The call of nature was a potent motivator, a mix of instinct and desire to perpetuate the cycle of life in all species. In many of the winged reptile variants, as the nights grew long and the cold-season's icy bite hung in the air, males became single-minded with lust, and females craved to lay their eggs and hear the chirping of their little ones.
That call had been slowly building for pawfuls of sky-fire-cycles, and all it had taken was one young Spine-Tail to start the exodus, to fly into the air for thousands to follow, prompting others still to find their own nesting places rather than the crowded small-land that had been almost the sole breeding place for untold generations; some small-lands contained appropriate nesting grounds and enough members of a species that they did not need to fly anywhere.
On one particular small-land, host to a volcano and a bustling nest of friendly Long-Paws, five heads lifted to the cloud of flapping wings in the distance, calls faintly audible on the wind.
The Spine-Tail was the first to turn away, returning her head to beneath her wing. She had been extremely active these last seasons, flying constantly and raising her own unusually rambunctious clutch. Much of her life recently had also been generally stressful, particularly fighting Long-Paws directly; raiding for the queen had never involved much fighting, mostly taking prey and trying not to get killed. The thought of adding a pawful of squawking hatchlings to her life only made her anxious.
The Rock-Scale was the next. Her burden was heavy, which wasn't a problem, but carrying him took its toll. Her thick hide had also shielded her from many attacks since the last cold-season, while the hide of fledglings was not so tough, and she worried about such danger. On top of that, it was exhausting to even think of the long flight, trying to keep up with the bigger-wing-hunters that could travel faster with less effort.
The Two-Head was older than most, more than anyone realised, and the urge was no longer as strong as it had once been. Neither of him was opposed to the idea of mating, but one of him wordlessly threatened to bite his other for even thinking of going to the effort of flying all that distance and then having to woo a female. The other of him was not that keen on the idea anyway, holding quiet grudges against the other wing-hunters who only needed to woo each female once. Mating was nice, but so was basking on the warm rock, and one of those activities required significantly less effort.
The Fire-Scale was the youngest of the four, and the males of his kind felt the urge more strongly than most. He dreamed of showing off his superior strength and fighting skills, then selecting the strongest, most attractive interested female and wrapping her in his wings and teeth. But he was confused when the others all simply lay back down, and then he thought about taking that long flight alone. He was still recently injured, and had not yet rebuilt his strength after the sick-making bite. Only the females who had not been taken by the stronger males would be interested in him, and that was too much a blow to his pride when it would all be so much more difficult to even get there; his kind produced fewer offspring than the others, only a single egg each cold-season, so there were not yet enough of them to have more than one breeding ground. It was less enjoyable, but there were other ways to alleviate that urge.
And so it was much to the confusion and concern of the Long-Paws that the four of them ignored the flight to the egg-nest, and simply went back to sleep.
This training was far more disciplined and rigid than Astrid was used to. She was used to the Viking way of doing things, the harder the swing the more damage it did, so the harder one could swing the better they were in a fight. That wasn't all of it of course, but that was the main thing.
The first thing Mala had done after presenting her new Gronckle Iron axe was confiscate it and hand her a sword instead. Its weight felt strange, though it wasn't her first time using one, and the motions she, Snotlout, and a dozen rookie Defenders were put through had no power behind the swing. It all seemed useless for the purposes of fighting.
She had seen their combat prowess, however, and knew them to be formidable warriors, so she would trust in their methods. What she was unsure about was why Snotlout wasn't kicking up a fuss about it.
She risked a glance across at him-
"Front and centre, rookie," the Commander snapped at her, and she grit her teeth, focusing on her own sword. "Again! One, two, three…"
Not only was Snotlout not complaining or storming out or anything, but he was also doing fairly well to stay focused. The objective of this exercise wasn't strength, it was to stand in a straight line and swing at exactly the same time and speed as everyone else. They did it every morning for what felt like hours. Admittedly, every day she thought they were as good as they were going to get, and she was always wrong.
After they finished the regular drills, all the while with a peculiar lack of Jorgenson whining, it was time for a second jog, this one keeping a moderate pace around the village. The jog first thing in the morning was very tame, Astrid barely bothered to wake up for it, but the second was more invigorating.
Then it was time for chores. This could involve logging, splitting wood, carrying water and other heavy burdens around the village, tilling the fields, cutting and bundling hay for the livestock, scrubbing clothes, simple blacksmithing, and anything else that needed doing; if it involved elbow grease then they did it.
By the time she'd finished hauling nets of fish out of the icy waters surrounding the island, it was around midday, when the Defenders ate 'lunch'. Rather than following them into the big hall to fill up on bread and butter, Astrid used the time to check in on her dragon.
