Too much blood. There was too much blood, it was everywhere, and Togi's wounds were still bleeding freely. Heather looked around for anything that could help with the gaping wounds, but there was nothing, not even a tunic for a makeshift bandage as she had shed that on the ship.

She forced herself to act confident, fighting against panic for Togi's sake, but she wasn't going to let forced confidence blind her to the overwhelming severity of the problem at hand, however necessary said confidence was at the moment. She closed her eyes for the brief moment it took to access Einfari's senses and then withdrew, immediately looking over at a bare, dark wall of no particular importance, specifically one relatively unstained by the initial spurt of blood.

'Heather? I'm on my way back. They were almost here, so I flew into them right away.' Einfari sounded so amazingly calm compared to the heady state of near-panic Heather was dealing with. She accessed Heather's sight out of habit and saw nothing but the wall.

"Hurry," Heather said quickly. "Bring Eldurhjarta and Maour to the clearing you left us in. Stop for nothing, get here as fast as you can. Togi's badly hurt." She wished she could force Einfari out of her mind; doing so would be cruel, but it would get Einfari there faster for lack of information, and it would cut out the terrible sight she was about to pass on.

Einfari said nothing for all of a heartbeat. Then she spoke. 'How bad?' Her voice quivered.

"Not bad enough to kill if I can help it," Heather said firmly. "Every second counts. Hurry." She turned to Nóttreiði, giving Einfari a glance of the blood all over the alley, but no real chance to see the actual wounds, and addressed him. "Go ahead, make sure that Astrid really ran, and grab the first human you can find. Don't hurt them, don't let them hurt you, just drag them over here. Make your eyes wide and hide your teeth, it will make you look cuter and less stabbable. Togi, you need to walk. We're going back-"

'To the clearing, I know,' Togi said faintly, surprising Heather. His eyes were glazed with pain, and he was awkwardly shoving his head against his shoulder wound, trying to staunch the flow. His paws were occupied doing the same for his chest, though not very effectively. 'I'm in no state to argue.'

"Better than any human," Heather countered, standing to the side as Nóttreiði ran out of the alley. She didn't know if he could do as she had asked, but he would try because the alternative was standing around and hoping his father didn't die. "You can still talk pretty effectively. I'd be speechless." She put her hands to the wound on his shoulder, fearlessly sticking them into the open gash and grabbing hold, pulling the flesh together as she slid onto his back. "You take the chest wound and walk. I've got this."

'This…' Togi struggled to stand, slipping in his own blood. 'I can. But… So much blood…'

"You're a big dragon," Heather countered, relieved. He was slowly turning around now, placing each paw deliberately, one of his front two occupied with his chest. That he could stand and move at all spoke well of his chances, or at least better than the initial shock of seeing so much blood. Now that she looked, it was not an incredible amount, just far more than she thought any human could survive losing.

'Dizzy, too,' he said as he made his way back through the alley. 'Eldurhjarta… I don't know if she can… do anything for this.'

"Just stop in the open space. We need to close your wounds." She didn't think they could do that the way they had the arrow wounds earlier. For one thing, asking for fire was out of the question, and for another the wounds were far too large for that. She didn't even know where she had left her ax; probably back in the alley with her bow and arrows.

Togi collapsed in the clearing, alerting Heather to the fact that they were there. She looked up, trying to think. He had two deep wounds, both imperfectly held closed by his paw and her hands… What next?

What could she possibly do? She tried not to think about where her hands were, or what she was grabbing onto, or the slick, hot liquid sluggishly spurting out despite her best efforts.

Togi leaned over, still pressing one paw to his chest wound, and stuck out a wing, bracing himself against the wooden side of a hut. He then slid down, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

'So... ' He huffed, trailing off for a long moment. 'So ironic.'

"What?" She checked Einfari's sight and saw the village, rapidly growing closer. Help was almost here.

'I finally conquer my fear with you, save my son,' Togi rumbled, 'and then die before I get to enjoy any of it.'

"You're not going to die." She wasn't going to let him give up; she hadn't thought he would give up. "So don't say that."

'Sorry,' he rumbled mournfully. 'Haven't had a good night.'

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "None of us have."

The noise of wings cutting through the air alerted her to Einfari's arrival, and she twisted, keeping her grip on Togi's wound, to see Einfari, Eldurhjarta, and Toothless diving, a dozen others following behind.

'Bad, bad, that's bad,' Eldurhjarta barked, rushing over. 'Not you two, keep doing that,' she quickly continued, 'the wounds, I'm talking about the wounds.'

"Can you-" Heather began.

Eldurhjarta cut her off with a bark. 'No, let me look first,' she said, sticking her nose against Togi's chest and eyeing the wound he held with his paw. 'Shallow, wide,' she murmured.

