Chapter 8

Forbidden Friendship

Docks

"I gotta say, dragon," Mulch was saying, happily, as he and Bucket unloaded several baskets of fish onto the dock, "we haven't had such good fishin' trips this close to the freeze until you arrived! I never imagined we were missin' all these perfectly good fish!"

Batwings said nothing, busy trying to pop his back into place. It had been hours since monster training, and he'd only accompanied Bucket and Mulch on a single trip. There was still plenty of time left in the day, and with Berk preparing the food stores for winter, he had no doubt that today's work wasn't over. Even if Berk didn't need the extra food, though, Stoick would've likely found some other task for him to break his back over.

He got it and all – the less free time he had, the safer the Chief's people would be – but still. A couple of days and he was already run ragged. At least he was making Mulch happy… delighted, even.

"We just need to get these over to the food storehouse," the short, pudgy Viking informed him now. "You mind helpin' us? Then we can get ready fer another run."

Finishing his stretch, Batwings yawned and replied, "Yep… no problem."

"With yer help, we'll probably git back to Berk before dinner time!" Mulch enthused, handing the Siren one of the baskets. "An' after a few more trips like this one, we'll be up to our necks in fish, right Bucket?"

"It's a good day fer luggin' sheep, Mulch," his partner agreed, clueless, as he hauled two baskets up toward the village.

Batwings slung the basket over his shoulder and made sure to hide his smile as he followed the fishermen. Even if they weren't the quickest sardines in the shoal, he couldn't deny the warm feeling he got when they lavished him with such honest praise. He almost dared to believe that he was making headway toward earning the trust of Stoick and the Berkians.

The Peaceable tribe never really trusted you, though, the tiny voice of doubt spoke up. Berk isn't going to become your home any more than Siren Island was.

He shoved the voice aside and scratched at his scarf. He could've sworn that he felt his scar itching for a second, almost as if responding to his memories. The idea spooked him into almost spilling his haul of fish, and he frantically shook it away.

"Hey, Wings!" a voice called, and Batwings really did spill his fish this time, all over his feet.

"What do you want?" he snapped at whomever had the audacity to sneak up on him. But his irritation faded when he saw that it was only Snaketail and Arachne.

"Oh. Hey, I didn't see you there," he corrected himself. He bent at the waist to scoop the fish back into his basket, and asked, "What brings you to the docks?"

"Fishin' accomplished?" Snaketail joked, flashing her teeth. "I just finished training with Astrid" – her voice darkened for an instant – "and met Arachne at the Hofferson place. We decided to come talk to you, since it's been a while since we've seen you."

"We heard you were being kept busy," Arachne added. "It's really cool to see that you've found a place for yourself on Berk. You were so worried about it and everything."

"Yeah, well…" Batwings muttered, closing the basket and looking away in embarrassment. "It's no Siren Island, but it's fine. If you like being worked half to death. How much fish can one village eat?"

"Hey, it's something," Snaketail shrugged. She paused, then went on in a more concerned tone, "By the way… you see Hiccup at all lately?"

Batwings shook his head. "I asked Gobber the same thing the other day," he said by way of answer. "Apparently, Hiccup goes off by himself to the woods a lot. I've been thinking of heading there myself if I ever find the time, see what dragons I can meet there. Maybe take Fishlegs with me – we've been talking, and he likes that kind of stuff."

Snaketail snorted. "Why on Midgard would he be spending all of his time in the forest?" she asked, ignoring Batwings' rambling. "And why would Gobber let him?"

"Maybe he thinks Hiccup practices there," Arachne piped up, scratching her head. "You know, to get better at m-monster training?"

Batwings frowned at the Philston girl's speculation. That didn't sound like Hiccup. Granted, he barely knew the guy, but would Hiccup, who'd spent the last two monster training sessions scurrying in fear, really put in extra practice to learn how to fight? No, Batwings had a nagging intuition that something else was going on.

"Tell you what," he spoke up, and the two girls looked at him. "When I go out to the woods on my own time, I'll find Hiccup and ask him about it. I'll let him know we're looking out for him, you know?"