The Deadly Nadder spent a lot of her time resting, other than fishing for herself and taking the occasional flight around the volcano. Fishlegs assured her that Toothy assured him that she was fine, and just didn't want any eggs this year. Were it just one of their dragons, she would understand, but all of them? And Hookfang was acting weird. Astrid was fairly sure that cozying up to random trees and boulders wasn't normal for the Monstrous Nightmare, even after their absence.
Still, she made her dragon comfortable in the cave she'd picked out at the foot of the mountain; scratching her favourite spots, brushing her down, sometimes just spending time with her and going for a flight. That extra effort, with the jog there and back, made the day enough of a workout to be worthwhile.
There wasn't any point flying beyond the island's waters to scout. It wasn't the Meridian of Misery that Berk was smack in the middle of, but it was still bitterly cold in the sky and not something that humans could expose themselves to for any period of time, certainly not to then try to look for boats on the water. Only the dragons could withstand it, and of them only the Furies could actually scout on their own, but even they had to limit exposure to the winter.
Lunch was followed by sparring with wooden swords, more drills until some of them looked ready to drop from exhaustion – not Astrid or Snotlout, of course – and then some light practical skills such as sewing or cooking. In those, she was told she needed to learn patience, but she could never get the little things to work in the ways she wanted them to. Not only was she one of the worst at those activities, Snotlout was often one of the best. He could disassemble and restitch his own leather armour as if it was nothing, but it was weird that he just didn't seem interested in jeering or smartmouthing or anything.
In fact, he completely ignored her. He hadn't said a single word to her since arriving back at Dragon's Nest. It was all going to go wrong the moment they needed to work together, she just knew it, but the peace was nice at least. She could ignore him if he could ignore her.
They finished the day with a last round of drills and were then left to do their own thing for the last half hour or so before dinner. It was a harsh routine, but harsh was good. Harsh conditions made for strong Vikings, and she was certainly becoming practised with a sword. She longed for her axe, for the familiar top-heavy weight, but she was learning things with the sword that she would be able to translate to her preferred weapon. It had only been two weeks, and she'd already learned so much about fighting, combat, and strategies. Much of it she knew already from trial and error, but having her own logic explained to her helped her to understand why some ways were better than others, and particularly, when it was better to do something else.
Tomorrow, they had the day off. She didn't plan on slacking, but the scare with Hiccup a few weeks ago had been an eye-opener to what pushing oneself too far could do, and Stoick had said so himself. Rest was just as important as activity. Maybe Mala would relinquish her axe…
A dark shape overhead caught her eye, one of the Furies returning from patrol. He swooped into the village and disappeared over the rooftops, then reappeared only moments later to fly up to the volcano. They had set up somewhere up there, but nobody knew exactly where. Well, whatever made them happy.
Then she spotted Mala in the street, and hurried over to ask about her axe.
"Warm me!" Dreamer chirped, carefully leaping across the tall rocks.
"You cold!" Wanderer barked ahead of him, also leaping from boulder to boulder.
"That why you should warm me!" Of course, if he really only wanted to be warm, he would have just flown up to the mouth of the volcano to bask in the heat of the magma, but that wasn't the point.
So far, the winter had been uneventful. There were practically no hunters sailing the icy waters, and many of their camps were empty; any empty camps he found were now also mostly splinters scattered about the snow, lacking any boats to shoot instead. He'd found a few larger bases that seemed to be occupied, but the hunters were hunkered down, not hunting dragons, so he let them be. He wasn't going to be the dragon to burn their food stores and leave them to starve, the very thought made him queasy. They had also been keeping an eye out for Heather – he rather wanted to talk to her since his last encounter with Dagur – but nobody had seen or heard from her since her injuries had healed, and he had no idea where she was waiting out the freeze.
He feigned a minor slip as he landed on the next boulder, then splayed over it with a sad, lonely, confused whine.
Wanderer stopped and turned around, then hopped back to the nearest boulder. He leaned over the edge and shuffled around, seemingly undecided about jumping over to join him, eventually dropping down to the ground and approaching warily. Dreamer watched him, hoping his expression was as sad, pleading as it felt.
The other Nightstriker reared up onto the side of the boulder, watching him carefully, then stretched up as high as he could with his nose twitching. Slowly, he coiled his hindlegs, then jumped-
Dreamer lunged at him, but Wanderer was already back on the ground and running away – it had been a false jump! He's getting clever! But down on the ground between the boulders favoured Dreamer, who was still more agile. He darted through the maze, following the black tail whipping around corners just ahead of him but slowly getting nearer…
He rounded another corner to find open air, and Wanderer fleeing into the sky! He leaped after him with a roar – this wasn't fair, he'd just been out scouting so he was already tired! Wanderer just banked around and stuck his tongue out as he fled Dreamer's cold scales, even though they weren't that cold anymore.
With a huff, Dreamer gave up the chase and coasted on the thermals of the volcano, revelling in the warmer air and that it was doing all the work for him. Seeing this, Wanderer looped around to join him with a haughty chuff. Just you wait until you get back tomorrow… Dreamer glared at him, and he grinned back apologetically.
