare, and he had little hope of tracking her down and even less hope of hanging around the dragon hunters with her or convincing her to leave.

Hookfang didn't talk unless spoken to in Dragonese, and then his answers were short and to the point. He was certainly no conversationalist. But as the days passed, Snotlout began to appreciate it. There was a simple gratification to just speaking his mind without worry of what anyone would think about it or him, and trusting the same in return. No trying to court his limited prospects, or boost his status in the tribe, or wondering if he looked like a fool.

Sometimes he thought about going back, either to Dragon's Nest or to Berk. At first he felt a sense of responsibility, to be with his people. And then he thought about it, and the feeling faded. Dragon's Nest was ruled by a dragon; technically two, but all he ever heard was 'Hiccup this' and 'Hiccup that'. The others were happy to follow him like sheep, but it had never sat right with Snotlout. What did a runt dragon know about strategy? About fighting a war? About anything? Snotlout had been drilled by his father, Berk's Marshal, in everything from combat to warfare. He had lived through the war with the dragons. Those Night Furies were too big for their shoes.

And yet, when he spoke, Snotlout always leapt to obey. Why!? Standing in his presence, the very thought of defying him was unthinkable. He didn't rule out some terrible Night Fury magic, but it was more like he just didn't think about it in the moment, and got angry about it later. Come to think of it, his own father had the same effect, and Stoick. No, he didn't want to go back to Dragon's Nest.

But everything looped back to Berk, in the end; it was where he'd spent most of his life, after all. The thought of returning home was whimsical and fleeting, appealing only if he accepted that he would never actually do it. How could he? Every time he so much as wondered what direction the rough island was in, his father's dead-serious words echoed in his head.

If you don't come back a Viking, don't bother coming back at all.

"My apologies, but I simply cannot allow you entry. Only myself, Mala, and our healers are afforded that responsibility."

"Come on guys," Fishlegs pleaded, wary of the scene they were making and wondering why Astrid had dragged him along. "They're probably just burned out."

"Responsibility?" Astrid scoffed, ignoring him. "You want to talk about being responsible? There's an army of hunters out there, and as far as anyone can tell, we just killed their leaders. Probably. We don't even know if Viggo's on one of those boats because you won't let us talk to the only ones who were there!" She had actually flown out to ask the hunters themselves only to be warned away by dragonroot arrows, and they couldn't even get inside the cabin if the hunters just locked the Gronckle Iron doors.

"The Night Furies themselves requested no visitors," Throck intoned neutrally. "No exception was offered."

"Well duh," Ruffnut groaned. "That's because it's implied! We've known him a lot longer than you have, bucko! Just wait 'till Yornt gets here-"

"Ruffnut!" Astrid snapped, clearly not in the mood. "You'ren't means you! Are! Not!"

Ruffnut hesitated… then turned to Astrid with wide, devastated eyes. "Yornt said that…?"

Fishlegs and Tuffnut sidled away – Astrid looked as if she was about to explode, her face pulled into an incredulous grimace and her eye twitching.

Throck folded his arms sternly, reminding Fishlegs of Aunt Ragnhild. "I ask that you keep your voices down," he said, quiet but firm. "The Night Furies will meet with you when they are able. Right now they need to be sleeping and recovering, not worrying about dragon hunters. If you can leave it at that, we shall ask your question when they are next awake."

"Guys," Fishlegs pleaded, "remember the last time we were arguing and woke them up? I'd rather not repeat that experience…"

That seemed to finally get through to Astrid, though she clenched her teeth and her knuckles were white as she gripped her axe. "Fine," she gritted, "but be it on your head when this goes to Hel."

Fishlegs breathed a sigh of relief. For a little while, he was worried she'd try to storm the hut and take it by force; though someone had fed all the dragons that curious sagefruit that made them all docile, so at least Stormfly wouldn't be dragged into it.

He shot an apologetic look to Throck as Astrid stormed off, but the man's stoic gaze was unreadable as ever.

Fishlegs didn't agree with Astrid's methods, but Hiccup and Toothy had been in that hut for two days straight now. That just wasn't normal. He hoped they were okay…

But they would be. They were tough dragons.

With a shrug, he began wandering towards the small hut the Defenders had allowed Heather to use. Windshear had carried her into the village in pretty bad shape; both arms and legs badly fractured and swollen, her body bruised in random places and in strange ways. Dagur was gone, apparently having taken a hidden boat likely left by the hunters' spies, given the fresh drag line leading down one of the beaches; it led from a clever blanket of vines and greenery, which had clearly been used to hide the vessel.

