The door slammed closed.

Shriek! Crash, thump, clatter!

Wanderer huffed, then gave himself a shake and pawed at his stinging ear. He'd tried being friendly about it, he hadn't minded being in there, but if it was going to be like that then he'd rather relax outside in the fresh air, though it was cold.

"I'm not sure this sits right with me," Fish-Legs said uncertainly, then jolted at another loud thump from the door he was holding closed. "Won't this be like… traumatic or something? You know…"

"Not worry," Wanderer snorted, then plopped himself down in front of the door. It was for his own good, after all.

Another shriek rang out from inside, and then the door thumped into his side, causing only a brief moment of discomfort. It would stop him from sleeping, but Dreamer would eventually figure out that he was stuck inside. Maybe if he was good, he would be brought some fish, but he wasn't going to be let out until he'd had some proper rest. Perhaps Snotlout's den was not the best place, but it was the only place they could sensibly restrain him.

Scrabbling and scraping sounds came from inside the den, and Wanderer huffed in amusement. Perhaps if Dreamer had actually been grinding his claws, they'd be sharp enough to scratch through the wood, and short enough to put weight behind.

The hut descended into silence, and Fishlegs gave Wanderer a tense, worried look before warily creeping away and then climbing down from the tree-ground around Snotlout's den, still looking uncomfortable. Wanderer folded his paws and rested his head on them, enjoying the light on his back, though there was no warmth in it this close to the cold-season.

A long whine of pleading, desperate, lonely, came from inside the den. Wanderer growled back at him; if he wanted company, he shouldn't have bitten him.

…

The door thumped against his side again, followed by more shrieking and thumping and crashing, and Wanderer snorted. The longer this went on, the longer he was going to stay in there.

It was such a strange tribe that Snotlout had found himself in.

A lot of it was familiar. Everyone had their jobs, whether that was fishing, hunting, building, whatever else people in a village did. They would all eat in the morning and the evening, meals served in the big hut that functioned as a Great Hall. On the surface it looked normal.

But living here for a few days, certain things felt off. There were no little kids running around to impress. Occasionally he saw someone who looked young, but they had to be at least ten. There were no crying babies, no screaming toddlers, and no rebellious teenagers.

Then there was that next to nothing was metal. After having had ample time to stare, he was pretty sure their armour wasn't metal either, it was way too light and made the wrong sounds when something bumped against it. He suspected it was Razorwhip plating, a dragon he commonly heard mentioned in conversation.

He eyed a group of women, casually talking as they sat on the thick branches of a tree. None of them held weapons, though they clearly had time off. How would they get comfortable with their weapons if they weren't always carrying them? They only had spears, as far as he'd seen, which were surprisingly difficult to carry through the sort of dense terrain this island featured. Casual, that was a good word for how this village felt. Nobody was in a rush, there were no fights or arguments, it was weird.

"Are you ready, Snotlout?" the Chief asked, apparently unfazed by the huge log across her shoulders, a pace long and two feet wide. Their Chief seemed to have nothing but free time to spend with Snotlout, however much he tried to get away from her.

"Eh, take your time," he replied casually, though really, the similar log on his own back was making it a little difficult to breathe. Despite that, he was confident, he always thrashed everyone in the sheep-carrying contest at Thawfest and this was basically the same thing. "Just as long as you're ready." They might have found some way to beat him at boar wrestling, and somehow cheated at sparring, and they lived in the trees so it would have been embarrassing if he'd beaten them at climbing, and the same for spear throwing because that would be like them trying to throw his axe-

"I am ready, so we go," the Chief said in her clipped accent, and took a step forward, watching him expectantly.

"Go?" he asked, then leaned forward and pushed off, quickly leaving her behind. "Snotlout, Snotlout, oy oy oy," he chanted through heavy breaths, his Jorgenson strength more than enough to leave this woman in his dust.

Despite everything, he was still proud to be a Jorgenson of Berk, the strongest clan outside of the Berserkers, and he was in the prime of his life. Nobody could beat him.

And yet, in a horrifyingly familiar scene, he spotted movement beside him and glanced to see the Chief gradually overtaking him. He almost tripped there and then, but he would not lose! Not in the exact same way as Thawfest!