'Is there danger?' Toothless asked. He looked around the no longer empty clearing. 'What happened?' Everyone else, Myrkurs and Eldurs mostly, began checking around themselves as well, though there was no point to that.

"Astrid," Heather explained. "She ran off. No idea where."

'Just her?' Toothless clarified.

Heather nodded.

'Okay,' he decided, 'Some of us need to hunt her down, and some of us should guard the Nótts.'

'Maour,' Eldurhjarta called out, 'Fishlegs taught me about sewing up wounds, can you do that?'

"I think we have a needle and sinew," Maour offered, slipping down off Toothless and digging in his saddle bag. "For emergency repairs."

'Yes, that will do,' she replied. 'Chest wound first, Maour.'

"On it," Maour called out, detaching the saddlebag and bringing it over. "This isn't going to feel good," he said in way of warning. Einfari, who had taken up a spot by her father's tail, whined worriedly.

'I am past caring about pain,' Togi grunted, moving his paw. 'What will you do?'

'Pull the wound together,' Eldurhjarta offered. 'Fishlegs and I have discussed this. First he will pull it together, then I lick, then we put something on top to help the blood dry.'

"Nóttreiði is getting more help," Heather said, "but don't you need to clean the wound first?" She didn't know much about injuries, but that seemed right.

"If he had blood to spare, maybe," Maour said, kneeling and pulling out supplies. Thick sinew, a small metal needle, and some spare leather that was immediately put to work mopping up some of the blood. "I think bleeding to death is what we're trying to stop here. Everything else comes after."

'Please hurry,' Togi moaned. 'I feel light and dizzy.'

Heather looked away as Maour and Eldurhjarta started working, the latter directing the former. She felt distinctly helpless, even though she was still holding his other wound closed.

She tried watching the newly-arrived Night Furies to take the edge off her worry. Seeing Eldurs and Myrkurs walking around the edges of the clearing was a little reassuring, and knowing that others were trying to track down Astrid more so. She didn't think the injured madwoman would last long against four or more combat-ready dragons fresh from nothing more than a day-long flight. She wouldn't get lucky again.

But none of that really helped. Togi was quiet now, worryingly so, only grunting occasionally as Maour pulled his flesh closer together, soaked in blood from the elbow down.

"What happened here?" Maour asked, standing to move Heather's hands and start on the shoulder wound. She flinched, not expecting him to do that, and almost held on by reflex. The sight of his bloody hands pulling hers away was nauseating.

"We saved Nóttreiði, landed here to lick our wounds, and she attacked out of nowhere," Heather summarized, only barely noticing the humor in her unintentional choice of words. "We were all too tired. I put an arrow in her arm, she got in a few good hits, and ran away."

'Saving Nóttreiði from the Berserkers, because he was betrayed,' Einfari said, speaking up. She sounded as miserable as Heather felt, and more than a little angry. 'One of the humans betrayed him. The one we sent him with to check the coastline.'

"Sigvard, Chief of the Rockbreakers," Heather added. "There's no question he sold Nóttreiði out." They hadn't had time to get properly angry over that thanks to the rapid-fire assortment of potentially fatal challenges that had immediately followed that revelation. She felt a rising righteous anger, but it was dull and numb, like everything else. Her body was slowly coming off the adrenaline-fueled high she had been running on, and she was feeling all her pains full-force. Without even thinking about it, she sat down and arched her back, leaning against warm scales without touching the burned part of herself to anything.

Maour quickly looked away from her, fixing his gaze on the bloody wound that was slowly closing, sinew spanning the gap more and more with every passing moment. "What did you actually see?" he asked.

'Don't question our perception,' Einfari hissed. 'We know what happened.'

"But not all of it. I'm not doubting you," he retorted, not looking up, "I just want to know everything. It's going to be hard to call him out in front of the other Chieftains, given I wasn't there. I need to know what you saw."

'We saw a hostage trade-' Einfari snorted, shaking her head. 'Right, there was a human being traded for, wasn't there? I had almost forgotten.'

"Yeah, there was." She had forgotten too; they hadn't seen who it was, and hadn't cared.

'Didn't…' Togi huffed, sounding strained, and flinched under Maour's tug on the stitching, his muscles twitching. 'Myrkurljós said the traitor was brooding all the way here.'

"Yeah," Heather agreed, surprised Togi had been listening. She had thought he was unconscious. "His son died…"

'In the fight on the not-so-peaceful island,' Einfari growled. 'Or maybe not.'

"We don't know for sure who it was," Maour cautioned, sewing up the last of Togi's shoulder wound, "but that sounds right. It doesn't matter much. He betrayed us and broke the agreement. There's no wiggling out of that."

'Nóttreiði was captured,' Einfari growled. 'If the humans will not punish their own, we will ambush and kill him ourselves.'