Heather appeared to be in shock about something, but hadn't said anything about it yet. At the moment she just seemed grateful for the company, and to talk about whatever. She didn't mind him rambling on about some detail of a Dragon Eye lens – which he still didn't have back – and he liked listening to her recount little stories she'd picked up or lived through here and there.

He sighed, and held no illusions about it being anything other than dreamy and wistful. She was a breath of fresh air compared to Ruffnut's abrasiveness and Astrid's dominance. Maybe it was a long shot, but she seemed to actually enjoy his company, unlike everyone else who merely tolerated it. Who knew… Maybe something would come of it, one day.

On the other side of the door, inside the healer's hut, Dreamer was being held down. Not that Wanderer was trying particularly hard, simply lying on his tail, but it was effective in his current state.

He felt horrible. Wanderer looked horrible, and Dreamer felt worse than that. After limping back to land – there had been a few moments he'd seriously wondered if he was going to fall out of the air and drown before he made it – they'd been ushered into the healer's hut, where he had slept solidly for the rest of the day and all through the night. They'd been woken with the dawn by Mala entering with a basket of fish, which had been consumed simply because they were there more than for any actual appetite, and then most of his time since then had been sleeping even more.

His whole body hurt, in numerous ways. A few hunters on Viggo's ship had managed some light scratches, but that was the least of it. His muscles felt cramped and sore beyond belief, his wings were almost totally seized up, his head and eyes ached as if he'd spent a whole night reading by candlelight, and he felt ill in his stomach and gut in a way that had him wondering if he'd eaten any bad fish recently. When he wasn't sleeping, it was all he could do to just lie there with his eyes closed, which passed the time surprisingly quickly.

As such, the slightest weight on his tail, let alone a whole Nightstriker, prevented him from going anywhere. Wrrr, the shouting seemed to have stopped, though as of yet he hadn't told anyone of Viggo's or Ryker's fates.

Thinking of the Grimborn brothers made him feel queasy, and not just because of Ryker's gruesome death. This was the scenario he had been trying to avoid, a whole bunch of dragon hunters with dragon hunting tools and knowledge, and no master. Perhaps a new leader would step in, but regardless there would be factions of hunters to track down and somehow discourage… however that could be done.

Had it been too optimistic of him to think he could sway Viggo somehow? He wasn't even sure what his own plan had been… Something about making it unprofitable, then maybe showing the man he could work with dragons, or something.

Wrrr, it was too late for those thoughts now. Had Viggo still been on that ship, Dreamer would be more determined to tell Astrid he was alive, but he wasn't. Maybe he'd drowned, maybe the Shellfire had crushed him, but he certainly hadn't made it back onto the ship.

He sighed and set about flexing his unbelievably stiff joints, pushing them to return to their usual range of motion, and let his eyes drift closed. He needed to recover, get back out there, and somehow clean up the mess that Viggo's failed plot had left in its wake.

"Yeah well, you got any better ideas?" Snotlout asked as Hookfang prowled around the short bluff with his nose to the ground, growling. They had been a long time finding land today, and were both irritated from the arduous flight.

Hookfang snorted, then blew a puff of smoke that engulfed Snotlout. "Yeah I thought not," he grumbled, squeezing his stinging eyes shut and waving at the cloud to disperse it. "What's got your panties in a bunch, anyway?" he asked, tilting his head in the way that would have the dragon speak whatever was on his mind.

But the Nightmare just grumbled to himself and curled up with his head under his tail. "Pfah," Snotlout exclaimed, throwing an arm up, then started finding some sticks that weren't too damp or green to burn.

With a pile of kindling prepared, he rolled his eyes at his snoring dragon and rummaged through his saddlebag for a piece of flint he'd grabbed on a whim, then set about getting a fire going; he made sure to be extra loud in banging the rocks together. It felt good to be making his own fire though, the simple act of arranging the kindling could be as delicate or as slipshod as he wanted. He'd made an utter mess of this one, but it still burned merrily, and it still charred the fish they'd grabbed on the approach to the island.

He'd need to go foraging, eating nothing but meat was satisfying but everyone knew it only led to being slow and weak. That was a task for the morning, so he picked the bones of his fish clean and found a comfortable spot against his dragon that wasn't too far away from the warm flames.