The island was slowly shrinking into the distance below as the air lifted them, the detail of the people in the village and trees in the forests slowly blurring into obscurity. All the riders and their dragons were down there somewhere, living out their lives…
Though that the dragons hadn't all left for the egg-nest was a concern. Dreamer suspected they might be exhausted, but that could just be him projecting his own issues. They were all spending most of their time sleeping and resting, so perhaps not, though Hookfang was being aloof. Dreamer wondered if Astrid knew the Nightmare had shared Stormfly's cave, so to speak, for a few days… Not that he blamed them, he had naïvely followed the scents they had been giving off from a whole mile away.
That was something he had to look forward to himself, presumably. Nightstrikers were different to other dragons, but some of the things Wanderer had said implied it could be an unpleasant experience…
He shook the thoughts from his head and stared into the mouth of the volcano. The magma deep underground cast an ominous light up the dark rock, the air so hot it was impossible to see through. The ledge by the mouth was barely visible, though there was a strange shape on it…
"What that?" he asked, angling his wings to let the air slip past them so that he started slowly descending.
Wanderer chirped enquiry, staring down as well, then dropped into a lazy dive. Dreamer folded his wings to follow, staring at the oddly round shape that he could swear was moving-
He angled his tail to redirect his dive to the village, then tucked everything in tight to hurtle towards the ground. The air slipped off him, occasionally tugging at his wings as he used them to guide his descent, and then he flared them dramatically to slow himself just above the village. At this time, Fishlegs should be…
He shot over the tidy streets, Defenders exclaiming as he passed overhead, and then dropped down and bounded to a halt in front of a nondescript building. After perking his ears for a moment to confirm the rider was inside, he practically kicked down the door. "Fish-Legs!" he barked, gesturing urgently.
It was only a small room, containing Fishlegs plus four women and three men. "Ah, Hiccup, perfect timing," he said unhurriedly, oblivious to Dreamer's haste. "Would you care to-"
Dreamer strode into the room and around Fishlegs, then bulled him towards the door. "Eep!" he exclaimed as he stumbled. "Uhhh I want you to pair up and make sentences for each other to guess!" he got out as he was barged right out of the room. "What's got you in a hurry?" he asked once they were outside.
"Just get on," Dreamer huffed, offering his back, and Fishlegs grumbled something about being excitable as he climbed on.
This bit was always awkward with Fishlegs. Dreamer rolled his shoulders while arms wrapped around his neck a little too tightly, then took a running start and jumped into the air, heaving at it with his wings to get airborne. It was hard work, not helped by Fishlegs trying to strangle him, but then he caught the wind and the updrafts started helping out, and he could fly a bit more calmly.
The arms relaxed, and Dreamer dramatically took a deep breath, then shot an unimpressed glare over his shoulder.
"Hey, I'm still used to my Meatlug," Fishlegs grumbled. "She doesn't have any of this crazy taking off." Dreamer tilted a little to the side. "I'm sorry I'll try not to squeeze so tight next time!" came the frantic apology, even as he squeezed again. Dreamer sighed and levelled off.
"Where are we going, anyway?" Fishlegs asked, presumably staring up at the mountain they were headed towards. Dreamer didn't answer, as it was more than evident. "Wait, does this mean…?"
By the time they neared the rim of the volcano, Fishlegs was practically bouncing on his back. "He's here!? He's really here!?" He straightened, probably trying to see onto the little ledge they were coming up to.
Finally, Dreamer cleared the lip of the top of the path, and shook Fishlegs from his back the moment he touched the ground. Whuff, if I ever need a workout I should just take him flying for an hour… Though Dreamer was maybe only a little bigger than Wanderer had been last winter, who had carried Fishlegs all the way to Berk. Maybe he should carry him around a bit more.
The air on the ledge was hot, but not unbearably so even for Fishlegs' standards, as the rider was already rushing towards what appeared at first glance to be a big knobbly boulder but that was clearly not a boulder at all. The Eruptodon shifted, a tiny little eye swivelling to behold its new guests, and a deep rumble shook the air.
"Wow," Fishlegs whispered as Dreamer crooned his awe. It was about the size of a building, with a rounded head and body much like Meatlug but with more of a tail. Its glowing eyes were bizarrely set into round swivels on the sides of its head, and the squat teeth protruding from its mouth looked blunt but sturdy. The rock-like scales covering its hide were each the size of Dreamer's head, cooling lava casting a warm glow from between them.
Its movements as it turned to Dreamer were slow, and it let out a low gravelly sound that was maybe its equivalent of a purr. And as it turned, it revealed the Nightstriker scampering over its back.
"Uhhhh should he be doing that?" Fishlegs asked.