He pushed himself harder than ever, though they were still far from the village. It kept him ahead, barely, but all too soon, his body betrayed him, unable to keep the punishing pace he was forcing with the massive burden on his shoulders.

Just as it had happened before, he could only watch as a woman overtook him. No, he couldn't accept this, there had to be a reason for it!

She was waiting for him when he finally reached the village, watching him from where she was sitting on her upturned log. He dropped his own onto its end next to hers and sat on it, gasping for breath. She was winded as well, and dripping with sweat, but all he could think was how? He was stronger, had more muscle, so how had she won!? She must have cheated.

"Always an invigorating run," she said, then exhaled loudly and leaned on her knees. "You run well. Better than most our visitors."

He kept his conclusion to himself, though. These women were sneaky, and until he could prove exactly how she'd cheated, he wouldn't call her out on it. "We Jorgensons," he said, then had to pause to take a few breaths, "are the best runners." The best at everything, really.

"Very good runners," she said, her tone light but her words infuriatingly condescending.

"The best," he repeated; he wouldn't take that from anyone.

"...Well then, shall we try something else?" she asked, standing and then unhooking a vine from a nearby tree.

"Sure," he said flatly. He either needed to win something, or figure out how they were cheating.

"They are doing no good here," she said with a wave of her hand, then pointed to the village above. "They need be up there."

"Alright, how?" he asked; running with it was one thing, but nobody could heft these things while climbing a vine, that just wasn't possible.

She handed him a vine, and he stared at it. No way… "Wrap it around your log," she said, then started tying up her own log. "Then we climb, then lift the vine." Right, that was much more likely to work.

He grabbed the vine and hopped from the log. "Sounds like a-"

His breath caught in his throat. "Hey!" he shouted triumphantly. "My log was bigger than yours!" Indeed, stood next to each other, it was really obvious that his log was a whole palm taller than hers.

"Yours was longer, yes," she agreed. "Is that problem?"

"Uh, yeah?" he said with an incredulous grin; was she really playing this stupid? "Longer means more wood, more weight. No wonder you were faster." He crossed his arms, a wide smile across his face. Got her.

She frowned at the logs. "If yours was heavier, you would be slower."

Seriously? She was really playing stupid. "Yeah… Pretty basic stuff. You're the Chief, right? That wasn't very fair of you." He wasn't letting her talk her way out of it.

"I see. I take this log then." She took the vine from him and started tying it up. "It is only being fair."

And now she was making it easy for him. He'd win this hands down with how much heavier it clearly was, there was no way she was that much stronger than him. "I could lift it," he clarified, "but if we're making a race of it then yeah, it's all yours babe." He sauntered over to her log and, because he wasn't sure she hadn't tampered with it somehow, redid the knot and inspected the vine. He didn't find any nicks in the tough plant, but the cause would be pretty clear if it did break.

They climbed up to the trees above – where was Hookfang, anyway? – and he pulled himself up onto the decking right behind the Chief. "Ready?" she asked, grabbing her vine.

"When you are," he said smugly, grabbing his own rope.

"Then go," she said, and he heaved on the vine. The log was heavy, and he was weary, but he lifted it surely and steadily, settling into a good rhythm and powering through the length of the vine.

But… as it neared, and he could more easily judge the distance… it was impossibly clear that she was lifting her log faster than he could lift his. He picked up the pace as best he could, but she was already ahead, and stayed ahead, right up to pulling the lump of wood up onto the deck.

He slowed, unable to figure it out. She had to have cheated again. He didn't know how, but she had.

"Need help?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and a smug smile.

"Not on your life," he growled, then hefted the log the last of the distance and roughly yanked it up onto the deck.

"Good workout," she said, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders. "These cook big feast tonight! Thank you for helping."

He remained silent, staring at the-

"Wait a minute," he said, then rolled his log back a bit to sit next to hers. "Your log is thicker!"

"Yes, they really are same size-"

"No! Your log is thicker, that means more wood! You gave me the heavier log both times!" Now he was mad, how had he fallen for that?

She stared at him. "They are same logs," she said slowly.

"And you tricked me into taking the heavier one both times! I don't believe this." He was angry at her, but he was angry at himself too. He should know better than that!