It wasn't really late, the sun hadn't even set, but there was no reason to fight the sleep settling over him. He just let his chin rest on his chest and his eyes drift closed…

Hookfang growling deeply against his back roused him. "Shut up," he groaned, elbowing his dragon. The sky was now dark, only a fade of orange out to sea over the bluff, so he'd only napped for a little while-

"A male?" someone asked, the words rough but the voice smooth and feminine.

Snotlout sat bolt upright and looked around, then blinked the blur from his eyes and finally spotted the woman standing at the edge of the dying firelight. "Who're you?" he asked automatically, the details still sifting into his head. She was tall, well-built, and the perfect amount of plump. Her brown hair was tied back, and she was holding a hog on her shoulder as if it was nothing, her other hand holding a long spear with what looked like a dragon's barb at the end.

"Who're you?" she asked back, slurring her words in strange ways. She shifted, and the armour she wore gleamed in the firelight.

"Uh, Snotlout," he replied a moment before finding himself. "Dragon tamer," he added suavely as he got to his feet. "Dragon rider." He grabbed Hookfang's horn and gave it a little shake. "It's all right, Hookey, ease off." Miraculously, his dragon stopped growling, though he continued eyeing the stranger warily.

"I am not sure I am believing my eyes," the woman said, sounding rightfully awed. "But… why are you here?"

"Just… passing through. Seemed a good place to stop for the night." He eyed her again, how steadily she held herself even with her heavy burden, the boar she was still holding. It was hard to get a read on her age, but she wasn't old by any stretch, not much older than him at a guess. "Even better now," he added with a grin.

"The dragon," she said, staring curiously at Hookfang, "it is tame?"

"Tame?" Snotlout scoffed. "He's a Monstrous Nightmare. Any part of that sound tame to you? But he won't hurt you. Not unless I want him to… which I don't."

"I see…" She adjusted the boar on her shoulder and tipped her head. "Come. I would show you to my village… after you put out your sorry excuse for a fire."

"It has burned down a bit, hasn't it," he agreed, standing over the fire and loosening his belt to quench it… then was suddenly very aware the woman was still just staring at him.

He chuckled, feeling increasingly unnerved, and instead just adjusted his belt as if that was what he meant to do all along and kicked some of the damp, rotting leaves and loose dirt over the low flames. It was dark without its light, but his eyes were still adjusted from when he'd been napping and the woman's shiny armour was quite visible.

She gave a low grunt, then turned and began walking through the forest.

"What'ya reckon?" Snotlout asked Hookfang as the dragon grumbled and rose to his legs and wings. "Somewhere to settle down for a bit? Rest our wings?" He started walking after the woman, and Hookfang prowled around him, his long wings reaching ahead to either side as Snotlout walked by his head.

"So what's this place like?" he asked conversationally as they walked. It had to be hidden, he hadn't seen anything on a fly-over of the island. "I'd ask if there're hot babes there, but they've clearly got that covered already." He grinned at himself, particularly proud of that line.

"Hah," she laughed. "Your flattery amuses me. But do not let it get to your head." She turned a little to glance back at him. "Besides, there are all 'hot babes' there."

Snotlout furrowed his brows. She was definitely a looker, and clearly knew how to use the spear she was holding, but her Norse was pretty bad; he wasn't even quite sure what she'd just said, or if he'd heard right. He shrugged, not overly bothered by that; talking and reading and writing was for chumps anyway.

"Chief!" the woman suddenly hollered, and Snotlout stopped and looked around. They were just in a random section of forest, what-

An odd noise had him look up, and then he startled back a step as a dozen women dropped from the tall trees around him. They were similarly armoured and armed, brandishing spears but not seeming hostile. "What do you bring us?" one asked in that same odd slur.

"A male and a pig," the one who had guided him here replied. "I leave to you to decide which is which."

"It's easy to tell," Snotlout assured them, flashing his winning grin.

"And the dragon?" another asked curiously.

"Hookfang," Snotlout introduced the Monstrous Nightmare, running his hand down his dragon's neck, and making sure to draw attention to the saddle as it was becoming quite dark. "We were just passing through, but you look like you could use a man around here."

"Indeed," the one in front said slowly, and they all lowered weapons. "Come, eat with us." With that, she jumped, grabbed a rope he hadn't noticed, and swiftly climbed up it.

"You guys live in the trees?" he asked. It sounded kind of silly, but also kind of cool at the same time.

"Do you need us to carry you?" Another teased before leaping up and starting to climb.