"Right." Maour looked around. "Wait, where is Nóttreiði?"

Nóttreiði darted through the narrow paths between wooden structures, following the noise. Humans were noisy, as a general rule, and many of them in the same place even more so.

He knew where to go, and Heather had told him what to do once he found them, but that didn't stop him from worrying as he ran. He wasn't sure if bringing the humans to his injured father was a good idea; if he didn't know that the rest of the pack would be there by the time he returned, he would have refused to get them at all.

But what could the humans do that Eldurhjarta couldn't? He didn't understand why Heather had told him to fetch them. They might act as a deterrent if the crazy female returned, but so would the other Furies, but he knew he wasn't the one to decide that. Heather had told him to go get them, and it was possible they would be the key to saving his father's life. He had to just trust her.

Oh, the irony, that on the same night he was betrayed he would wind up trusting one particular human anyway. Not entirely, not without reservation, but enough that he believed the worried, determined way she had spoken of ensuring his father lived despite the grievous injuries.

Nóttreiði jumped to the side, following the relatively high-pitched cries and cheers. He couldn't tell if the noise meant they were fighting or celebrating, but he rounded a corner to approach them regardless. The sounds were coming from inside one of the wooden structures, audible through a narrow opening that bled light out into the dark night, a patch of flickering yellow on the ground in front of him.

He sat up on his hind paws and peered into the opening, shoving his head right through the weak, fragile wooden lattice blocking it.

Humans, big and raucous, milling about and roaring at each other. He couldn't make sense of any of it. They were all so distracted none had noticed his intrusion, but they weren't doing anything.

He growled, momentarily stumped. Some of these humans might not be friendly; he had plenty of bruises to attest to the danger of letting those come close.

Why had Heather sent him? He didn't know what to do here. Roar to announce himself? Grab one and drag it back, and hope the others followed? That seemed like a good way to get killed.

Getting their attention at all seemed like a path toward quick death. He wasn't going to let his latest experience with evil humans traumatize him, not when it had consisted of a short beating, being restrained, and nothing else, but that didn't help him feel any more at ease with this.

But his father was hurt, and if he gave up or did anything less than his absolute best, he would forever feel guilty if the worst happened. So, he gathered his courage, reminded himself that these humans were supposed to be allies, and shoved himself up and through the opening, landing on and accidentally shattering a wooden ledge directly in front of the opening.

The noise didn't stop so much as focus; he shied away from the uproar, his head ringing. They were all staring at him, many had sharp false claws already raised and pointing, while others were backing away from him or holding the more aggressive back…

Nóttreiði blinked. Several humans scowled at him all the more fiercely, and were restrained in turn. One in particular, stepped forward and called out to him.

He might not know humans, but he knew a leader when he saw one, and vaguely remembered this one from before. Not the one that had betrayed him, one of the others.

The leader barked something. Nóttreiði shook his head, nodded, pulled his lips back like the Svarturs all seemed to do on occasion, and slowly backed out the opening, jerking his head in a blatant invitation. He didn't think he could be any more clear without speaking their language. They needed to follow.

Precious moments passed as he waited outside the wooden construct; for some reason, most of them weren't following him out the obvious opening. A few did, but the majority of them filed out a much taller, thinner opening he hadn't noticed before.

The leader gestured impatiently at him; he snorted and turned to go. He felt extremely exposed, turning his back to humans so soon after being betrayed, and kept his head tilted to one side to keep them in sight no matter how awkward that made his running.

He would not be traumatized. He would be smarter, more cautious, but reasonable, like his father was now. Or maybe, given how hard his father fought to be like that, how his father wished he could be.

Nóttreiði was going to make his father proud. If he lived long enough to see…

He growled at himself and ran faster, but he realized he was leaving the humans behind, so he slowed again. This was all for nothing if he lost them and had to find them again. If they could do anything, they needed to be there as soon as possible to do it.

Nóttreiði turned into the narrow alleyway he knew led to the clearing, only to stop short.

'What are you doing?' Eldurvatn rumbled curiously. 'And who are they?'

'Heather told me to bring them,' Nóttreiði replied. 'Let them through.'

'If you of all dragons are doing what Heather asks, then there must be a good reason.' Eldurvatn decided, backing up instead of moving out of the way. 'Can't be too careful, though. Everyone, humans incoming!'

When Nóttreiði and the rowdy entourage he led stepped into the small clearing amidst the dead, unnatural wooden structures, it was clear that nobody was taking chances. Fully half the pack stood around his father, physically shielding him. Einfari and Eldurhjarta were inside the small, defensive ring.

The human leader barked out something loud and long-winded, and Maour stepped away, his arms soaked in blood. Nóttreiði stifled a snarl and looked away, choosing to focus on his father instead of Maour. It was easier that way.