Arachne beamed up at him and Snaketail clapped him on the back, grinning. Hiccup didn't have any real friends on Berk, so the three of them were going to fill that gap. It was only because of Hiccup that they'd been welcomed to Berk – really, it was the least they could do for him.

Hidden Grotto

The silence as Hiccup entered the sanctuary was nothing short of eerie, which did nothing to help his wavering confidence. He crept through the narrow crack in the rock on quivering legs, holding only a wooden shield for defense, as if that'd be enough to save him if his current plan went wrong. In his other hand was a fresh cod, swiped from the fishermen's nets on a casual stroll past the docks.

He'd found this alternate path, leading deep into the high stone walls that surrounded the grotto, shortly after arriving here. It wound tightly through the rocks and ended between two boulders at the very bottom, allowing Hiccup a glimpse of the grotto floor through the "gateway". Here, he paused and, holding his breath, threw the fish out into the open.

Splat. The fish landed on the grass with a wet slap, but there was no blur of black or any kind of movement at all. Rather, the silence stretched until it was almost unbearable. Knowing that he was going to have to step out of safety, Hiccup took a long, shuddering breath and marched forward.

Thunk.

His progress was stopped short, though, when his shield caught between the two boulders. Hiccup strained his arms to try and wiggle it free, but it wouldn't budge. He slid underneath and attempted to tug it out from that direction, to no avail. He sighed, biting his lip as he accepted the fact that he would have to proceed without any protection at all.

Hiccup picked the fish back up and advanced further into the grotto, his eyes flicking back and forth, studying the place. There was still no sign of the Gore Magala, which only made his heart race faster. It was too much to hope that it had managed to escape – far more likely that it was stalking him.

A sudden spiral of movement caught his eye, and he looked down. He'd just stepped through a thin layer of black mist that swirled and bloomed upward around his legs. To his surprise, the grotto floor was covered in the stuff, all the way across to the edge of the lake. He froze, waiting for the mist to rise and envelop his face, but it never did. When it settled down, Hiccup proceeded more carefully, not wanting to disturb the mist too much and breathe it in. He'd seen what eel pox did to Vikings, and it was something he never wanted to experience.

Where was that Gore Magala? Hiccup was starting to sweat. He'd been tiptoeing through its natural prison for a good minute now, and it still hadn't shown itself. A flicker of black danced on the edge of his vision, but he dismissed it as another fluctuation of mist…

…until he heard the growl curling into the air right behind him.

Hiccup whipped around, and there it was. The Gore Magala, up close and personal.

It climbed down headfirst from a rock outcropping, its six limbs clambering across the rock like a monstrous insect. It leapt down to the ground, sending its mist spilling forward in tidal waves that Hiccup had to guard his mouth against. Its black shell shone purple in the dappled sunlight, and its cape gleamed like the pelt of a well-groomed bear. And all the while, its eyeless muzzle never ceased to "stare" right at him.

Finally, it stopped, taking up a defensive posture less than five meters from him. Its mouth was open in a lipless snarl, displaying numerous small yet sharp teeth. Its cape and tail swished along the ground, stirring up whorls of mist that billowed on either side of it. However, it didn't make a move beyond that. It did nothing but stare – and yes, Hiccup now believed wholeheartedly that something without eyes could stare.

Hiccup thought back to what Gobber had said, to him specifically, during their first training session – A monster will always, always, go for the kill.

This monster, though, hadn't killed Hiccup when it had the chance. It had spared him. Did that mean Gore Magalas were just an exception? Or was it because Hiccup had set it free in the woods?

If the second guess was true, then the Gore Magala wasn't going to attack Hiccup; not at this moment, anyway. All he had to do was not give it a new reason to.

Steeling himself, Hiccup stuck out his hand, offering the fish.

The Gore Magala tilted its head and settled its cape more neatly over its back, although its broken left wing remained loose and floppy. It padded a couple of steps forward, looking almost curious as it approached him. Then it stopped, tensed, and returned to its guarded stance, growling a warning. If anything, it looked even more defensive than before.