"Psh, nah," he scoffed, then grabbed Hookfang's horn and kneeled on the saddle, bracing himself against it as the Nightmare grabbed a tree with the long talons on his wings and easily climbed up it. He even beat all of them up, just, though they didn't seem all that impressed for some reason; not a big issue, they'd come around to his awesomeness eventually.

He took a moment to look around while they waited, noting the strangely rounded huts with their domed roofs. They'd somehow managed to bend thick wooden beams in perfect uniformity, creating a very unique and appealing style. They were spread out just under the canopy, supported by the thick trees and connected with loose bridges, though it was difficult to see how many there were. Each one featured a circular deck around it, a comfortable two or three paces wide, one of which they were all standing on.

"This way," someone said, and they all started walking through the odd village. There were people walking around, lighting tiny torches in places that did barely more than reveal the decks around them, but there was something strange about it all…

And it wasn't just the way they were all watching him. Women everywhere, all in that odd shiny armour that perfectly accentuated their chests and waists, the odd and seemingly random seams through it adding depth and definition to their shapes.

Everywhere he looked, strange women in strange armour…

"Where are all the men?" he asked as the question hit him.

"No males," the nearest woman said, glancing back to give him a strange look.

"Uhh… Then how…" For a village to survive, it needed new people, which required more than just a woman. But he suddenly had to focus on crossing a longer bridge, the boards wobbling and threatening to throw him over the rope handrail.

Murmuring reached his ears as the women ahead of him entered a larger hut, suspended between four giant trees as thick as Hookfang. "Wingmaidens," someone announced over the chatter, and silence quickly fell. "We are having a visitor to our island. Come, introduce yourself."

Snotlout noticed the one talking had some sort of crown on her head, she had to be their Chief. He stood tall as he strode inside, giving her a big smile before looking around the room. There were maybe forty women inside, including the dozen that had greeted him. "You may call me Snotlout," he introduced himself, holding his hands out, "tamer and rider of the Monstrous Nightmare. I have travelled far, and happened upon this lovely island by chance. Or, perhaps, fate?" He winked at a trio of women, and they smiled.

"Snotlout," the Chief repeated, slurring his name with her strange accent. "I am Atali, Chief of the Wingmaidens. Come, sit with me. We discuss things later, but now, eat, enjoy."

"Don't mind if I do," Snotlout agreed, and the crowd parted to reveal a table laden with food, lots of meat, vegetables, fruit, and other things he could only guess at like a bowl of little white things. The Chief led him around the table to a wide bench behind it at which they sat next to each other, almost intimately close…

"We do not get visitors often," the Chief said as she picked at the various foods at the table, moving pieces to a plate. "This island is hostile. Finding place for landing is not easy."

Snotlout grabbed a carrot and took a bite, eager to stuff a few vegetables down and get started on the delicious-looking meats arrayed in front of him. "Landing's a bit easier on a dragon," he said, waving the carrot knowingly. "Faster than sailing too." He had to pause to swallow. "Plus, riding a dragon and all. Know what I mean?" He grinned at her as he took another bite.

"Not really, no," she said lightly. "He is happy carrying you?"

"Oh yeah," he scoffed, grabbing a big golden boar shank that just fell apart in his mouth as he took a bite. "Wow, this is amazing. Yeah, we're best buddies. It's give and take, we make each other stronger."

"I take your word for it," she said politely.

"So Chief," he said, remembering his earlier confusion, "there are no men here? None?"

"None," she agreed. "But please, call me Atali."

"Atali, sure, so they all die out or something?" he asked nervously.

"We do not allow them," she explained. "You say you are friends with a dragon. Perhaps you will understand." Uh oh, she had that tone that people got when they were about to be really boring. "Our tribe was given a divine mission hundreds of years ago, by Freya herself…"

He tried to listen, but could he be blamed for being distracted by the amazing feast in front of him instead of something about rearing Razorwhips? Her accent wasn't making it easy either. Blah blah blah, males are aggressive, females get defensive, no men. He made sure to repeat the occasional word though, to show he was paying attention.

"Extinct, yeah that's bad," he agreed with little idea of the context. "So, explain something to me. You girls gathered all this stuff?" He gestured to the table, and all the meat on it.

"Of course."

"Huh…" He took another shank and just savoured its amazing flavour; Astrid could learn a thing or two from these ladies. "Don't worry, me and Hookfang will chip in for as long as we're around. Tackle some of those harder jobs like hunting, save you all some time." Women could hunt, but men were just naturally better at it.