'He actually got humans without mauling one?' one of the Eldurs hissed incredulously.

'My brother can do whatever needs to be done,' Einfari said bluntly, casting him a subtly impressed look, just enough to convey her approval without seeming condescending or disbelieving, like the Eldur had.

Nóttreiði noticed that Heather was leaning against his father's side, and mindful of his sister's approval and his own resolutions, said nothing. 'How are you?' he warbled, speaking to his father.

'Still living,' his father groaned, not opening his eyes. 'All I can expect. At least things are in good hands.'

'Hands?' Nóttreiði asked. He didn't know what those were, though he felt like he had heard the term before.

'Hands,' his father confirmed. 'Maour is taking charge. He will ensure the mad human is hunted down and the traitor punished.' His eyes flicked open at that, narrow with pain and anger. 'Stay close to Maour. Make sure he knows to do so.'

'I can do that,' Einfari rumbled.

'You should,' Nóttreiði agreed. 'I don't understand them.' He could hear Maour speaking in the strange way he always did, using both languages at once, but the rest were as unintelligible as ever.

'Well, let me fill you in,' Einfari offered, slapping her tail on the ground next to her. 'Right now, Maour is making sure they don't blame us for the pack's late arrival.'

'They had better not.' Most of the pack hadn't shown up in time, but Nóttreiði was of the opinion that their side had taken enough injuries and risks already. He settled down next to his sister, glad that the Eldurs and Myrkurs were providing a physical barrier. Things seemed to be getting heated.

"We came as quickly as we could," Maour repeated for what felt like the tenth time, staring down Rotison and his drunken, belligerent men. Most of them had been sent to try and track down Astrid, following in the footsteps of the Myrkurs who had gone to do the same earlier, and those left were the least inclined to do anything useful.

"Ye missed it," Rotison sneered. "We 'ad to pick up the slack."

"Are you complaining about having to fight somebody?" He didn't have to worry about pushing Rotison too far and inciting violence; having half a dozen able-bodied Night Furies backing him up was more than enough insurance to allow him to push and hopefully shut Rotison up. They were wasting time, and as belligerent as he was, Rotison wasn't the Chieftain that needed to be called out and disgraced.

"I'm complainin' about the fight bein' 'ere," Rotison slurred. "This is peak tradin' time, and it's all disruptin' that."

"Oh, come on, that's not even a good excuse," someone called out. Camicazi, looking none the worse aside from a bruise on her chin, shoved her way past two of Rotison's drunken retinue, poking one with the tip of a knife to get them to move. Bertha followed behind her, pushing hard enough to unbalance even the heftiest of men.

"An' we did a grand job o' keepin' the fight from yer precious village," Mogadon slurred, sounding as drunk as Rotison. Aldir and Sigvard followed behind.

Maour restrained himself to a cursory glance in Sigvard's direction. No matter how angry he was with the treacherous Rockbreaker Chieftain for selling out an ally, breaking the treaty, and trying to get away with it like nothing had happened, it wouldn't do to alert him too soon.

'There he is,' Toothless hissed, stepping around and warily circling the drunken men to stand in the alleyway. 'Nobody gets past me now.'

'Hey, what about me? I can't fly past.'

Toothless arched his neck and looked behind himself to see Elderburg. 'Oh, right. Wait, you're grounded?' He squeezed to the side to allow Eldurberg through. 'Where were you?'

'Looking for some of those nice human females Myrkurvængur bragged about. My wing hurts,' he admitted, flaring a wing to display a small puncture wound in the membrane, 'and I thought they might help make it better.'

'You have a highly skilled healer sister for that,' Eldurhjarta said snarkily.

'Who would never let me hear the end of it, so…' Eldurberg seemed to notice everything that was going on simultaneously; he trailed off, taking in the angry men, defensive Furies, and heavily bandaged Nótt lying against the side of a hut. 'What did I miss?'

"We have bigger things to argue about than our late arrival," Maour said firmly, addressing the five Chieftains. "First, as Rotison already knows, Astrid Hofferson is on the island."

That got Camicazi's attention; she drew her other knife and smiled widely. "Hunting time!"

"Exactly," Maour agreed solemnly. "But the hunting parties have already left. She's not getting off this island." There was no way it would happen; Rotison's people had gone to ensure the docks were still totally locked down, and there were no more hidden Berserker vessels like the one that had almost sailed off with Nóttreiði.

"We'll be sending out some o' our more skilled, of course," Bertha said firmly. "Nobody better than a Burglar to catch a sneak."

"And my men too," Mogadon declared, drawing his sword for no particular reason. "If I can find any still awake to do it."

"That's great," Maour agreed. He meant it; the more people hunting for Astrid, the faster she'd be caught. He had no idea what they were going to do with her, but that was a secondary concern. Getting her locked down and no longer a threat took precedence.