Dreamer sighed. Probably not… Then again, the big dragon didn't seem to mind, if its happy rumbling was any indication. It did look like fun…
Wrrr, he was trying to relax more. A small part of him was demanding he show nothing but total respect, but he ignored it and walked up to the Eruptodon to stand on his hindlegs, tentatively placing his paws on its enormous chin. Its scales even felt like rocks, though they didn't quite smell like it…
The big dragon tipped its head forward, then caught Dreamer's midsection with the blunt teeth protruding from its lower jaw and lifted him up. He squeaked as his hindpaws left the ground, an oddly disorienting sensation, and reflexively threw out his wings and grabbed the big scales.
They were rough and offered ample grip, so he got a hindleg up to stand on one of the teeth, wings and tail twitching for balance, then climbed up the enormous face. The constant rumbling vibrated through his paws, and he found himself purring at the heat soaking into his scales. The dragon wasn't giving off as much heat as he'd expected, it only seemed to be that of the cooling lava on it, though that was plenty hot enough.
"Dreamer!" Wanderer barked happily from atop, then rolled onto his back and writhed to rub himself against the coarse scales.
As tempting as that was, Dreamer set about exploring, investigating its strange wings of a hard but not entirely inflexible material, and trying to find a scent somewhere that wasn't just of scorched rock. Its wings featured odd round protrusions over the wrists, and the scales just looked, smelled, and tasted like rock, though the texture was very subtly off…
He eyed a disruption in the pattern of scales, and carefully climbed a little way down its side for a better look. A black lump about the size of his paw was wedged between two scales. He pawed at it-
The dragon twitched as the constant rumbling hitched and dropped in pitch before stopping entirely, then slowly picked back up again.
Weird. He turned so that his nose was facing skyward instead of his tail, and climbed over to the other side. No lump there. He was beginning to think it was some kind of wound, or…
Rumbling curiously under his breath, he climbed back over and inspected the lump again. It looked like something wedged between the scales. Delicately picking at it with a paw caused some of the black to flake off, revealing specks of what was beneath, something that looked a bit like glass. But what kind of glass could stand up to the heat of a volcano?
"Wanderer," he barked, and his friend climbed over. "What this?"
"I not know," he snorted. "I not seen… Wrrr, I not know if it hunts. Not seen this wing-thing before."
"Dragon," Dreamer helpfully supplied, and Wanderer looked at him sceptically.
"Guys," Fishlegs called out from below, "whatever you're doing, he doesn't seem to like it."
Dreamer looked more closely at the scales either side of the black thing, deciding they looked a bit askew. He was certain the thing wasn't meant to be there. But should he try to help, or would it only make things worse?
…Since when would he not stick his nose into something if he had a shot at making things better? He looked over it again, thinking more mechanically. Hooking something around it and pulling would be ideal, but rope would burn and wire would heat and melt. Several more thoughts came to mind, but it was an old problem of that he was a dragon with no tools or hands to use them. He had fire, teeth, and claws, that was it.
Hrrr… They were useful tools in their own right, and things that he was practically never without. These scales could evidently withstand molten rock, but could they withstand his fire? He needed only to weaken a small part of one.
He directed a stream of fire at the scale that looked to have more of a point wedged into it than a flat surface; if he needed to break the lump free, it would be easier to move the side with less contact with the scale, meaning less to need heating. The rumbling stopped again, and a rocky wing flexed nearby, so he prepared to leap away, just in case.
With over half his air-fire gone, and the scale glowing but seeming to get no hotter than it already was, he swallowed his doubts, grabbed the thing in his teeth, and yanked.
The first thing that happened was the tips of his teeth painfully snapping off, one by one as they met the uneven surface of the lump, until several of them had a grip. He fought his momentary reflex to let go and paw at his mouth, committed to his course of action, though the thing had not budged. Then there was a deep grunt, and the dragon he was clinging to began to move, albeit slowly, while he kept tugging. Wanderer growled worriedly, keeping an eye out, so Dreamer ignored everything else and just focused on what he was doing.
The lump moved slowly at first, a grating feeling wracking his broken teeth with every tug – and then suddenly it came loose, and he managed to push himself right off the side of the dragon. He squeaked in surprise, twisting as he fell, but he had a brief glimpse of the ledge into the volcano a moment before his flank hit it and spun him straight off the edge.
It took him a few moments to right himself, though his leg ached, and he found himself staring down into the boiling rock below – not nearly as far away as he would have liked – while his wings found the air and caught him.
And then a deep whoosh fell behind him, and he was sucked back into the wake the Eruptodon left as it plummeted past.
The ledge was nice, but this was hot. Really hot. The air burned his throat and eyes, forcing him to blink constantly, and then keep his eyes closed altogether with only brief glimpses to check he wasn't flying into a wall as he ascended on the turbulent air. The centre, he was finding, was the fastest and most stable air, but it was also the hottest.