She gave him a strange look, and many of the other women hanging around the feast were staring at him too. A tribe entirely consisting of women, deprived of any manly company? "Thank you Odin," he whispered under his breath. It was about time things started going his way.

"Wait, what's this on the bed? Ooh, it's soft!"

Atali leaned against the outside of the guest hut and took a deep breath. And then another, as muffled impacts and the creaking of the thick boards could only mean he was jumping on it, without even a pause for him to have removed his shoes first.

"It is so fortuitous," Nadia, her trusted friend and advisor, said with a cringe as she watched from the door. "The timing, it is perfect. There are so few eggs to care for." She winced, not even trying to hide it; Atali didn't even want to know at this point. "And yet, I am not having good feeling about this…"

"I am relieved to hear you say this," Atali said with a sigh, rubbing her forehead. "Most males are unsightly, but this…" She hadn't before met anyone so dismissive and passively condescending before, and that before his atrocious manners came into consideration. "I am thinking, we wait. Try teach him better behaviour first." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"I am liking this idea," Nadia agreed, looking immensely relieved. "Also, how to bathe."

"I thought he has been shown the baths?"

"He has," Nadia groaned. "He is coming out as bad as he goes in."

"What will be happening if he doesn't learn?" a quiet, somewhat more timid voice asked from Atali's other side.

Atali inspected the source of the voice to put a name to the Wingmaiden; something else this Snotlout had failed at, he still only called her 'Chief' despite being given several chances. "Minden," Atali recalled, "I am thinking if he cannot learn, we skip straight to the end."

"Surely he is not being that bad?" Minden asked.

"You are still very young," Atali said warmly, leading her away from the hut. "The timing is good, but we should not be hasty. I am sure he is also being young, and only needs to grow some."

"I am liking that thought," the young Wingmaiden said cheerfully. "I am thinking he's funny. He makes me smile." Atali raised an eyebrow at her; there was someone for everyone, she supposed.

Dreamer hadn't realised how much he moved during flight.

Not a lateral movement, that was plenty obvious, but rather how much his whole body was involved in the process. Trying, and failing, to create a set of armour for a Night Fury was an eye-opener, and now that he was paying attention to it he couldn't help but notice.

Just for the sake of it, he performed a little drop and roll in the air as he scouted. First his shoulders rolled as his wings angled him, and he twisted at the waist to keep his tail level, retaining that control for just a moment longer. The wind coursing over the soft blades down his back and forelegs not only helped to direct him in the manoeuvre, but also gave him information on the speed and direction of the air around him, allowing his sub-fins and tail to respond to it before it even reached them.

His chest flexed as the powerful muscles wrapping around it pulled his wings in, and his legs shifted against his sides and tail as he stretched down towards the distant ocean below, subtly adjusting his weight. Even folded, his wings guided the air that rushed over his underside, and his tail finally followed him around in the roll. For an exhilarating moment he was flying downwards, pulling himself out of the way of the imagined attack, and then his back arched to right him and his wings spread to catch the air. They abruptly arrested his fall, the rest of his body balanced by his tail and even his sub-wings, spreading the weight so that it almost felt as if he'd landed on a cloud.

Such a simple manoeuvre, one used to instantly drop out of the way of an attack and pivot to almost any direction. If the attack was coming from the sides, as would usually be the case, he could also present his back instead of an opening at his throat and belly. He'd done it hundreds of times before, and he'd barely even thought about what he was doing as he'd learned it let alone once he'd mastered it.

Their first and only attempt at Night Fury armour had been a simple plated system, based on Windshear, to cover his chest and back. Immediately, they'd found that for the armour to be tight enough to stay put, it restricted his chest muscles and added tremendous strain when flapping. That wasn't so bad once he got some height, but the lack of air over his body was disorienting, like trying to run with one eye closed. Then he'd tried swerving a bit, which had made him feel like a rock with wings, the stiff plates restricting his movements.

His body was a precision tool, lithe and flexible, a carefully designed and highly accurate instrument. Trying to armour plate it and expect it to still function properly was folly. No doubt most of those problems would have solutions, but they would add complexity and weak spots that could be exploited, and at minimum it would take weeks of designing, building, and testing to reach anything usable – weeks they didn't have – and that ignoring any other problems they came up against.

It was strange. He hadn't felt naked since becoming a dragon, not really, but those Gronckle Iron arrows made him feel vulnerable in a very similar way.