And the same applied to the other looming confrontation. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling the Scythe resting between them, and spoke again.

"Also," he said coldly, "we have a traitor in our ranks."

Sigvard, who had been staring at the dragons with mild interest, whirled upon hearing that, though he tried to hide it as a stretch. Maour would have smiled at the blatantly obvious attempt if he were in any mood to be amused.

"Here, or in general?" Aldir asked cautiously.

"Sigvard." Maour pointed to him, ensuring that even the drunkest Viking present knew who he was speaking of. "He turned on the Night Fury sent with him to check the coasts, and sold him to the Berserkers. He broke the agreement we all signed."

Sigvard, strangely enough, made no move to draw his weapon. He stood proudly, glaring at Maour, and scowled. "Liar."

"Traitor." Maour waved in the general direction of Heather and Togi. "The others saw. They got him back, at great risk to themselves, and no thanks to you. Whether you admit it or not, you've broken the treaty, and you'll pay the price." He didn't intend to do it himself, or have anyone in particular do it; just bluffing Sigvard into admitting his actions would be enough to pass the actual task of enforcing the fatal penalty to whichever Chieftain most wanted to do it. That was unavoidable, inevitable if he wanted the alliance to remain intact without a traitor in their midst.

"None would take the word of a dragon, if it even had words," Sigvard said, backing away. "And you'll not set them on me."

"How about the word of a human, then?" Maour asked sarcastically. "Heather was there. We can wake her up and ask her."

"She'll lie."

"Come on," Camicazi drawled, all the humor gone from her voice. She certainly believed, judging by the way she held her knives at the ready. "All Vikings suck at deception, and you're no different."

"She's right," Bertha added angrily. "I've never seen a more obvious liar. Why'd you do it, Sigvard? We 'ave a right to know before we cut you in two."

"You'll do no such thing," Sigvard said, finally drawing the sharpened pickaxe that served as his tribe's weapon of choice. "I only did what I had to."

"You gotta be jokin'," Mogadon said gruffly, drawing his sword and leveling it at Sigvard. "Why?"

"You know why!" Sigvard exclaimed. "You too," he added, pointing at Bertha and Aldir. "You all should know. They had my son, what else was I to do?"

'I guess that's proof,' Toothless muttered. 'I don't feel bad for him, but I do pity the son.'

Maour nodded. He did feel bad for Sigvard, if only slightly; there were a dozen better ways to approach a problem like that, ways that didn't end in treachery, death, and possibly a divine judgment afterward.

"And ya didn' think ta tell anybody?" Mogadon growled. "We were fightin' them, for Thor's sake! We coulda gone in and taken 'im back!"

"Yeah, you had a tribe of thieves on hand, and didn't ask for us to steal him back?" Camicazi added. "Stupid move."

"Not to mention us," Maour agreed. "Between us all, we could have come up with something." He wasn't entirely sure of that; if it was a foregone conclusion then they would have sent an assassin to take out Dagur and Astrid from the start, and avert the whole war. But it was certainly a better choice than waiting and then cooperating with the enemy.

"I did wha' I had to," Sigvard said stubbornly. "One dragon ain't gonna turn the tide, and they got it back anyway."

"One dragon could very well turn the tide," Maour said, incensed. "Do you know what you did? You gave Dagur a Night Fury. Did you want one of our own broken and used as a mount? Dagur is bad enough on his own!" He could have gone on to explain exactly why giving Dagur Nóttreiði in particular had been a horrible decision, but now was not the time for that.

"It doesn't matter," Bertha interrupted. "Sigvard, did ye get 'im back?"

"Wounded, starving, beaten half to death, but yes," Sigvard replied warily. "You'll not touch him."

"I 'ope that was worth yer life and yer tribe's honor," Mogadon said.

"My tribe had nothing to do with this." Sigvard continued to back up, only to hear a deep, warning snarl from behind him. He stopped just in front of Toothless, turning to keep one eye on the dragon and one on everyone else. "It was just me."

"And I 'ope whoever is the next Rockbreaker Chieftain has more honor," Mogadon replied, advancing on Sigvard.

Aldir stepped in, moving between them. "Hold on."

"Why should I?" Mogadon asked angrily.

"We can't afford to be any more outnumbered," Aldir reminded him. "We do have an enemy fleet to destroy."

"They brought far more weapons than men anyway," Mogadon retorted. "And I'll not fight alongside traitors."

"Exactly my point." Aldir turned to Sigvard. "You've broken your word, and you'll pay for it. But we need your men. Who is next in line?"

"My son… Bu' my second in command, 'cause he's in no shape to lead," Sigvard admitted. "Wha' are you plannin'?"
"You'll step down and forfeit all rights to leadership in favor of your son once he's recovered," Aldir proposed. "Your tribe will continue to fight the Berserkers, acting as if the treaty was never broken."