He was holding something, but he couldn't even consider opening his mouth to drop it or use his sound-sight. There was nothing to do but just ride the hot air, ensuring he stayed in the strong updraft.
Without warning, the scorching air dropped in temperature, and he opened his eyes again to find the ledge and glide over to it. He yelped as he touched down and collapsed into his side, the lump dropping from his mouth – his paws burned, the heat radiating up into his ankles, and it physically hurt to touch the hot rock with them.
"Hiccup!" Fishlegs exclaimed as he hurried over, then knelt beside him, but held his hands back. "You're… really hot," he said worriedly. As if to emphasise it, Wanderer licked him, and he actually heard the hiss of the saliva evaporating from his hide.
Wanderer got under him and carried him, his tail and the backs of his hindpaws dragging on the stone, and then dropped him again. Now that it wasn't necessary for his survival, Dreamer wasn't really paying that much attention to what was happening anymore.
Although… the rock under him felt cooler now… He rolled a little to tentatively touch a paw to the ground, and then groaned as the hot aching began to subside.
"Water," he tried to say, but all that came out was a scratchy rasp.
"Water?" Wanderer repeated, looking to Fishlegs.
"Hey I was basically grabbed off my feet, not exactly given time to get a saddlebag."
"You can fly?" Wanderer asked, looking back to Dreamer with wide, worried eyes.
"Soon," he rasped, too focused on shuffling his paws around to find still-cool patches of stone to say more, almost totally preoccupied with venting the extreme level of heat in his body. He was fairly sure that he would actually burn any human he came into contact with right now.
After struggling to find any more cool stone, he stood and managed a few steps to a new place, where he sprawled out with a dry purr, more of a sigh really. The hide on his neck and belly was thinner, more flexible, but also somewhat less insulated; every little thing helped.
He started to become lucid enough that he noticed the flapping wings, but didn't think anything further than that – and then something cool splashed on his snout, and he almost bit Fishlegs' hand off in his haste to drink from the waterskin suddenly dangling in front of his nose. He at least had the presence of mind to sheathe his teeth as he guzzled the cool liquid pouring into his mouth.
It ran dry all too quickly, and he huffed before lying on his paws, now feeling overly warm but not in desperate need of cooling off.
"Volcanoes," Fishlegs announced nervously, "not a Night Fury's natural habitat."
Dreamer snorted in amusement, then purred as Wanderer licked at his baked hide. He would probably feel a bit flaky and stiff for a few days, if his experience with Nightmare fire was anything to go by.
"...Would it be inappropriate to ask about what it was like inside?" Fishlegs asked hopefully.
Wanderer growled at him, but Dreamer chuckled. "Hot," he replied. So hot, the walls had been glowing, a little further down.
That made him wonder how he had managed to breathe, and that led him to a series of realisations. "I had instinct," he said, then stared at Fishlegs… but had to pointedly glance at his notebook before the rider fumbled a pencil out of a pocket. "Not breathe inside volcano. Not flap, not do anything, just glide. Eyes closed. Nose closed. Not even think… I just do." He demonstrated how his nostrils could shut, just in case he'd never actually told Fishlegs about it; the ability to do so just wasn't something he thought about consciously.
"Fascinating," Fishlegs whispered, scrawling notes faster than Dreamer was talking. "So it's likely your natural habitat is not in a volcano, but somewhere they are common. Or at least somewhere regularly exposed to high temperatures."
Dreamer crooned thoughtfully. That was a good point.
"I mean, we know dragons are heat resistant, that's why we could never eat them, you have to cook the meat in the forge and then it goes all weird." Dreamer tilted his head a little, giving him a sideways look. "But," Fishlegs continued obliviously, "to actually survive that temperature, and even remain conscious? I mean, I couldn't even get to the edge to look down."
Wanderer gently nudged at Dreamer's side, and he obligingly rolled over, though he kept his paws away from the ministrations; they felt far too tender to be licked by another, though he tenderly did so himself for his forepaws.
"What is this thing, anyway?" Fishlegs asked, holding up the black rock partially wrapped in his vest.
"Not know. Find it between scales, looked like it was hurting dragon." He was starting to feel drowsy, but he pushed his teeth out to gently feel at them. He'd snapped nine in total on the hard lump, though they'd be sharp again in a week or two, if he worked them regularly.
"Looks like glass," Fishlegs observed, then tried banging it on the rock. "Doesn't feel like it though. Weird." He shrugged and stuffed it into one of his larger pockets. He could have it. As long as it wasn't hurting anyone anymore.
Dreamer just hoped he hadn't offended the Eruptodon or anything, though as far as he could tell it should be feeling better now, or would be soon. He sighed and stretched out, resolving to try napping. There was nothing more he could do, other than just try to move on.
A few days after finally meeting the Eruptodon, once his hide had stopped prickling and aching, Dreamer flew down into the village to get an update on everything going on.
