"It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end." - Ursula K. Le Guin - The Left Hand of Darkness

Grounded

Much to his frustration, the two-legs tried to mate him several more times. They clearly did not understand anything about how kin chose mates. The Alpha two-leg was very unhappy with the complete lack of any success with the other-kin females.

There was no way to tell how long he had been a thrall other than by the number of valley-fights. He did notice though that the two-legs were wearing more furs on their bodies, and the weather started getting colder.

He didn't fight as many times as he had in the past, for which he was thankful, and he always won the few fights that he did have. One spine-tail did manage to give him a deep and painful scratch on his neck. That injury had worried the Alpha two-leg enough that it kept him from fighting for many suns. Then the fights stopped entirely.

The cold-season eventually settled in, and all the kin started going into their deep sleeps. Even he would close his eyes and not awaken for many suns on end except to be fed and have his trap cleaned. While his previous long-sleeps had been free of sleep-visions and passed almost instantly, this one was different as it was filled with vivid images and sleep-stories.

Drifting over the old-home-nest and watching the two-legs all throwing nets and ropes at their own kin.

Distant mountain peaks capped with snow and an indistinguishable voice whispering to him.

A strange but welcoming cave at the base of a mountain, the path leading into the cave cleaned of boulders.

The kinder two-leg thralls bringing him fish and pulling off their faces to actually be two-leg Hiccup here to rescue him.

Large ice-rocks as big as hills floating in the water.

The confusing mess of stories in his head when sleeping puzzled him in his waking moments. Several of the stories made some sense from his past experiences but others were completely strange.

Even outside of the sleep stories though there was one idea in particular that had planted itself in his liver and only grew stronger the more he thought about it. That of finding a life-mate, a life-partner of his own. Now that he had the time to think about it, the desire had always been present but needed a spark, a first flame, to light on fire.

Twisted though it was, that spark was the two-legs' attempt to use him to make eggs.

I will not die old and eggless without trying to find a mate. I may be small still, but I am almost big enough. Next new-life-season I will be big enough to be a sire. My scars will also be impressive if I do find her. If I ever get out of this trap-nest.

He hid himself under his tailfins and a wing and closed his eyes to return to the long sleep.

The new-life season was approaching in the air. He could smell it. It was also clear from the shape of the clouds and the temperature whenever the thralls led him out into the fighting-valley.

He strongly suspected that his fights were the ones that most of the two-legs showed up to watch. There was something strangely warming about the idea that they liked watching his battles the most. Of course they should be impressed by his strength and fire. He even started roaring aloud for their amusement when he was brought out into the valley. They always liked that.

The roaring of the Alpha to the audience was very loud and excited this time, and the two-leg audience responded vigorously. Something seemed different about this announcement, and he was immediately wary. It almost sounded like they were building up to a special fight to welcome the new-life season.

The Alpha stepped back and had the thralls release him. Every time he walked free in the valley, he imagined that the ropes tied around his wings might fall loose and he could make his escape into the sky. However, the thralls never made a mistake when temporarily grounding him.

After a couple tense moments, the mouth of the large trap on the far side of the valley began to open. He growled and stared at the opening, trying to get a glimpse of what opponent he would be matched against. His liver was chilled when he saw it.

Big, red, and angry. The bull fire-scale. The Alpha-kin of the trap-nest.

It leapt out, slithered into the valley, and set its back alight with fire in a display of intimidation. Its sharp talons dug into the dirt as it glared at him and began to stalk around the valley. He sized it up and considered his options.

It is stronger than me and has many scars. I cannot scare it. If only I was bigger now, I would feel better about fighting it.

The other kin made the first attack by leaping at him, intending to close its jaws around his neck. He barely dodged to the side. The fire-scale resumed stalking him as he kept his distance, closely watching and looking for an opportunity. It was well over twice his size and obviously was very experienced at fighting. Its talons were far larger than his, and the idea of fighting it directly did not have any flight.

It did have a limp, probably an old injury to its right leg. He reversed his direction so that it would have to lean on that leg to continue stalking him. The audience kept roaring in suspense. After a while, the fire-scale noticeably began to limp and groan more as it followed him. Then something in it snapped, maybe because it realized his plan to slowly weaken it. It let out a roar of frustration and leapt for him, throwing all restraint to the winds. It opened its maw wide to flame him in its anger.

The ball of blue fire that left his own mouth flew perfectly into the fire-scale's open maw and exploded with a flash of light. The other kin pulled up, howled in pain, and shook its head wildly with smoke dripping from its maw. It collapsed on the ground at his side and whimpered as the audience of two-legs roared its acclaim. Even the Alpha cheered his victory.

He held his head high in triumph and roared in dominance. To defeat the Alpha of the trapped kin here made him the new Alpha in a way. His life-fire flared hot with pride as he looked around at the roaring audience.

He barely saw the flash of movement out of the corner of his vision.

The fire-scale wildly swung its arm-leg-wing at his side and struck him. For a moment, he didn't realize what had happened, the shock of the wild strike was too great as he rolled over and recovered himself. Thrall-two-legs were rushing at him and the fire-scale. Then he realized that the ropes that normally encircled his body and bound him to the ground were gone, torn away by the other kin's desperate strike. He turned away from the thralls, ready to leap into the air and make his escape.

His wing burned with white-hot fire, driving him to the ground with a shriek of pain. Thrall-two-legs piled onto him and shouted as the Alpha was yelling behind all the other noise. He forced open his pain-wrought eyes and caught sight of the worst imaginable sight.