The Chief was silent for a long time. When she spoke, she looked at him strangely, and her voice was quiet but firm. "I understand now. We are not being fair. Rest now. Feast later. Sleep. Next morning, I shall send Wingmaidens to… tend you…"

"Wait, really?" He was thrown by the sudden reversal of attitudes, his anger evaporating. He'd been spending the last few days trying to avoid the Chief so he could scout out the women most likely to sneak off with him, but she was pretty much handing him… "Wingmaidens?" he asked, emphasising the plural. "And… when you say tend…"

"We cannot have males on our island," the Chief explained calmly, staring out over the village. "Not for much time. The Razorwhips do not trust when we carry male scent. As we show you, we do not need males. Except, for one thing…" She gave him a sideways look. "Today, rest."

Snotlout was practically trembling from both exhaustion and anticipation. "Rest, sure," he said, feeling lightheaded. Was he hearing right? He'd been ready to fly off a moment ago, but to Hel with that! He didn't need any rest, but his mouth wasn't forming the words, and then the Chief was already walking away, calling out to someone. Besides, it would only make him look desperate.

He turned and walked stiffly back to his hut. To the hut with the incredibly soft and fluffy bed. This was going to be a very long evening…

Dreamer stood, figuring enough time had passed. He'd counted his heartbeats to a hundred twice since he'd heard Wanderer flying off, and they had no reason to suspect he was even awake.

Of course he was awake. Not that he'd slept much last night, but if he couldn't sleep then, how could he sleep now? But they didn't know that.

He nosed at the door, finding resistance. "Oh no you don't," Astrid said from the other side. This might be even easier than he'd thought. "You're staying there until you're nice and rested."

"Need," Dreamer whined, then shuffled his hindlegs, ensuring his claws clicked on the wood. "Need out!" He didn't really, usually he could go two days – though it was more like one lately – but Astrid probably didn't know that, or when he'd last gone.

There was silence from the other side of the door for a while, the only sound his claws against the floor. "...You need to pee?"

He snorted, then gave her an awkward, noncommittal sound.

"...Or… Oh…"

Come on come on come on… He yowled for emphasis, then started nosing through some of the clutter that littered the floor to make a bit of racket, as if searching for something; Snotlout's hut was a mess, though not much more of one than before he'd been shut inside.

"All right, all right, hang on…" There was a shuffling, then the door cracked open. "But-"

He shoved his nose into the gap, his eyes instantly adjusting to the overcast daylight as it hit his face, then squeezed outside and leapt for the edge of the deck-

...But he did understand why they had done what they had, so he stopped there and looked back at Astrid, who was staring warily and unsurely at him from her backside next to the door. His eyes went to the sling around her neck, the faint bloodstain in the cloth. "I sorry for your arm," he said, and her eyes went wide as he leapt into the air.

He was out, but he wasn't necessarily free. Wanderer had been very clear he was staying in there however long he deemed necessary, and it was doubtful he would think this long enough. But they couldn't just keep him cooped up in there, he could be scouting at least, that wasn't dangerous and wouldn't get anyone hurt. Wanderer didn't see it that way, and would do his best to ensure he stayed.

Thankfully, it was overcast; though it would be unusual for it not to be, as close to winter as they were. Still, every moment counted, so he ducked down and out of sight of Astrid to zip around the Nest and start climbing from a different direction. It bought him crucial time before she shouted after him, possibly drawing Wanderer's attention.

It depended how far away he was. Dreamer needed to make it into the clouds, then far enough that sound-sight would not find him. It didn't matter whether Wanderer was following him yet or not, looking back would only slow him down, so he kept climbing as fast as he could.

He made it into the clouds and levelled off for a few moments, practically blind but safe in the knowledge nothing else was up here to crash into. Then he arbitrarily picked a direction, roughly north, and poured on the speed.

An impossibly loud bark, muted by distance, reached him, and he changed directions to fly slightly more west. Had Wanderer spotted him with that sound-sight-bark, he would probably assume he'd go northeast.

It didn't feel good, going against everyone like this, but he couldn't just sit around. He was stressed and tired, he knew that, but sitting around doing nothing while these hunters ravaged the dragon population of the Greater Archipelago was anything but restful. They were uncoordinated, unpredictable, and he had to keep an eye on them, slow them down where he could. Keep doing something.