Fishlegs' Dragonese lessons were apparently going very well, and he wanted to bring the Furies in soon to give some experience conversing with real dragons. Dreamer wasn't really looking forward to it, if he was honest, but he did owe the Defenders a personal debt of gratitude for looking after him so often, so he wouldn't complain. Astrid and Snotlout both claimed their training was going well, and Snotlout was still acting weird. Dreamer saw through his façade, saw the veiled smugness and the mischievous glint in his eye, and suspected he was only acting humble to get under Astrid's skin, but didn't interfere; that was for them to sort out.
The twins… He didn't actually know what they got up to, and didn't really want to; that would make him responsible for them, and he wanted no part of that, he had enough to deal with already.
Shortly after learning all this, he was accosted by Throck, who had apparently learned of what he had done for their Great Protector. Firm fingers deftly scratched Dreamer's shoulders and the back of his neck, and he leaned into the man to encourage him to scratch harder. Far from feeling burned and tender, his hide now felt dead and unfeeling, and this felt amazing. He didn't know whether or not it would recover, but he'd have a new hide entirely in under three months so he wasn't worried.
He groaned pathetically, hindleg kicking at the ground, as the scratches found the right spots. Throck wasn't intuitive as say Tuffnut was, but he was thorough and simply committed to scratching everywhere and figuring out the good spots that way. Which was perfectly fine with Dreamer, given the current state of his hide. He liked Throck, the man was strict but enthusiastic, approaching every aspect of life with a firm resolve. He liked him enough to roll onto his back, granting access to his chest – ohhhh Thoooorrr, right there…
"Dreamer."
He cut off his pitiful growling and flipped upright to nod respectfully at Mala, whom he hadn't noticed approach.
"I…" She curled her fingers, then placed her arms to the small of her back. "Your brother is out scouting?" Dreamer nodded. "Good. What have your findings been?"
NOT MANY HUNTERS, he wrote in the dirt. SOME WE FOUND BEFORE, NOT THERE NOW.
"That concerns me," she replied, staring thoughtfully at the writing. "Nobody has any reason to go anywhere in this weather."
FOOD?
"I do not see Viggo failing to account for the winter," she countered. "Thank you, the efforts of you and your brother are appreciated."
Dreamer nodded again, idly wondering why everyone assumed he and Wanderer were brothers. They might literally share the same blood, but 'brother' felt an uncomfortable way to describe him. 'Friend' was much better, or 'best-friend' as they called each other. Still, he didn't correct her.
Mala nodded and turned, took a few long strides, and stopped. She then spun on her heel and marched back to Dreamer, expression so full of determination, resolve, that he almost took a step back before she stopped a wing-length away. "Dreamer."
He subtly swallowed, fighting to hold her intense stare.
"I would like to pet you."
He nearly fell over, though he was sat on his haunches. What? Why did she even have to ask? Of all the wild theories that had flown through his mind, none of them had been even remotely close. He glanced at Throck, though there was nothing to be read in the man's stoic gaze, and nodded warily at Mala.
She took the two steps to close the distance, Dreamer feeling increasingly uncomfortable. That discomfort increased tenfold as she actually reached out and began scratching behind his ears, he had to fight every instinct to back away from her, to put some distance between them so that he could see her properly.
"Why is it not working?" she asked, and he winced; it was taking all of his efforts to just sit there, there was no way he could pretend to enjoy it.
"Try scratching harder," Throck suggested, and the firm fingers dug further into his scales. But far from being pleasant, he was much too aware of the hand behind his head, the arm reaching over him, and the woman in front of him, every sense instinctively straining to keep track of her every movement.
The scratches stopped, and Dreamer groaned in relief – then flattened his frills and guiltily looked aside.
"No, do not feel bad," she pleaded. "It is not you, it is I." She sighed, bowing her head, and folded her arms behind her back. "Perhaps I am simply cursed… You are the first dragon to even let me touch them."
He whined sympathetically and looked up at her, wanting… to…
No, he thought with a growl at himself, he wouldn't accept this. He should want to lick her to comfort her, but he didn't. Why?
He stood and walked around her, scenting her, taking in her posture, her expression. She smelled of the leather she wore, the eggs and fruit she had eaten for breakfast, and of herself, her personal scent strong but not pungent. She stood tall, shoulders and back straight and rigid, wrists crossed nearly at the small of her back. She looked every part the Queen she was, though that in itself wasn't intimidating…
He stopped, and backtracked in his own thoughts, a low rumble rolling through his throat. Something he had just thought… She was Queen, but that wasn't intimidating…
Dreamer was a Night Fury, he didn't feel intimidated by her. But she looked as if she was trying to appear intimidating. Her immaculate posture, her stern expression, even her crisp accent and the confidence with which she spoke, it all screamed 'dominance' at him.