"This ain't soundin' like a punishment to me," Rotison grumbled, reminding everyone that he and his men were still present.

"You'll fight like a common Viking, in the front lines, and die," Aldir continued, a hard tone entering his voice. "And if you live through this war, we'll execute you. But your stupidity and treachery is not about to weaken our position any further than absolutely necessary."

"He could run," Bertha pointed out. "He's already proven he has no honor."

"If he does, his tribe will pay for it in blood," Mogadon offered. "Problem solved. I like this idea."

"Fine," Sigvard capitulated, putting his pickax away. "I only did what I had to. I'm man enough to face the consequences."

'He thought nobody would notice,' Toothless observed.

"Saving face," Maour murmured. He was glad there wouldn't be any bloody executions here and now; Aldir's compromise was a far better alternative.

Sigvard turned, and Toothless stepped out of the way, growling all the while. Every other Night Fury in the clearing echoed his growl, startling many of the Vikings present.

'All your negotiating did not take into account that my family would want revenge personally,' Einfari said neutrally.

'I don't think you want your brother killing a human in cold blood,' Toothless retorted, 'and your father isn't going to be up to doing much in the near future. This works for everyone else.'

'I'm not complaining,' Einfari clarified. 'I will be happy when my father has recovered, and the human who hurt him killed. We do get to kill that one, right?'

"If we catch her…" Maour shrugged. "I don't know." If it were up to him, he didn't know what he would decide, but it wasn't, not totally. She was one of the two leaders of the opposition; how they dealt with her would be a group decision.

Assuming they caught her. It was almost laughable to think she could get away, but not quite. She had already proven more devious than anyone expected.

Astrid hunched over, stopping for a moment to fight herself.

The drive to hunt had kept her going for months, years, always allowing her to stomach whatever frustrating, inconvenient thing needed to be done at the moment. Anything that built up her ability to track down, fight, kill, and destroy dragons, Night Furies in particular. Anything for that.

But now that same drive had split, and she couldn't decide what to do. Both paths led to the hunt, both to slaughter and death.

She held out her twice-pierced arm, and gripped the thin arrow sticking out from her wrist, yanking it through with no hesitation, snapping the offending shaft and dropping it down into the hole below her.

Tending to her wound was good, whichever way she decided to go next. Doing so in an outhouse was bad, but the disgusting smell would mask her scent and make it easier to avoid any dragons-

Or sneak up on them, once she let the smell dilute a bit; most dragons would notice the scent of human waste, but they were in the middle of a village and it would fit right in-

Or she could run. Her head spun as she tore a strip off her tunic to stem the flow of blood whether from blood loss or conflicting motivations, she couldn't say. Her emotions were spiraling out of control, ranging from anger to rage to cold fear, though the latter was swiftly quashed every time it came up.

What to do? Hunt now, or hunt later? Now was tempting; she was here, they were here, and the terrain suited her more than it did Night Furies.

But the terrain suited the Thor-forsaken tribes who lived here and had allied with the demons more than it did her; she would be hunted.

She wished she had never taken up with Dagur; if she were not the co-leader of his people, they would not bother hunting her down now, and the hunt would be easier.

Her mood swung, and she banished that regret. Dagur was the reason she was here at all, the reason the Night Furies had come to fight instead of hiding somewhere.

Somewhere…

She closed her eyes, breathed out, ignored the stench, and tried to calm herself. Dagur had gotten around to teaching her how he did it a few weeks ago, and though it barely helped at all, any help was better than nothing.

It was better if the hunt was seen through. The hunt was better served if she did not die here. That meant returning to Dagur, to the armada helping her. Especially given what she knew; they needed her to end this.

That decided, she stood, exited the outhouse, and ran. The streets were empty, the torches either burning out or already extinguished. It was well past midnight, and the sun would be rising soon.

She knew she looked out of place, running with an ax in one hand and a stake tucked under her other arm. The average Viking wouldn't recognize her on sight, but they might detain her anyway, and the more time she spent killing people who did that, the less likely it was she would escape-

A group of men walked into the street from an alleyway, bearing torches and led by a Night Fury with yellow eyes. She ducked behind a stray barrel, her heart pounding.

They were coming closer. She could get a kill and then run; it wouldn't slow her that much. The hunt… But she had to get off this island…

The search party, for that was what it had to be, turned down another alleyway on the other side of the street, their light disappearing, and she stood, shaking with indecision and pent-up bloodlust.

To kill or to escape and kill more, later?

The hunt came first. She ran, passing the alleyway and continuing the way they had come from. They were looking for her, and being methodical about it; she would go where they had already checked.

But that was no good; they were moving toward the docks, the only place on this yak-patty of an island that she wanted to go. If there were more of them, and of course there would be, they would all end up there.