Besides, they had locked him in that smelly den. That hadn't been very nice of them, either.

There was another explosive sound-sight, further in the distance behind him, and then a faint roar. Dreamer hung his head and just let himself glide for a little while. He had to do this, but he wished it didn't feel so terrible.

Still, flying was relaxing. Terrible and unproductive thoughts kept creeping into his head, thoughts of Viggo, Ryker, dead dragons, and Astrid's arm, but just focusing on the wind blowing between his frills was calming, like a large hand perpetually stroking his head. He only needed to remember to focus on it again when he inevitably got distracted, such as when he spotted a ship and promptly blasted apart the mast. It was easier to aim without a hunter under his paws trying to buck him off; though that wasn't an excuse for why he had missed yesterday.

He swung around to check that, yes, that one hunter ship was still sailing in circles. He initially thought it some clever plot, and spent hours thinking about it before realising he was being an idiot. Viggo was gone, there were no more clever plots. They really were just lost or something, maybe the captain couldn't decide on a course or the crew couldn't decide on a captain. They were in an area bare of dragons, and though they only needed to sail south for a day to find some, he left them to it. They weren't doing any harm.

A small shape on the water turned out to be a hunter ship, having rigged up a broken mast, crooked and low. Dreamer snorted and chuckled in amusement, though maybe it was still faster than rowing… barely. Still, he knew this to be a ship that had still been hunting dragons, and they were sailing south, so he flew over to it, pulled in his wings, and fired on it, breaking the mast onto even more pieces. If they wanted to survive, they would need to turn around and start rowing, because it would take them longer than a week to get anywhere in the direction they were going.

This was… not as much progress as he would like, but it was something. He was protecting the dragons they had moved. Hopefully they would stay there when winter came, but if not, the hunters would be hindered by the weather at least… it would just mean more work for him.

A distant call reached his ears, coming from a nearby island. Odd, he hadn't thought there were any dragons there, and it was loud for him to hear it this far away. He heard it again, more clearly this time, and recognised it as a Spine-Tail. He narrowed his eyes and turned towards it.

The island was small and unassuming, perhaps somewhere a Spine-Tail would stop for a rest but probably not nest on. It was surrounded by shallow water, big reefs visible under the surface, and what looked like a modest spring flowed from the top of a low mountain to drop down a waterfall and wind through a snaking river into the sea.

There was nothing out of place about it, no felled trees, or ships moored on the shores, or tents anywhere in sight. The Nadder might be stuck in a trap though, something set up that the hunters would return to eventually. Viggo had not used such methods, but there was no telling what any of the hunters would do now.

The Nadder roared again, the sound heavy with anger, pain, coming from somewhere behind him, around the base of the mountain. He turned and angled towards it, wary of his distance from the forest below, and then soared on the wind to peer through the canopy. Was it safe to go down?

Right as he thought that, his body seized as he heard that dreadful sound of something small cutting through the air, or multiple small things in this case. It came with a realisation that he was high enough up from the forest, but not the mountain-

He jolted as a sharp impact pierced just under his ribs, a loud shriek forcing its way through him as the dragonroot bled into him, turning his blood to fire and his wings to paper.

Existence was excruciating. He tried to grab at something, anything, as the wind rushed past him, then screeched even louder as the wound exploded into an unbelievably intense agony, and he blacked out for a moment.

Only a moment, because he was still falling. It felt as if he'd been falling forever, but he needed to get his wings out…! They trembled and shook as he blindly tried to right himself and catch the wind under them, though every movement seemed to tug on the wound under his chest.

And then, somehow, he was gliding. He clenched his teeth and fought through everything to open his eyes, finding himself much closer to the forest than he would have liked, slipping away below him only a few body-lengths away.

But then his wings faltered, almost seeming to disappear from his back, and the canopy suddenly leapt up to engulf him-

"Snotlout," someone whispered. "Snotlout!"

"Who wha?" he mumbled as he drifted between sleep and waking, torn between immersion in the amazing dream he was having and the hope that this voice meant it was becoming reality.