In the weeks since Viggo's fall, the hunters had grown significantly more aggressive, in multiple cases forcing the riders to respond lethally. Far too often, the deciding factor of a fight seemed to be the hunters underestimating the dragons; Stormfly in particular reacted far more quickly and decisively to any threat than the average Spine-Tail. They were also operating in absolute chaos, each boat following their own rules and methods. Some had even taken to slaughtering the dragons they found, thoroughly testing Dreamer's resolve. The Gronckle and Nadder hadn't justified killing a crew of fifteen in recompense, but without just lopping off limbs, what could they do? If there were any repeat offenders, he'd need to think about that one a little harder.

He pawed at his head as he flew. This was all such a mess.

The sky-fire was just beginning to kindle as he returned to Dragon's Nest, its light tentatively reaching over the island and shining through the sparse foliage of the forests. Winter was on the way, and who knew what that meant for their efforts to stop the dragon hunters. Would they hunker down, keep hunting, or just give up and go home? Or something entirely unexpected? Many of the dragons around here would fly back to the egg-nest-island, but many would stay and make their own nests where they could, making themselves vulnerable targets.

But then Viggo had also had a presence at the egg-nest-island the year he and Wanderer had gone… Was that in danger too?

He stumbled into a landing in his den, and dragged his paws to their sleeping chamber. Wanderer was still inside, and cracked an eye open as he entered; Dreamer wasn't really trying to be silent. With a disapproving huff, he lifted a wing, and Dreamer sidled up against him. Mmrrr, he was warm…

And yet, as exhausted as Dreamer was, sleep did not come easily. He lay there, counting his breaths, occasionally rolling over, and pretended to be asleep when Wanderer roused, though his friend likely wasn't fooled. He did finally drift off, though he remained aware of the breeze blowing over the cave entrance, the minute sound of his scales brushing the rock as he breathed before rousing just before midday and feeling restless enough that he knew he was awake.

Had he been sleeping enough before? He certainly wasn't now, even if he wasn't really feeling it. Still, it was productive, he was flying out every day and every night, hunting down hunter ships and crippling them. Which reminded him…

He pulled himself to his paws and flexed his shoulders as he padded out of the den, walking out into the breeze to catch it under his wings. The sky had become overcast since dawn, threatening light rain, but for now it was holding back.

After coasting down to the communal hut, he somehow managed to almost trip over himself as he landed, then trotted inside and awkwardly fumbled a particularly shaped wood chip onto the map from a bowl, where he nudged it into place, then adjusted a few of the others that had moved.

"You were out again last night?" Astrid asked, walking over and staring down at the map. "These guys are all over the place. If we didn't have you keeping track of them all, we'd never know which was which." He rumbled an agreement; as it was, one hunter ship had been sailing in a big circle for the last three weeks. "Still, they don't seem to have found the islands we moved all the dragons to yet." Yet. Dreamer had been seeing to that, blasting whatever he could of anyone going the right direction. "Oh, and you found the last one, nice."

He grunted affirmative, simultaneously feeling relief and dread. The last of Viggo's Gronckle Iron ships, with its impenetrable hull, would be well on its way again by now.

"One more, then we only have to worry about wood again…" She sounded as conflicted as Dreamer felt.

Two of the armoured ships were with the Defenders, following dangerous but successful raids on them. One had been sunk just offshore from an island that had been home to some Fire-Scales; after Wanderer had fired through the hatch, it hadn't taken long for it to list in the water and sink, forcing the crew to swim for land. One was mysteriously beached on a rocky island, having been dragged ashore with many of the hull's panels askew or missing and no sign of its crew. And the last one was now sailing for the island the riders had been moving the Spine-Tails to.

"You think any of Stormfly's fledglings are there?" Astrid asked with wistful, worry.

"Probably yes," Dreamer responded. He didn't really know, he'd never really spent much time with them – if not for scent he probably wouldn't even be able to identify them – but most of the Spine-Tails in the Greater Archipelago had been encouraged to stay there for the time being. Having freed so many of them from hunters and their traps had been very helpful in gaining their trust.

Almost without warning, Ruffnut burst into the hut. "Quick, has anyone seen Yakkity?"

"Snotlout's pet yak?" Astrid asked with a grimace. "Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Ruffnut said with a shrug, and walked back out again.

Dreamer and Astrid stared after her for a moment.

"You know what, I don't even want to know," Astrid decided, then looked over the map again. "There isn't time to bring the Defenders into it," she said worriedly. "Not if we want to stop them before they reach the island. We'll have to take it ourselves… What do you think, hit them right before they go down for the night again?"