She stopped again, standing in the darkened street, and turned on her heel, going back yet again. She had to reach the docks first if she wanted to leave. Whether she was hunting now or later, she had to follow them.

The moving light was easy to spot; she lurked in the shadows well back, far enough that the dragon wouldn't smell her. There was no wind, which was a bad sign; at any moment it could betray her. She still stunk, it just wasn't distinctly her. She had learned as much from hunting Nadders. No scent was perfect camouflage; anything strong enough to drown her own odor out completely was strong enough to draw attention, too concentrated to be normal.

At any moment, that dragon could turn and see her. She wanted it to happen. She didn't want it to happen. Being seen would mean fighting, but it would also mean probably not getting away.

She had not felt true indecision in a long, long time, and it was agonizing. Every moment she spent sneaking along in the wake of the search party was another jab at her mind, another wild swing of her emotions. She caught herself speeding up to catch them several times, and almost threw her stake twice, stopped only by the Vikings between her and her target.

Then the worst happened; one of the Vikings following the dragon turned, looking her way. She froze; movement was the easiest thing to see in darkness, and hopefully his night vision was ruined by the torches his part carried.

The man shrugged and turned back. Astrid continued to stalk them. When the group turned off onto a side street, she followed, approaching the corner and stopping just short of it, readying her ax. If they had noticed her, this would be the place to ambush her; it was what she would have done. She hoped they had.

She turned the corner and saw nothing.

A heavy weight slammed into the back of her legs, and she crumpled forward, totally caught unaware. Her bad arm hit the ground and she rolled, ignoring it in her attempt to come up swinging her ax-

"Never try to out-sneak a Thorston," Tuffnut Thorston said, stepping down on her good arm. Ruffnut stepped on her bad arm at the same time.

The butt of a spear knocked her out before she could recover from the all-consuming confusion that came with being ambushed by people she hadn't expected in the slightest.

Maour stared at the nondescript warehouse. "Why here?"

"Was close," Rotison grumbled. He was nursing a hangover and a black eye he hadn't sported the night before, for some reason. The combination made him even surlier than normal. "Not in use, either."

'So long as she cannot escape,' Toothless said firmly. 'Three guards is good, but there should be one inside, too.'

Maour nodded and said much the same; keeping Astrid securely locked down was important.

"Two inside at all times, too," Rotison confirmed. "We used this one 'cause o' the cage. She's no threat. Weapons on the table."
"I'm going in," Maour decided. There was something he wanted to do, aside from the need to see it for himself.

'So am I,' Toothless declared.

"Go ahead. If yer gonna interrogate 'er, you gotta clean up the blood," Rotison grumbled. He walked off, rubbing at his black eye.

Maour opened the large warehouse door, slipped inside, and closed it behind Toothless, who followed so close behind he almost walked right over him.

The two aforementioned guards were sitting on either side of the large, empty space, both staring at the metal cage set in the exact center of the warehouse. It was clearly designed to hold something smaller than most dragons but just as dangerous, carefully wrought iron bending and curving around in a way that seemed to be designed to deny any good grip on the enclosure. It was driven into the ground, deeply embedded at each corner, presumably to prevent the occupant from moving it or knocking it on its side.

Astrid, her eyes wild, stood in the center of it all, glaring hatefully. Every so often, her eyes flicked to the ax and stake tossed on the table near the back of the warehouse. It seemed an unconscious act.

Maour stood there for a short while, just taking in the sight. He wasn't the gloating type, and this didn't really feel like victory. She clearly didn't think she had lost yet.

Hopefully, what he had planned would change that. "You lost," he said loudly.

"I'll kill you and every dragon I can get my hands on," Astrid said proudly, glaring at him. "I'll make you suffer first."

"You would have tried."

"I will." She sneered at him. "You don't have the guts to kill me, and your precious allies don't kill the wives of Chieftains. I won't be here for long."

"If you think you'll be ransomed back to Dagur, you're wrong," he said, not letting her words get to him. Truth be told, he suspected she was right; she wasn't going to be executed for exactly that reason. It set a precedent that none of his allies liked in the least.

"I will continue to hunt," she said confidently. "I've already taken one of your precious dragons."

"He's fine, by the way," Maour said, more to poke holes in her confidence than anything. "He'll make a full recovery."

"I'll kill that one too," she said, scowling angrily. That had gotten to her. "I'll take my stake and-"

"This stake?" Maour asked, picking up her stake from the table.

"And my ax," she confirmed, gripping the bars of her cage. "I'll take them back and gut that dragon with them, carve-"

"You know," Maour interrupted, "I never understood some things Vikings do. Like this. Who stores the prisoner's weapons within sight of their prison? Or at all?" He held her stake out at his side.