He blinked, finding one of the gorgeous Wingmaidens leaning over him by the light of a candle, and inhaled sharply as he instantly woke. "Good morning," he said enticingly-

"Put this on," she whispered, and something hard hit his nose as a light weight fell on him and everything went dark.

"Ow," he said reflexively, then threw the stuff off his face for it to land in his lap, and he recognised the belt buckle that had hit him in the face. "Put it on?" he asked blankly; surely she'd rather he left it off?

"Quickly," she said, peering around the floor and ducking down, and then one of his boots nearly hit him in the head. Maybe she wanted him to dress so she could undress him? She certainly seemed to be in a hurry. Maybe she wasn't supposed to be here-

"Okay," he agreed, finding his undergarments in the pile and pulling them on; the cold fabric helped to further wake him. "We going somewhere?" he asked as he dressed, keen for whatever she wanted to do. He didn't know enough about this village, maybe someone would hear them here?

She found his other boot, tossed it onto the bed, and briskly walked across the room. "Put out the candle when you are done," she whispered, then started slowly opening the door. "Quietly."

"How does someone loudly put out a-"

She shushed him, and he instead busied himself with pulling his vest on.

"Candle," she reminded him as he started walking towards her, and he spun to blow it out before joining her at the door. "Come."

She crept out of the hut, and he rolled his eyes as she started sneaking. If anyone saw her, she couldn't possibly look more suspicious. Oh well, there didn't seem to be anyone around. "So where we going?" he murmured as she paused to peer around a pair of huts.

"You are leaving," she said tersely.

"What?" He almost turned back right there and then. "Why? Don't you know what's happening in the morning? Or, wait, you want me to take you with me?" Maybe afterwards…

"Of course I am knowing," she huffed, then started creeping along again. "They strip you down… or would… then hogtie you-"

"Hey, I'm up for-"

"-then carry you into forest and leave for Razorwhips to kill."

...Oh. Well that was a bummer. "Why would they do that?" he asked suspiciously. "I'm Snotlout."

She groaned. "And who am I?"

"...Mindy?" he guessed. She looked familiar.

"Minden," she snapped, then suddenly shoved him into open air. His heart stopped for the moment before he could grab the vine she'd thrown him into. "Go to your dragon, fly from here," she said down to him.

"Uh…" He actually had no idea where Hookfang was, or even if he was still on the island. He hadn't seen him in days.

"You cannot be serious," Minden groaned. "Do you still have the dragon?"

"Hookfang wouldn't leave me," he shot back. "I just… don't know where he is." And shouting for him would undoubtedly alert the Wingmaidens- "Wait, why am I doing this again?"

"Why I bother," she mumbled, then grabbed the vine next to him and zipped down to the ground. He followed her down, barely managing to not burn his hands in the process.

"Look," she said sternly as his boots hit the ground, "they all laughing because you think they will mate you. I am thinking you are not bad, but you are… unpleasant company. More than most." He tried to get a word in, but she just talked right over the top of him. "You leave everything messy, spray food over feast when you talk, talk down to us, like you are thinking we are lesser, act like you better than everyone. Atali tries to show you that you not, but then you just say we cheat! And you really need bath. Maybe if there was some good… I am thinking you are funny. Other Wingmaidens are not thinking that. They think you will give them bad children."

"Nothing good?" he echoed, head spinning. "What about all this?" He flexed his arms.

"Is that all you think we care about? Is serious question. Do you?"

He stared at her, arms slowly returning to his sides.

"You are being stupid if you are thinking that," she said with a roll of her eyes. "But I am thinking you are being bit stupid anyway."

"Then why are you doing this? If I'm that bad, why are you 'helping'?"

She fretfully glanced up at the village before responding. "Because I am thinking we are not being fair. You were passing through only. You do not know what we are wanting, or what we do." She shook her head. "I am not liking it, but is necessary. We find a male, all take him, then leave him for Razorwhips. That way females know they are not needing to worry if they scent him on us. But I am thinking there is some hope for you, that you can be good person, also we did not choose you and you are only getting death here. Go, become that person. She hunched a bit, then stared at him with wide eyes. "Maybe, once you are him, you will come back…?"

Admittedly, he was struggling to keep up with all this, but from what she was saying that sounded like a bad idea. "You mean, to either make all the dragons mad, or get myself killed?"