"Yes, that was good last time," he agreed, staring at the marker. They couldn't attack it at night, so far the crews of these ships just took down the sail, locked the hatches, and waited out the nights in the security of their floating strongboxes, and this one had been no exception. Targeting them at the end of the day, while they were tired and packing up for the night, was their best shot. But it was still risky.

Particularly as they were still a rider down, and sorely feeling the lack of muscle in these raids. They'd all had a part to play, and without Snotlout to back up Astrid and Fishlegs, they and their dragons more and more frequently needed support, particularly with the hunters becoming more reckless and brutal.

But they'd seen neither hide nor hair of Snotlout since he'd flown from Johann's boat. Dreamer huffed, and turned to walk outside, shaking his wings.

"You should take it easy today," Astrid called after him. "We want to be ready for the fight."

"I shoot their sail," he replied without stopping. He just wasn't capable of sitting still. But first he needed to check on Fishlegs' progress with upgrading the riders' equipment to Gronckle Iron, and make sure the twins were actually hunting and preparing the food stockpiles for winter. As always, there was too much to do to take it easy.

Wanderer watched Dreamer out of the corner of his eye as they flew.

It was clear he wasn't sleeping, even if he didn't look exhausted. He actually looked very similar to how he'd been when Fish-Legs had had stupid thinking; tense frills, narrow eyes, restless wings, stiff flying, forgetting to grind his claws and groom himself. He was still eating well, so that was something at least, and he wasn't pushing everyone away either, not completely.

So it wasn't the same thing, not as bad. But last time it had been his own bad thinking that had made him sick, while this time it was not so much bad thinking as… too much good thinking? Caring for others was good, but not to the point of failing to care for himself.

Wanderer sighed and gave his wings a few small flaps to maintain height and speed. He wanted to drag him away, out of all this mess and to somewhere they could just lie in the sun and coast on the breeze. But he knew his Dreamer would never accept that, could never leave while these hunters floated on their dreadfully slow ships. Still, that love and determination would make him an excellent sire one day.

The shiny ship came into sight in the distance, and he barked to alert the Long-Paws. This would be a dangerous fight... It was likely they had sick-making claws, and even the claws that could easily hurt Nightstrikers. The trick would be to hit them hard and fast, take out as many as they could before they could react, before they could find their bad claws.

They drifted apart as they approached the ship, so they wouldn't be so easily spotted. He had a moment to reflect how good it was to be flying with a pawful of nest-kin before they were high above the solitary shape in the water below, and then Dreamer folded his wings and everyone followed.

It was eerie, diving without using his sound-sight, but he grinned ferally all the same. All hunters knew to fear the sound… but they had also grown accustomed to expecting it.

The Nightstrikers hurtled ahead of the others, streamlined bodies cutting through the wind more effectively; that was the plan, to land first and cause a distraction for the others to take advantage of. Wanderer rolled his wing-shoulders, preparing for the strain he was about to put them through… then snapped out his wings and flared his tail-fins, braking hard against the air and then angling his surfaces to catch it and shoot forward. They were noticed right before the last moment, but not quickly enough.

Both he and Dreamer snatched a hunter from the deck, hauling on the extra weight to fling them out over the water as they shouted in surprise, which quickly escalated to panic as they fell. Wanderer worked his wings to pick up speed again, wary of thrown claws, and banked around the bulbous back of the ship to come in for another strike. This time he just flew straight into a hunter's side, shoving him to the ground – a body-length away – then bounced from the hard ground and over a claw being swung at him, clawing deep rents in the offending hunter's arms and chest in the process.

Storm-Fly landed on a hunter nearby, gently touching her paws to his shoulders before slamming him into the ground, and Astrid leapt off at the same time to run into the fight with a roar and her big claw held above her head.

Wanderer growled eagerly to Storm-Fly as he lunged forward, darting around a hunter running for him to pounce him from the side, away from his fat, rounded claw. It swung at him anyway, and the hunter stretched the strike to skim harmlessly from the scales on the side of his face, lacking any power. Still, it made him angry, and he responded in kind without any such hindrance and next to no restraint.

But the hunter deserved little of his attention, writhing on the ground and mewling agony as it now was, so he leaped at the next one with sharp claws outstretched and a snarl crackling from his mouth.