Hiccup lowered his hand, disappointed that his first attempt hadn't worked. An idea sprung to mind, and he pulled back his jacket to expose his belt and the knife it carried. He had equipped the blade out of habit, mostly, but also as a precaution. With his shield gone, it was now his only line of defense.

The Gore Magala let out a harsh scream when Hiccup revealed the knife. He didn't know whether it could smell the metal or could sense it through other means, but one thing had become clear. His little peacemaking effort wasn't going to go anywhere so long as he had a weapon on him.

Ever so slowly, so as not to provoke the Gore Magala, Hiccup pinched the knife's hilt between two fingers and lifted it from his belt. With exaggerated movements, he then stretched his arm to its full length, the knife now as far from his body as he could manage, and dropped it on the ground.

There, he thought, as though the monster could hear his inner voice. Not gonna attack you. I'm totally harmless.

The Gore Magala didn't back down, though. Its wingarms didn't fold back and its back didn't unhunch. It let out a hissing noise and jerked its head in the direction of the water. Hiccup's eyes widened when he realized what the Gore Magala was telling him – it wanted him to be rid of the knife completely, to dispose of it in the lake.

Hiccup had never believed that monsters were stupid, exactly, but this was a show of intelligence greater than he expected. Already, he'd seen that it was willing to spare his life in exchange for saving its own. Now, it wasn't just showing it could plan for future possibilities… but it was communicating to him.

Perhaps because he was too stupefied with awe at this discovery, Hiccup kicked the blade into the lake without complaint. His eyes never left the Gore Magala as he did so, and only a soft plop told him that the blade had hit the water. A pocketknife wasn't going to do him any good against a full-grown monster, anyway.

To his further intrigue, the Gore Magala's response was immediate. It relaxed visibly, retracting its wingarms and reclining on its haunches like a resting wolf. When its hindquarters hit the ground, it stirred its fog into a rolling wave that dissipated into swirling eddies in a sea of miasma.

Now, there was no way Hiccup could harm the beast, and he could tell it knew that. Its more docile posture showed that it was dropping its guard, waiting to see his next move.

He gulped and, again, held out the fish.

The Gore Magala stood up and, finally, closed the distance between it and Hiccup. It brought with it flashbacks of the last time it had been within touching distance, but Hiccup managed to hold himself steady. Trying not to tremble too much, he stretched out his arm a little further, closer to its jaws.

He was just questioning the validity of his self-preservative instincts when those jaws opened and, lunging, snatched the fish without taking his hand with it. It polished off the morsel with only a few snaps of its teeth, rearing its neck up to swallow it more easily. As it did so, its head was illuminated by sunlight, allowing Hiccup a good look at its finer details.

Yep, as I thought, he observed. Sightless.

Its snack finished, the Gore Magala then lowered its head back down to Hiccup's level and – to Hiccup's shock – began to advance on him. His legs tried to move in every direction at once to keep a safe distance away, only for him to lose his balance and fall onto his rump. Black mist blossomed up around him, blotting out his vision temporarily, but he managed to close his mouth just in time. And still, the Gore Magala crept closer.

"No, no, no, no!" he protested, scrabbling backwards until he felt his back hit a boulder. He glanced left and right fearfully, but it was too late. The Gore Magala nosed its featureless snout into his face, making a gurgling sound in its throat. Its head and shoulders took up Hiccup's entire line of sight, pinning him in place with presence as surely as it had once pinned him with force.

"I… I don't have any more!" Hiccup managed to blurt, frozen against the rock.

It was a harsh, desperate whisper, spoken in hopes the monster would understand. Of course, it didn't work… to an extent. The Gore Magala stood over him, unmoving – but as Hiccup started to think it would just eat him instead, its throat started to pulse with a vile sucking sound. On the third, it opened its jaws and deposited a dripping chunk of raw flesh into his lap.

A wave of fish stench mixed with monster breath burned Hiccup's nose when the Gore Magala's half-eaten meal landed on his pants. He muffled a gag, the fear of being eaten replaced by disgust over what it ate. Only now did the Gore Magala give him space, settling down once again to observe him.