She flinched at that. "You're right. That was being selfish." She put a hand on his shoulder and stared intently into his eyes. "I am trusting you to keep our secret. Keep us secret. Please, can you do this? I am not feeling good about what Atali wanted to do with you, but I do not want to betray my tribe."

"I won't tell anyone," he blurted out, an odd feeling crystallising inside him. Somehow, he knew that he wouldn't betray her. He didn't really get it, but he understood what she had put on the line for him.

She nodded. "Go." Then she rolled her eyes. "Your dragon is probably being that way," she gestured off into the trees. "I have seen him sunning on rocks. If we find you before you are finding him… perhaps you should be remembering your friends in next life."

"Mindy," he called after her as she jumped up to grab the vine.

"Minden," she shot down.

"Minden, sorry," he hastily corrected himself. "Um… Thanks."

"You are growing already," she mused, and then her silhouette disappeared among that of the forest.

Well… great. This had gone from one of the most promising nights of his life to one of the worst. On an unfamiliar island, nothing but his axe on his belt, in the middle of the night, trying to find his dragon before a bunch of crazy women could find him. "Just fantastic," he grumbled to himself as he set off through the trees.

Wanderer paced the mouth of the den, snarling, barely noticing as his lashing tail slapped against the rock wall, furious and worried and afraid and disappointed and regretful and probably several other things he was too wound up to identify, staring out at the cloudy sky that Dreamer had still not returned from.

He was always back by night, even if he usually went out again. Either he was being a stupid immature hatchling and was staying out, making everyone worry for him, or he was a stupid immature hatchling who had got himself hurt or worse. Normally it would certainly be the latter, but in this case he might be angry over being forced to rest. Wanderer didn't think so, but it was a possibility.

But that meant he thought his Dreamer was out there, hurt and probably afraid, at best. But he could return at any time, it was still early in the night, but Wanderer couldn't do anything for him here if he needed help, but if he didn't need help then he was going to!

Wanderer snarled to himself and leaped out into the air, wishing he'd tried harder to follow in the first place, even just flying around randomly and hoping they flew into each other. He couldn't help but feel that he had lost his precious Dreamer, the one who lent strength to his wings, speed to his hunts, and fire to his blood. He felt lost himself, a scared little fledgling, faced with a daunting task to learn how to live life on his own… again.

He snarled at himself, shaking his head and then setting his nose to the wind. All he could do now was fly around, roaring at all the small-lands, and hope he got a reply. Almost anything would be better than this worry that gripped him. Almost.

Snotlout cursed as he slapped a branch out of the way. At least he could say he hadn't run into this one, but that was only because he could see it, and that was because the sun was rising!

Where in Hel was Hookfang!? And for that matter, where were his saddlebags? He didn't remember taking them off… Hookfang knew how to slip out of them, but he had no idea where they'd ended up. Not that he really cared that much about them or their contents, but losing them would be inconvenient.

"Hookfang!" he shouted, while he still could. Begrudgingly, with his life probably depending on it, he had to admit these Wingmaidens could run him down if they found him, and he didn't want to try fighting them for real. That armour of theirs was very effective, and they wielded their spears well.

This time, there was a deep rumble nearby, and he slapped aside another branch to walk towards it. "Finally!" he shouted. "So you have any idea how long I've been-"

He shoved his way through a bush, and abruptly found it was definitely not Hookfang he'd stumbled on. A shining silver dragon was uncoiling from where it had slumbered under a rock, though the plates over its back and shoulders were dulled by a plethora of scratches. Its anglular head was wide at the back, which tapered into two short horns either side of its neck, and its angular plating narrowed to a point at its snout, which parted to reveal two rows of thick, sturdy teeth as it stared at him with deep blue eyes.

Snotlout stared back at the dragon as it stood on its thick, muscular legs that sported hooked barbs, long silver claws sliding out of its paws, and its long tail rippled as dozens of thin, needle-like barbs flexed along it. The armour on its shoulders and hips tapered up into points, and sharp protrusions ran down its spine.

It could only be a Razorwhip, though aside from the armour, it bore little resemblance to Windshear. Compared to this dragon, Windshear was a harmless little Terrible Terror. This dragon looked infinitely more lethal, and far more ready to disembowel him. "Nice… Razorwhip?" he said slowly.