Almost too late he noticed the four hunters rush out of the den on the raised part of the ship, those dangerous bent sticks in their paws with a long claw in each. He threw aside the hunter in his teeth, then swung back around and fired three small shots in quick succession as he spun, striking two in the paws and the third in the chest.

The hunter he had thrown aside stumbled, remaining on his feet, then charged at Wanderer again with a swing of his long claw and a pathetic roar. It distracted him from the fourth hunter above them, but he spotted Dreamer covering it, standing on the back of a prone hunter. Wanderer snaked around the strike made at him, then grabbed the back of the arm in his teeth, reared up onto his hindlegs, and shoved the arm down onto the hunter as Dreamer fired. The arm cracked as it bent the wrong way…

And Dreamer's shot sailed straight past the hunter, whose claw then lanced from his bent stick and straight into Astrid's arm.

Astrid cried out in pain, and Wanderer grunted in frustration as he wrestled with the hunter under him to fire another shot. It struck the curved stick and blew it apart, while a second shot from Dreamer struck the low metal bars around the raised section of the ship.

Coldly, but out of necessity, Wanderer mentally scratched Dreamer from being of any use in this fight. Between missing those shots, and the horrified look on his face… It was almost over at least, so after wrenching his claws to still the hunter under him, Wanderer flapped up onto the top of the back of the ship to watch for any further trouble; he'd only been using small shots, so had enough plasma for or two more.

Storm-Fly was already taking care of the hunters around Astrid, gouts of fire and sweeps of her dangerous tail incapacitating or dissuading a pawful of hunters. Wanderer fired at the ground under one of the hunters the smell-alikes and their Two-Head were struggling with, quickly shifting the winds of that fight.

Fish-Legs was often overlooked in fights, he had a way of going unnoticed somehow – which was impressive, given his size – but he was using his block of metal on a stick to club a hunter that his Rock-Scale was shoving off-balance. He then made his way to help the others, and all the hunters were cleaned up in short order.

Satisfied the fighting was over, Wanderer leaped down and padded up to Astrid. She was asking Storm-Fly something, and then the Spine-Tail delicately but swiftly bit the back off the thing in her arm. Astrid hissed in pain, but wasted no time yanking out the now much shorter claw, then tossed it away as Storm-Fly licked each side of the wound.

Wanderer's gaze drifted to Dreamer, still standing on the same hunter, looking stunned. And rightfully so. He'd missed… twice. It hadn't even been a difficult shot. They had both clearly underestimated his exhaustion.

Astrid had noticed too, as well as Fish-Legs and one of the Two-Head; he was arguing with himself, one of him shooting glances at Dreamer and the other of him snapping at him for it.

Wanderer took a deep breath, then wrinkled his nose at the blood in the air.

"Yeah, we did a number on them," Astrid mumbled, a hard edge of pain to her voice. "Came out of it okay though." She nudged a motionless hunter with her paw.

"Mostly okay," Ruffnut hummed. "That was a wicked wound though! And you were still fighting, even with an arrow in your arm, man, that was awesome." Her Two-Head barked agreement.

"Yeah, getting lots of great scars," Astrid replied unenthusiastically.

Wanderer put them out of his mind, and walked up to his Dreamer. He didn't say anything, just purred and nuzzled his cheek. He could see Dreamer's frustration with himself, and there was nothing more to say.

He draped a wing over Dreamer and led him off of the hunter he was still standing on, towards where the others were grouping.

"Viggo were full ov i'," a mostly lucid hunter was saying. "Ain't no dragon in charge."

"Feel free to keep thinking that," Astrid chirped. "It'd be great to watch from Valhalla while he avenges me."

"This is boring," Tuffnut groused. "There's nothing interesting in their pockets and they aren't gonna be hunting in their condition."

"Yeah," Ruffnut agreed, sagging as she walked back to her Two-Head. "Let's head back and hit the fleece. I'm beat. Like, really beat…"

"We all are," Fish-Legs agreed. Wanderer had no doubt that had they not just been involved in a tense battle, they would all be yawning nonstop, including himself.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Astrid agreed, then walked over a prone hunter and gingerly climbed into her saddle.

As they flew from the hunter ship and gained height, Dreamer drifted away from the rest of the group. Wanderer let him have his space, after a little distance he would glide over and they would fly together but for now he clearly wanted time to be alone.

Which was good. "Hey," he chuffed to Astrid, needing to talk to her before the sinking sky-fire quenched, and she looked at him with tense but weary eyes. "I have thinking," he said with a glance at Dreamer.