Hiccup did nothing at first, too confused to anything but stare at the Gore Magala. Its newest behavior – vomiting half its food on top of him – meant nothing to him. He could see it sitting there, the picture of patience, expecting him to do… something. But what?

Several awkward seconds slithered past before the Gore Magala lifted its head with a conspicuous gulping sound. Now, why would it do that? Was it a clue? Was it another instruction, guiding Hiccup into doing something it wanted…?

He glanced down at the saliva-coated fish meat in his lap, and the realization struck him as hard as the fish's odor had moments ago.

NO, Hiccup's brain told him, and his stomach gave a nauseous lurch in agreement. But somehow, he felt as though this was another test, like abandoning his knife. The Gore Magala was waiting for him to make the next move. And if he wanted it to trust him…

His teeth closed on a cold, squishy, bloody lump encrusted in crunchy scales. He swallowed as soon as he could, only for his rebellious stomach to send it straight back up. Somehow, Hiccup forced it back down, and his stomach squirmed unpleasantly before calming. He gagged and tried to shake away the nausea that was making his head swim.

The Gore Magala let out a weird, chirping noise and flapped its cloak, giving off an inexplicable air of enthusiasm.

"Uh… mm-hmm," Hiccup answered with as much positivity as he could. He tried a winning smile that felt more like a tired grimace. "G-Good… um, good! Good fish!"

"Shiraah!" the Gore Magala shrieked, leaping to its feet with a triumphant flare of its cloak. It almost looked like it was cheering, to which Hiccup gave a shaky laugh. Now he did feel like grinning, like he was at last making progress. He moved closer, extending his hand, eyes fixed on its glossy-shelled head…

"CHAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

The Gore Magala freaked out at his approach, unleashing an earsplitting scream that knocked Hiccup onto his backside. It stood on its hind legs and unfurled its wings in a powerful threat display, the black mist at its feet rippling outwards. Wanting nothing more to do with its visitor, the Gore Magala gave its cape a mighty flap that carried it across the lake, only for its useless wing to end its flight in a pathetic, wobbling zigzag.

Hiccup's eyes followed its path along the water, his breathing soon returning to normal. As the fear ebbed away, he made a frustrated noise and chided himself for getting his hopes up. I got impatient and rushed things. Of course getting it to trust me won't be that easy…

Now what? On the shady side of the grotto, the Gore Magala was laying down for a nap, blending almost seamlessly into the layer of mist that swirled around its curled tail and legs. Hiccup didn't want to just watch it sleep – he wanted to interact with it further, see what else it could do, learn how to get it to open up more.

Gotta be patient with this, he reminded himself, standing up and brushing the black fog off his legs. No more food on me… I can bring more tomorrow and hope that puts it in a better mood. But now… uh…

There wasn't any reason for him to return to the village so soon. It had been days since the raid – Gobber wouldn't need help at the forge. He could afford to stay here the rest of the day, if he fancied. And even if the Gore Magala was asleep, this could still be an opportunity to learn something.

So Hiccup got himself comfortable atop a flat rock in a corner that was absent of black mist, and waited. He started out by admiring the scenery – it really was wonderful, and the seclusion was calming. But he grew bored of that and, judging by the Gore Magala's steady breathing, it wasn't going to wake up any time soon. For some reason, he didn't want to leave just yet. He wanted to be there when the Gore Magala woke up; maybe, if he was still there when it awakened, it'd be more accustomed to his presence.

A stick lying on the ground beside Hiccup's rock gave him inspiration on how to pass the time until then. He began to scratch lines in the dirt – the smooth curve of a domed head, the lean contours of slender limbs, the slope of a ragged cloak fitting over a humped back. He started with a simple doodle of the Gore Magala's profile, then moved on to a more detailed sketch of its head. With every new mark he etched, Hiccup's excitement grew. He could fill in the Book of Monsters with everything it was missing. Not just size and speed, but portraits as lifelike as those of the other monsters. He was starting to see why Fishlegs was so enthusiastic about this stuff – but being out here, learning things no-one else had, was more exciting than anything he could get from between dusty leather covers.

