Apparently I'm obligated to say this, but it should be obvious nobody on this site owns How To Train Your Dragon, the franchise and characters belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks. Let's just be grateful they are flattered when we use their characters the way we do.

Hurt. Pain. Stop. Stop! STOP!

That's the last thing I remember before blacking out and waking up tangled in two-legs big-horns strong-vines. Everything hurts, but a glance at my chest tells me that my memory stone remains undamaged. Good. That means I still have access to my soul fire. I raise my head slightly, squinting against the throbbing in my skull.

A trail of destruction marks my descent to the earth. Broken branches, shredded foliage, and deep grooves plowed into the dirt lead to where I am now lying. Every small movement sends stabs of agony through my battered body. I can feel several stinging cuts lacing my skin, as well as a few deep lacerations. An incautious move leaves me gasping with renewed pain. Just as I feared, at least one rib is broken. My wings are undamaged, but my tail feels like somebody tried to chop it off. I decide to begin healing my surface wounds first with one of the spells the Queen-

Wait!

Why can't I hear the Queen? Where is she?

I vibrate the sensory organs on my head to pick up on her call (or any dragon for that matter) but nothing. There's no dragon within reach of my sonar.

Does this mean she thinks I'm dead? Did she abandon me?

No! I cannot think like that, I went down; she must be devastated. But I'm still alive! I just need to make some repairs and soon I'll be back-

SNAP!

WHACK!

"Ow!"

-What was that? Sniffing the air, I pick up notes of pine, charcoal, and metal! A two-legs! This is bad!, Maybe if I lie perfectly still it won't find me. Go away, annoying big-h-

Something stumbles out of the undergrowth. It recoils, bleating in surprise.

I tense for a moment, but then relax. What's the use. Maybe I should give up. I'm damaged. My Queen won't want me back. Every dragon must pull his own weight. She may have considered me one of her favorites, but she doesn't tolerate imperfection. I close my eyes, a low rumble of disappointment escaping me.

I hear the sound of grinding metal and the two-legs big-horns uttering declares something in its own language. It sounds like a silly young fluffy four-leg, bleating high-pitched strings of nonsense. I can't tell what it's saying. Maybe it's excited. Or gassy. I'm not sure. It puts its surprisingly small foot on my leg, acting like I'm its prize. It bleats again but the voice somehow sounds less certain. I tense for the final blow.

No! It can't end like this! She promised!

In a desperate lunge, I grab for the leg, but the two-legs big-horns is too quick and springy and jerks away before I can snatch anything. These two-legs strong-vines don't help either.

I open my left eye to get an idea of what kind of two-legs big-horns I'm dealing with. What I see is not what I expected.

I'm expecting the usual type of two-legs, large and solid with legs the size of tree trunks and beefy arms that can choke a sharp-quills Nadder. Every member of the race I've seen also sports a pair of horns, making them seem larger and more dangerous. Plus they are part of their namesake. This thing in front of me is thin, lanky, and the only thing on his head is a mop of hair that can't decide if it is red or brown. I wonder how a male this frail could have thrown the vines that entangled me. Then it hits me! This is a young two-legs, not even full grown, and a puny one at that. So how could he have the strength to bring me down?

But when I look into his eyes, I understand immediately. His eyes lack the mad hatred I have seen over and over again in his kind. He looks surprised, but also determined and a little sad. I never knew two-leg eyes could convey so much. This young two-legs, he is clearly an intelligent individual. He must have built something similar to the rock-throwers, capable of shooting me down from the sky. If it weren't for the fact that he intends to kill me, I would probably take the chance to learn more about this hornless two-legs. As the lanky two-legs sharp-eyes lifts his blade, he turns toward my head and looks me in the eye.

I don't speak two-legs, but maybe an individual this unusual will understand. 'Mercy,' I beg with my stare. The two-leg's arms begin to slacken, maybe he- nope, he will go through with it. I close my eyes and wait for the killing blow.

It never comes..

SNAP!

What? My eyes snap open when I feel the vines loosening. Doing my best to look at the two-legs sharp-eyes, I realized he is sawing away at the vines. What is he doing? Why is he going to set me free?

Had he heard my plea?