YOU TOO TENSE, he wrote, then paused, and leaned down to bang his head against the words. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That had, of course, been his own problem in dealing with dragons recently as well. He'd been so wound up he wouldn't have hesitated to leap into a fight at the slightest notice, and the other dragons were picking up on that. It was a wonder Wanderer and the dragons of Dragon's Nest hadn't, really.
Mala looked as if she was ready to call a healer over, so he waved his wings dismissively and went back to writing. RELAX. BE FRIENDLY.
"I am relaxed," she said, sounding confused, and he groaned; he hadn't realised he'd been tense either, so he couldn't even get frustrated with her.
He rubbed out his words to try something else. WHAT MORE COMFORTABLE? He tilted his head, perked his frills and an ear, and dilated his eyes, giving her the full 'cute and curious' package. After a few moments, he flattened his ears and frills, baring his teeth in a silent snarl.
Mala looked at him, read the words again, and looked at him some more. "They are the same," she announced.
His jaw dropped.
"Perhaps that is not what I mean," she clarified, holding a hand up, "you are a dragon and a Night Fury, one I trust more than most humans. You do not make me uncomfortable simply by baring your teeth."
He huffed and grumbled to himself. He didn't see how her blind loyalty to dragons could really bite her, not unless she tried to get friendly with the wrong dragon and it attacked her, but she was always on guard and they would never actually get to her…
And then he groaned as the solution became apparent to him. I HAVE IDEA. The things I suffer for friendship with dragons…
Freezing and starving, Wanderer let a long groan of relief roll out into the frigid wind as the warm small-land appeared in the distance.
He could see the need for these flights, the hunters were slowly disappearing and leaving nothing but empty dens; no food or bodies or anything. But understanding did not make it any less cold and miserable. He couldn't even enjoy the flying itself, needing to conserve energy and warmth.
But he was done with this flight now. Finally, he swooped down into the nest, aiming for one particular hut they always needed to visit after these flights for two reasons. The second, which Wanderer always addressed first, was the pile of fresh fish left inside for him, and he ravenously snapped them all down and purred in relief; something about flying in cold wind made them both unbelievably hungry.
The other thing, somewhat less important even though it was the whole point, was the big prey-skin-thing brought from his nest, laid out on the floor of the den. Dreamer had made lines on it that matched the shape and position of the small-lands in the area, and standing on it were little tree-things in funny shapes. He swept away a sort of rounded one that was supposed to be a ship, then squashed a pile of little twigs that marked the position of the hunter nest which now resembled the mess of splinters under his paw; there had been hunters in it, and now there weren't, so it had fallen to explosive fire.
That done, he leaped out of the den and flapped his way up to the little overhang they'd claimed for a den. This short flight was more pleasant for the warm air that surrounded the small-land, but it was still a relief to land.
Dreamer was not there, though there was a distant groaning sound in the ground; not annoying, just strange. He churred thoughtfully, then jumped back into the air to look for his Dreamer. He could warm up in their temporary den, or on the warm ledge at the top of the mountain, but it was more fun to chase each other, and more satisfying to warm up with body-warmth. Besides, Dreamer had caught him napping last time, and had some very cold scales to look forward to for that wake-up.
Astrid and Snotlout were doing their boring Long-Paw things with all the boring Long-Paws, he ignored them. Most likely Dreamer would be with Fish-Legs or the alpha. Wanderer's hide slowly warmed while he searched, but while it was nice to be less cold, he really owed Dreamer a tackle and severe warmth-stealing.
Drifting over the nest, looking for someone familiar, he spotted someone watching over the sea at the edge of the small-land, from the top of a cliff. Curious and hopeful, he glided over to investigate.
"You are looking for your brother?" the nest-beta called out as he neared. "He is in the steam cave below, with Queen Mala. They may wish to not be disturbed, I do not know."
The hot-water-cave? Here he was freezing his scales off, and Dreamer was soaking in hot water!? Grrr, he was going to get it, and it was going to be cold.
The cave was set into the cliff below them, which he now recognised, and he glided down to it. The sea tossed over itself a body-length below the smooth ledge, and the dark tunnel loomed before him.
Here, he hesitated. The nest-beta had said they might want 'privacy' which Wanderer was fairly sure meant alone-time. Why would they want that? Nothing came to mind, but he wasn't sure. She was an alpha, and Dreamer was sort of an alpha as well, of their little nest, or at least he acted as one. Did that mean anything?
Hrrr… He didn't know, and decided that waiting out here would ensure he would be nice and cold to press against Dreamer's warm belly. Maybe if he lay close enough to the edge and the sea below, he would be wet as well.
With a big meal in his belly, he wasn't all that uncomfortable while he waited, which was only a little while. Dreamer and the nest-alpha exited together before long, both looking happy and content.