While making a sound like dragging a boulder through gravel, it coiled and leapt at him, and he fled as fast as his legs would carry him. "Hookfang!" he yelled a little more desperately, squeezing through a gap between a pair of small trees that then cracked behind him as the dragon pushed through them. "HOOKFANG!"

He spared a glance back just in time to see it aim its open maw at him, and he threw himself to the ground as searing hot fire lanced through the air, singeing his hair. He then had to desperately roll out of the way as heavy paws thudded into the dirt around him, and he found himself staring up at the Razorwhip's chest and neck.

By sheer chance, he'd ended up in its blind spot. Not that he could stay there forever, but it bought him a moment to catch his breath and think of something while its head twitched around to look for him.

"You are being very lucky," an amused voice said from nearby. "But I am thinking this will not end well for you."

He glared at the Wingmaiden, who was casually leaned against a tree, and almost said something scathing back at her… but remembered at the last moment that he was in a blind spot, not a deaf spot.

They thought he was good for nothing? Screw that, he'd show them exactly what he could do.

The dragon started backing up, and he sat up and then moved into a crouch to keep under it. When he got his feet under him, he grabbed at one of the horns on its head, quickly pulling it towards himself, and at the same time lay a hand on its neck.

Its paws splayed to keep its balance, meaning it could not lift them to claw at him, and its wing was incapable of reaching this far forward. He didn't know where he knew this move from, and he didn't care. Its neck was strong, and more than capable of just lifting him, but only if he let it out of the stretched position he was holding it in.

Which he did, after only a moment, and it jolted back with the unexpected release. Before it could recover, he slipped his axe out of its loop and let it drop to the ground.

By Thor, he hoped this would work. He'd shown it he could have killed it, by touching its neck – though realistically, it probably would have got him first – and was saying he didn't want to fight. It seemed to be working, the dragon didn't attack again, just paced back and forth, snarling and hissing angrily at him while he just stood there holding his arms out.

Finally, it roared at him, leaving a ringing in his ears, and then tossed its angular head towards his axe and glared at him.

"I am not believing it," the Wingmaiden said, sounding far less smug.

"Believe it, babe," he said back without really paying attention. This wasn't even close to being over, and he really didn't want to actually fight this thing.

But if it was anything like Hookfang, it was mad that he had won one over on it and wanted to even the score. Backing down from the challenge would only mean a cowardly, if quick, death.

"Okay," he said breathlessly, not quite believing what he was about to do, "let's dance…" He picked up his axe and immediately began circling to his left, to keep his weapon poised to strike. He would feel a lot better with a shield, but he hadn't even had one before he'd lost all his stuff.

"A Jorgenson only needs what he's got," he said to himself, preparing for the first strike.

When the Razorwhip lunged at him, he had to reassess his strategy and immediately dove under it, rolling to his feet and swatting the tail away with his axe as it whipped at him. He was used to fighting Hookfang, but Hookfang was used to fighting humans. This Razorwhip was only used to fighting other Razorwhips, and was treating him as a big aggressive dragon.

It looked over its shoulder at him with an angry growl, and Snotlout's breath hitched as the barbs on its tail flexed. He leaped, stumbled, found his feet, then sprinted and ducked away from the hail of spines that hissed through the air around him. He only stopped once he reached a tree just thick enough to hide him, miraculously unhurt.

Unhurried footsteps moved towards him from the other side, and he readied his weapon. He had little chance of breaking through that armour, but its eyes were vulnerable, and it would be disoriented by a blow to the head. Again, he really felt the lack of a shield, to make noise. Only need what I got…

Crunch

He took a startled step back as the tree shuddered, then flinched as twigs rained down on him. Crunch, cra-a-a-ack, it shuddered again, and then a chunk of wood the size of his head was tossed to the side. It was literally biting its way through a solid tree rather than go around it.

"I'm starting to like you," Snotlout said aloud. "Why go around it when you can go through it? Classic." There was still the problem of it trying to kill him though.