'Like Stoick's ax?' Toothless asked eagerly, eyeing Astrid.

"Just like that," Maour agreed, tossing the stake to the ground and throwing the ax down on top of it.

"Don't you dare," Astrid hissed.

"It just doesn't make sense," Maour concluded. "Toothless?"

'With pleasure.' Toothless leaned down and flamed the weapons, his bright blue fire charring the wood and slowly melting the metal, reducing Astrid's weapons to a pile of burnt wood and liquid metal quickly solidifying into something useless and misshapen.

"And that is going home with me once it cools," Maour declared, grinning at Astrid's murderous expression. "I'll make the metal into a toy for Night Furies, or something like that. Maybe a ball?"

"I'll kill you slowly," Astrid seethed.

"That's the thing," Maour said, turning his back on her to leave. "You were already going to." He didn't have anything to lose by taunting and enraging her; she was already going to do her worst. At least now he knew for a fact that she'd never be using those particular weapons again. It was a small comfort, given she could just get another ax and stake, but a comfort nonetheless. She wasn't in control of the situation, and if things went to plan would never get a chance to find new weapons at all.

Heather entered the tavern and picked a stool, wishing she could be anywhere else. She felt absolutely horrible, battered and sore with every move, her back rubbing against her borrowed tunic and making even breathing a misery.

But she needed to be present, to see what was going on. Einfari and Togi had both asked her to attend. With many reassurances that she should only go if she felt up to it, but still.

'You know, I can feel just how miserable you are,' Einfari reminded her. 'If I try. Why did you say you would go?'

"You all wanted me to." She had forgotten about that; Einfari had access to her sense of touch.

'And if I had thought to do this earlier, I would have taken that back. At least focus on my body so you don't have to suffer!'

"Right." She did as told, and sighed with relief. So long as she didn't intend to move or speak, abandoning her sense of feeling for Einfari's was total relief. Given she was only here to observe, that was perfect.

'You really need to get better at remembering what we can do with this link,' Einfari chortled.

"Agreed." It was slightly unnerving, perching on a stool but not feeling herself doing so. She returned to her own senses long enough to reposition herself more securely, and to turn to watch the Chieftains filing in.

Bertha and Aldir sat on one side of the largest table in the otherwise empty tavern, and Mogadon took up a spot opposite them. Maour and Toothless took the next table over, mostly so that Toothless could rest his front half up on top of it, slouching over in a way that was both hilarious and just human enough in posture to be strange. Maour sat beside him.

"We don' need to wait for Rotison, this aint about his island," Mogadon grunted. "We gotta decide wha' we're doin' next."

"And what we're doing with Astrid," Maour added.

"Aye, that too." Mogadon nodded. "Bu' tha's not as urgent. I've got a plan."

'That's not promising, coming from him,' Einfari snorted.

"Out with it, then," Bertha yawned. "Some of us want to get back to sleeping."

'It's past noon,' Toothless observed. 'Is she nocturnal too?'

"We sent their fleet running," Mogadon thundered, standing and spreading his arms. "They're headin' back to their base of operations, to repair and rebuild. That takes time. Time they'll be vulnerable."

"And we know where to go," Aldir said, seeming to catch on. "We can follow a day or two out, get there when they've got everything taken down to repair, and hit hard."

"Two days to fix my fleet's ships," Bertha said eagerly. "Yours?"

"Two," Mogadon confirmed.

"One, for me," Aldir added.

"With the right plan, that could work," Maour acceded. "I'll have to check with my people, but that sounds like a good idea. But what about Astrid?"

"We're not bringin' her," Bertha replied. "That's jus' askin' for trouble. So we can put that off 'till we get back."

'Sounds like everybody is going to go fight,' Einfari said quietly. 'But we're not.'

"My back will be healed by then," Heather said hopefully.

'Maybe, but we are needed here. Mom can't leave Joy or bring her, and dad is in no shape to go anywhere. He needs us.' Einfari snorted. 'Even if he is not saying it right now.'

Heather accessed Einfari's hearing quickly enough to hear Togi's quiet reply. 'I am not arguing with your assessment.'

'So whatever they decide, we're staying,' Einfari concluded. 'We're sitting this one out.'

"Fine." She really couldn't argue; the pain she was currently avoiding her own body to ignore was proof that she wouldn't be in a position to fight in time for this battle. Togi needed them here, and she needed to recover. Whatever Maour and the others planned, it would happen without the Nótts, though they could help with the actual planning.

Author's Note: The next 3 chapters of this story are already written and awaiting beta-reading, but I'm being smart this time around, and plan to stick to the current posting frequency for the rest of this story, just in case. We're either 5 or 6 story chapters away from the end, by the way. (And then a huge amount of deleted scenes).

So yeah, things are looking up... Stay healthy, everyone, and see you two weeks from now!