Once the vines are loosened enough, I jump and pin the small two-legs to the moss-covered boulder behind him. The small body under my talons is tense, but he doesn't struggle. Instead, he seems to be waiting for something. Maybe the same sort of mercy he showed to me. His panicked breathing quickly slows as he looks me in the eyes, realizing our rolls just reversed. This two-legs adolescent manages to spot me on a moonless night and somehow create a weapon capable of such accuracy as to bring me down from the sky. It doesn't matter how big those other two-legs big-horns are, this one has learned to do things none of the others have since I began assisting in the raids. This two-legs sharp-eyes is the biggest threat to the Queen and her subjects. I should end this threat here and now.

So why can't I?

This two-legs sharp-eyes may be a threat, but he spared me. Me! I always see how the other two-legs cower as I discharge my plasma shots. He must know how much my memory stone would be worth in his nest. Yet he let me go. I feel I must offer the same courtesy. I can easily keep an eye on him during the raids and instruct other dragons to do the same.

It doesn't mean I'm not still angry with him. So, to ensure he never tries to shoot me down again, I roar as loud as I can right into his face. I then jump back and take flight in the opposite direction. But, in my distraction, I forgot that my tail had been injured. My flight is less than glorious as I bump into a rock, bounce off some trees, and fall muzzle first into a lake. I can only hope that the skinny two-legs is too confused by not becoming dragon chow to notice. On the bright side, the cool water soothes the scrapes from my fall. After swimming to shore, I begin a proper damage assessment to figure out what's going on and am shocked when I look at my tail.

Or rather, what remains of it.

A thorough inspection shows that the left side of my tailfin has been torn away. I'm not even sure the healing techniques the Queen had me learn from the other memory stones are even capable of repairing damage like this. I won't know until I get back to her. The best thing to do will be to find some high ground where I can get in contact with other members of the flock. Then I will hopefully be taken back to the Queen, who will find a way to fix my tailfin.

Since I can't fly, I will just have to walk until I am high enough that I can contact the others. Over an hour of increasingly frantic searching brings me right back to where I started. My worst fears have been realized. I'm trapped! Desperately I try to fly out anyway, but my damaged tail won't let me. The imbalance causes me to constantly fall short of the canyon lip.

Since I'm unable to escape my current confines, I concur that the best thing that can be done at this moment is to continue repairing the injuries from the fall and seal the wound on my tail.

As I draw on my soul fire, I decide that I should try to figure out how the lanky two-legs sharp-eyes spotted me. I focus further on the crescent-shaped stone on my chest to figure out what happened. Images of last night's raid flash across my eyes. It started like most other raids. The Terror fusions were locating the sources of food. The rock-eaters Gronckles and sharp-quills Nadders snatched fish and sheep while the partners-of-life Zippleback fusions and self-burning Nightmares went for the larger prey. When the two-legs big-horns began using the mounted rock throwers, I came in and blasted the towers they were mounted on to splinters. I indulged myself as it was only one of two feasible targets this night. After playing target practice with the first rock thrower, I flew over to the other tower. There were no two-legs big-horns or dragons on it, but I was bored. Charging up my plasma with a boost from my soul fire, I obliterated the tower. I felt quite proud of this one, so I looped around it, admiring my handiwork. There! The two-legs sharp-eyes must have seen my silhouette in that brief instant and shot me out of the sky. Well, isn't that humbling, my hubris used against me. Then, with my wings bound, I fell into the forest. I stopped the flashbacks before the memory of the pain was inflicted on me again. Once was enough, thank you very much!

Once the worst of the scrapes I suffered have been closed up, my bones mended, and the threat of infection is gone, I cut off the flow of soul fire. I'm not sure how long I'll be in this canyon and I will need to ration my remaining strength so any nearby dragons can carry a message to the Queen for help. In the meantime, I crawl under an outcropping to sleep. But while I try to go to sleep, the small two-legs sharp-eyes that shot me down keeps coming to mind. Did he realize my tail was damaged? Did he intend for me to get trapped like this? He is obviously more intelligent than the average two-legs. Maybe he thought he could somehow make me pay by putting me in this natural prison; with the sky just out of reach, taunting me. I remember one of the first lessons taught to me by the memory stones. A two-legs will always go for the kill. At first, I thought this boy was an exception. I guess I was wrong. But how could he have known I would be trapped in this canyon. Questions about the two-legs sharp-eyes keep piling up one after another until the weight of the quagmire gives me a headache.

I sigh and firmly push these thoughts away. I need my sleep. These are questions I can debate with myself tomorrow while I wait for potential messengers.

So if some people couldn't tell, I'm trying a different approach to the Red Death. In just about every story I've read, the dragons either hate the Red Death, or are under mind control.

guest: thank you, I will keep that in mind.