When Hiccup at last put down his stick and flexed his tired fingers, the ground was covered in etchings of Gore Magalas and the sun was significantly lower in the sky. He glanced over to where the monster still lay, in the shadow of the great tree's roots – it hadn't budged, still sound asleep. Hiccup wandered over with caution to check on it, keeping close to the lake, only to see no sign of it awakening soon.

With a huff, he flopped down on his rear and started to poke at the nearby mud for want of something to do. When that became boring, he withdrew his hand and wiped it clean in the cool grass. Or, he tried, and his frustration flared when the mud clung stubbornly to his skin. He wished he'd brought his sketchbook… although what would he do with it? Draw more Gore Magalas, like he'd been for the past several hours?

As he groaned in annoyance at the thought, his eye caught sight of a large, oblong rock sticking out of the muddy bank. An inexplicable epiphany took hold of him, banishing his irritation, and he reached out to haul the rock in front of him. With the gusto of a five-year-old, he took a fistful of mud and slathered it over its surface, light grey being swallowed by black.

Hiccup's project, while at first seeming random, took on a more defined shape with each new idea that struck him. A mud-slathered rock sat in the grass before him, two trails of smaller rocks forming a neck and tail. A search around the lake's perimeter granted him a fish skull, which, coated in more mud to hide its eyeholes, acted as the head. Then, small planks of wood became arms, stuck in position atop the body with yet more mud.

It might've seemed strange for him to be sculpting a Gore Magala when, just moments ago, he'd been fed up with drawing it. This, though, filled him with such glee. Once he'd layered enough mud onto the arms to keep them aloft, he focused on constructing the cape by adding leaves. He was having such fun with his activity that, at first, he didn't register the unmistakable presence of something looming behind him.

But then, he felt a hot gust on the back of his neck, and the realization that came with it chilled his blood. His hands paused in their work as his body seized up with tension. It was right there.

Hiccup forced his hands to start moving again and attempted to keep his concentration on the task at hand, not on the sweat pooling on his forehead. If he kept working and pretended not to notice, he wouldn't risk aggravating the Gore Magala. He could hear its breaths now, even see tendrils of black mist start to slither around him the longer it remained. Was it "watching" him, wondering what he was working on?

After what felt like forever, Hiccup at last heard a snort and the sound of fading footsteps. It must have gotten bored with him and found something more interesting to investigate. Just as Hiccup was thinking this, however, he heard the Gore Magala approach again – and then a boulder almost as large as him slammed into the ground.

"WAH!" Hiccup exclaimed, jumping to his feet in alarm. Very aware of how close he'd been to being crushed, he cast a terrified look at the Gore Magala, which only flexed its wingarms as if to boast its strength. It then bounded toward the edge of the lake, and Hiccup had to stumble aside to avoid being knocked aside by the monster's size.

Initially, Hiccup had no idea what had gotten into the Gore Magala. It was digging around in the mud, then emerging with big clawfuls of the stuff that it slapped onto its boulder. It wasn't until the third time he saw it do this that he understood… and it was a Hel of a shock when it dawned on him.

The Gore Magala had seen him sculpting something out of rocks and mud. Whether it really understood why was a mystery. But now it was gathering its own materials and putting them together; its efforts were clumsy, but they still mirrored Hiccup's own actions.

This wasn't sparing a life, or planning, or sharing food. This was mimicry. An attempt to understand a new behavior by trying it out for itself. A display of curiosity and playfulness.

As Hiccup watched in flabbergasted awe, the Gore Magala finished piling mud onto its rock and stopped to sniff at his sculpture. It perked up, as though arriving at a conclusion, and raced off to another part of the lake. It came back a moment later with what Hiccup could only describe as excitement, scattering a mess of sticks, pebbles, and other assorted debris atop the sticky surface. Not yet satisfied, it checked out his sculpture again, then turned its eyeless muzzle toward him and uttered an enthusiastic growl.