Crunch

He was tempted to cut at the tree from this side, just to see what it would do, but his axe was made to cleave meat, not wood; he didn't know exactly what the difference was, just that there was one. Instead, he waited for the next bite, then shouted as loudly as he could in lieu of beating a shield and rounded the tree with a swing of his axe. The heavy blade bounced off its armoured head, and its eye swivelled to look at him as it unhooked its teeth from the bark-

A red-orange blur dropped onto the Razorwhip, landing in a shrieking, roaring tangle. "Hookfang!" Snotlout shouted, relieved. "Hookfang!" he shouted again when he remembered just how spiky the dragon he'd landed on was.

Still, he was on its back, and lit himself on fire for good measure. Snotlout had to back away from the initial flare of heat, shielding his face, then stepped in and struck the Razorwhip in the face again. His axe failed to find purchase, but worked as well as any blunt instrument, disorienting it and distracting it. Hookfang then shoved off it, grabbed Snotlout's arms in his talons, and lifted into the air.

"You're lucky we're not hanging around!" he shouted back to it as he watched it shrink into the distance below. "Don't worry!" he called out as he spotted the Wingmaiden gaping at him. "I'll keep your tribe a secret!" Then he was above the canopy and flying away from the crazy island.

He was leaving. Not quite in the way he expected, and he couldn't see any straps through the flames roaring above him, and there was a big angry Razorwhip trying to follow – nothing could beat a Nightmare in raw strength, and they were climbing fast – but he was leaving. It had been fun while it lasted, spending time in a whole tribe of women eyeing him up. Maybe he wasn't totally against coming back one day.

"What's wrong?" he asked as they levelled off, the fires finally burning off. Something didn't feel right-

He inhaled sharply as he got a look at Hookfang's underside, cut up and bleeding as it was. A double-ring of puncture marks wrapped around one of the legs holding him.

Two sets of teeth. A vague memory of an argument over poison and venom. Razorwhip. "Hookfang?" he asked.

His dragon rolled in the air, allowing him to scramble around onto his bare back. "Hooky?" he pressed.

The Nightmare groaned, head turning to briefly look back at him with downcast eyes.

Oh no…

The decision required no thought whatsoever. "Take us back," he said firmly, putting a hand to his dragon's neck. "As fast as you can go."

Dragging… Wings and tail dragging in the damp leaves, scales dragging across rock…

Dreamer couldn't fight it. The familiar sickness of dragonroot still gripped him, less intense than he had once been accustomed to but at the same time feeling much worse. After the initial shock of pain, it wasn't so much a constant agony and enraging fire coursing through him as… maybe like something grinding against his bones. He felt unbelievably wrong, and it felt horrible.

But wrong wasn't dead. He clung to that, every time he blacked out and woke up again, he wasn't dead. As long as that kept happening, he would have a chance.

He tried opening his eyes, but the sight of the ground moving below him almost made him paint it with the contents of his stomach, and he quickly closed them again.

Some time later, he noticed he had stopped moving. A ship, a cave, something, but it was lit by firelight.

He still wasn't dead, so he rested, able to do nothing but wait for this sickness to run its course. Then he could talk, try to reason with his attackers. If all else failed, he could fight his way free; he had a depressing amount of experience at that.

Finally, as he woke for what must have been the hundredth time, he felt the grip of the sickness slipping. He blearily opened his eyes to behold rock reaching up and over him, some sort of cave lit by daylight streaming in from behind him.

By his nose was a limp rabbit, which he happily snapped down, and a shallow dish of water, only a sip to wet his tongue but appreciated nonetheless. As far as being shot out of the air went, this wasn't terrible. He felt sore, but his wings were still on his back and his tail was unharmed and unrestrained.

Actually… none of him was restrained. What exactly was stopping him from just walking out?

He groaned as he rolled his head, then fought his stiff muscles to look around. The cave entrance was sort of behind him, water rushing down past it but otherwise nothing noteworthy. No bars, no guards.

He turned to look at the back of the cave-

And scrabbled back with a startled shriek, every movement tearing painfully through his stiff muscles and washing him with that dull sick feeling, but that just didn't matter when faced with Dagur, sat on a boulder with an arm resting on a raised knee and watching him with cold, unreadable eyes.

Author's Notes

Oof, it feels like it's been a while since we've had a good cliffhanger. Well, see you next week!