Wanderer decided to bide his time, seeing another opportunity, and stood to nuzzle his friend-mate. "Mrrr, you warm…" He then scented Dreamer; all he could smell was salt and sea, but Dreamer didn't know that. "You smell…" he glanced at the alpha, and Dreamer wilted a little. Wanderer held in a smug purr. "Did she show mating-wanting again?" he asked casually, starting the walk up the ledge towards the island, following the alpha.
Dreamer growled at him, though there was no bite to it, and Wanderer snickered. "You so nervous last time, I thought you had mating-wanting also. Maybe I not wrong?" He fended off the swatting, though it too was half-hearted; that might be the effect of the cave, it was quite hot in there, and Dreamer was so amazingly warm… and didn't mind Wanderer's cold side pressed up against him. Wanderer didn't even want to fly back to the den, he'd rather snuggle up to his Dreamer right here while he was still warm and cozy.
"How did it go?" the nest-beta asked his alpha as they neared the top of the cliff.
"I stroked a dragon," she replied gleefully-
And Dreamer promptly walked to the side and straight into the wall of the cliff, which he then headbutted, repeatedly.
Wanderer stared at him, wondering if he had more bad thinking and needed to rest again. "Come," he chuffed, nudging Dreamer's tail with his nose, then yawned widely with a drowsy purr, "I fly much today, want relax now. We fly to den, sleep together."
Dreamer groaned, his head sliding down the wall until his nose hit the ground. Wanderer tilted his head. He had the feeling he'd somehow managed something exceptionally clever, but couldn't for the life of him figure out what.
"Get that Sjarmör loaded and let us be off!" This was the perfect weather to be trapping dragons in, while they were slow and stupid, but that didn't make it pleasant work.
The hunters grumbled as they wound ropes around the thin dragon, and Krogan looked down on them with a careful measure of superiority and confidence. He was a stranger in these lands, in more ways than his tall face and darker skin, but he was used to that. He had learned long ago to swiftly and mercilessly re-educate anyone who tried to think of him as lesser.
"S-yard-mur," said a voice behind him, and he scowled at the terrible pronunciation. "I am partial to the term 'Death Song' myself, it has a wonderful ring to it."
"A name conceived by your enemies," Krogan recalled disapprovingly. "It's better to crush them entirely, not embrace their ways."
"Perhaps," Viggo replied, walking up next to him to observe the Sjarmör struggle against its restraints. "But understanding your opponents is the key to any victory, this I know all too well."
"Understanding does not require adoption," Krogan countered, glancing across at him. The young man looked dreadful, unkempt and with black rings around his eyes. Krogran didn't know when he slept, and didn't care, as long as his work repairing and deciphering this 'Dragon Eye' kept coming.
"And if your opponent's methods are superior to your own?" Viggo asked probingly.
"They are not," Krogan asserted. To admit weakness was as good as to admit defeat, all that mattered was the strength of will to commit to a course and see it through. Viggo should have realised this, with how little respect he currently commanded among the hunters even though he was still the one paying them.
What a waste. There was a master strategist in Viggo, one capable of commanding massive armies, but the fact that Krogan had just walked in and all but taken over with next to no resistance was telling. He fully intended on just sailing away with the haul after letting Viggo pay these hunters to trap every dragon residing in and under these waters.
But that was a betrayal for the future, while now he had to pretend he didn't notice Viggo's slipping mind and frayed nerves, and he had enjoyed their conversations before; he still did, but it was a much easier game now.
"And you are certain you can force it to behave as I wish?" Krogan asked; he already knew the answer, he was just asserting his authority.
"Of course," Viggo said dismissively. "When exposed to the correct stimuli. I will require some things, but nothing exotic."
"Do what you need to." The Sjarmör was finally loaded onto the waiting wagon, the hunters taking up positions around it to push.
Viggo's methods were slow and inefficient. The hunters had been lacking excitement, but by the time they realised they hated Krogan's methods even more, it would all be over.
After all, the best way to succeed at anything was with sheer, overpowering strength of will.
Author's Notes
This chapter marks a milestone - A Gift of Wings is now over 500,000 words long! (FFN reports too high a number for some reason, even when accounting for author's notes.) Half a million words... And there's still two more acts after this one, which isn't quite done yet (but almost - I estimate 5 more chapters). I don't know if I'm going to break a million, but I'm certainly well on the way there. I knew this would be an epic undertaking when I started it, but still, it feels good to still be at it... wow, a long time now. And still writing strong! Admittedly, I fell behind a little in my buffer, but I'm back to maintaining it so we're good for now.
Well, here's to another half a million words, give or take! And thank you to all who take the time to leave a review, for motivating and in many cases inspiring me, often directly influencing the story. And of course to VigoGrimborne, who is somehow finding time in his incredibly busy schedule to provide amazing and comprehensive feedback. The Dragon Hiccup community might be small, but it's still the best. Keep being awesome!