It returned again, this time with a bunch of crumpled leaves clutched in the enormous claws that tipped its wingarms. It opened them, and the leaves fluttered down to further decorate its construction. The growl that curled from its throat was one of displeasure, and it fanned its cape several times in a subdued tantrum that blew the leaves away. It looked Hiccup's way again, and the chirp it directed at him sounded like an order.

What does it want me to do? Hiccup asked himself, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. He glanced between his sculpture and the Gore Magala's, wondering just it wanted from him. Something it wanted to do, but couldn't… something to do with the leaves…?

In the dazed manner of a man who wasn't totally sure if he was dreaming or not, Hiccup moved forward on numb legs and picked up a leaf. He gave the Gore Magala a cautious glance; it didn't react. Assured that it wouldn't attack him, he approached the boulder and pushed the leaf stem-first into the coat of mud, ending up with a little green flag of sorts. The Gore Magala tilted its head at him, which he took as an encouraging sign and picked up the next leaf. He stuck it on top, then the next, then the ne–

Groooooowwwwwl.

He flinched at the sudden, hostile noise, and dropped the leaf. The Gore Magala halted its obvious threat, and resumed waiting for him to finish. Without tearing his eyes from it. Hiccup brought the leaf back down, and…

Groooooowwwwwl.

Did it dislike the position in which Hiccup was placing the leaf? Did it actually have a vision of what its creation should look like? He shifted the leaf just a tiny bit, and this time the Gore Magala didn't scold him. With its guidance, Hiccup eventually managed to arrange all of the dropped leaves into two parallel lines, thus finishing the construction.

There it was – a haphazard collection of random objects thrown on top of a muddy rock. But, for something without a proper face, the Gore Magala seemed awfully proud. It bent its head to inspect the completed amalgamation, then faced Hiccup once more. Its muzzle radiated satisfaction and pleasure.

Now it was Hiccup's turn.

Without speaking, or even thinking, he bent down and began to put together a smaller replica of the Gore Magala's own creation. It was automatic; the right thing to do. He covered a small, flat rock with a layer of mud, then sprinkled twigs and pebbles on top before finishing with a couple of leaves. When it was finished, he looked up at the monster without any fear.

Look. We're the same. We think alike. We can be friends.

Hiccup took a step toward the Gore Magala. Then another, and another. He got almost within touching distance of it without a reaction. Its body language was no longer defensive. It felt at ease, relaxed. Licking his lips, Hiccup reached out with his hand – slowly, so as not to scare it. The Gore Magala let out a snort and bristled with suspicion, drawing its head back in objection to his advance.

Hiccup retracted his hand, hesitating. He knew for an unmistakable fact that it trusted him now – the gods themselves were telling him so. Why did it still draw away, though?

Let it come to you.

He wasn't sure what inspired the thought. But, before he could stop himself, he was obeying the unbidden prompt. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, surrendering himself completely. He was at the Gore Magala's mercy now – however, there was still no fear.

Again, he extended his hand, a silent invitation floating on a serene sea of calm.

This time, the Gore Magala accepted.

Hiccup almost fell over when the smooth, cool snout met his skin. Elation bubbled up from his core to flood his body with warmth, so strong and sudden that his knees buckled. With reverent slowness, as though fearing he'd wake up from this dream, he opened his eyes and peered up at the Gore Magala. Its sightless muzzle gave off an impression of peace and acceptance.

I trust you, it seemed to say.

And Hiccup felt no doubt when he decided that he could trust it in return.

This chapter was HELL. My biggest problem was finding a way to tweak the bonding scene to fit a creature that was A) more aggressive and B) unable to see and thus imitate Hiccup's drawing. Then there was a ton of revisions to do because I couldn't make up my mind on how stuff was supposed to be structured and worded… I'm just glad I managed to end up with something I'm satisfied with.

Moving on…

While Snaketail is busy training and Arachne is doing... stuff, Batwings has just enough alone time to keep his mind active.

The Gore Magala is one of my all-time favorite monsters of Monster Hunter. If I got the chance to study one up close with a guarantee that it wouldn't immediately rip me to shreds, I'd absolutely take it.

Please send reviews! We're getting more Batwings, as well as some Snaketail next chapter!