The outer half of his left wing was broken, the bones having cleanly snapped and pierced through the thin wing-skin in several places.

He did not have the strength to roar, scream, or kick in anger. He did nothing but stare at the burning, dangling part of his wing as flight itself, the very thing that most made kin what they are, was once again torn away from him.

The thrall two-legs seemed like they were trying to help. Over a couple pawful of them were directed by the Alpha to tend to him by holding him down, muzzling him, and working the broken bones back inside the wing. Were it not for the shock of the injury, it would certainly have been an excruciating pain.

After the rough treatment ended, he was dragged back underground and deposited in his trap, the open and burning wing dangling on the ground at his side. Though doing so would certainly pain him in his liver, he craned his neck around and closely inspected the damage. Each of the major bones seemed to have cleanly snapped from being dragged forward at such an unnatural angle. He did not dare try to move a muscle in his broken wing.

After inspecting the injury and after the shock wore off, he lay his head down on the stone ground in complete resignation. A moan of despair and loss echoed in his trap.

His life-fire was quenched.

The two-leg Alpha came by and stood outside the trap. He didn't bother looking up at it or giving it any response. It rumbled something almost sad-sounding at him and then left him alone.

He continued to lay on the ground, broken and powerless, and turned his thoughts toward the emptiness of the future. No Hiccup to miraculously make grounding-hurts be not. Never to escape this terrible trap. Never again to touch the clouds. Never to chase an eager female through the skies.

A grounded kin was a dead kin.

Many suns had passed since his liver was chilled and his life-fire stilled. Since he lost that most important part of being a kin. Since his future fell from the skies.

He only lay on the hard rock and stared aimlessly. He never growled at the passing thralls or responded to the Alpha's visits. He took no pleasure in the fish he was brought. There was no strength or energy left in him to fight or resist or do anything. The very warmth of his life-water was stolen away.

He had eventually managed to fold his wing in despite whimpering at the pain it caused him. Not that he had any hope that such an injury could heal. He had seen other kin with similarly broken wings long ago; none of them had ever flown again or lived long afterwards. Even if the bones appeared to heal, they would never have their old strength again, and a single break or errant beat of the wing could send him falling from the sky mid-flight.

For a time, he lay prone on the ground and pondered if he could, through an act of will alone, still his life-organ and fall into the ever-sleep.

There seemed like there was nothing left to be alive for.

His inner-voice, which he imagined spoke as Hiccup did, whispered that those were bad winds to let his thoughts fly on.

You were grounded once before. This one is not that bad. You did not lose the wing.

He huffed at his own foolish optimism.

I might as well have lost it. There is no Hiccup to help with this.

His gaze tracked one of the many thralls as it passed by, and then he closed his eyes again to wallow in his misery.

Maybe it will heal with time.

The two-legs kept up with the more desirable parts of their routine, the bringing him food and water and cleaning out his trap. They did take him back up into the fighting-valley again, but his life-fire was dead and he did not have any fight in his liver. Instead of fighting the kin that they put against him, he sulked in the shade by the mouth of the trap. The other kin had no desire to fight him either and relished its very easy triumph.

It was shortly after that attempt at making him fight that the routine was resoundingly broken. He was attempting to sleep in his trap when he heard the sounds and smelled the scents of strange two-legs in the nest.

He turned a single eye to the gathering of two-legs outside his trap. The Alpha and several thralls were gathered with a pawful of large two-legs which he had never seen in this nest before. The Alpha was busy talking to the strangers, who firmly responded to the Alpha while gesturing toward his trap. They were clearly discussing him.

Some of the Alpha's thralls entered his trap and moved to inspect his broken wing. He did not bother resisting or hissing at them. The strange two-legs were especially interested in the damage. More talking followed until the Alpha of the strange two-legs turned to this trap-nest's Alpha and said something clearly challenging. A hush went through all the gathered two-legs until the Alpha he knew made a paw-gesture to his trap and said something in a submissive tone.

The new two-legs entered his trap and started fitting him with the various bad-things the two-legs put on him, the muzzle and rope around his neck being the first restraints imposed. Next, a hood was fitted over his entire head and finally another rope went around his folded wings.

He blindly followed their lead without resisting. They led him outside into the fighting-valley and through another opening. All that he could learn about where he was being led was what he could guess from the sounds and smells around him. The sounds of two-legs and cries of alarm from them and their other thrall-prey-creatures gradually died away.

The new thrall-makers regularly made their laughing sounds and liked talking to each other. One of them eventually pulled the hood off his head. They had indeed taken him entirely outside the two-leg nest and were leading him to one of the two-legs' main walking paths where one of their rollers pulled by four-legs stood waiting for him. He growled at the memory of being carried in one of those things.

The two-legs must have thought he was growling at them because one of them kicked him in the flank. He bit back the anger that swelled in response so that he would not get hit again. They securely tied his muzzle to the rear of the rolling thing and spent a while talking together and laughing loudly.

Winds above, I hate that sound.

Then the Alpha of this two-leg pack came back and inspected him up close. It was a large two-leg with big forelimbs and many old scratches and burn marks, which indicated that it was accomplished at combat. It did not blink at all when he gave it his best 'I will eat your liver' look. The two-leg Alpha said something to the small group, and they departed a moment later.

He glanced back and noticed more rolling-walkers leading others of the trap-nest-kin down another path.

It was a small consolation that the thrall-making-Alpha from the trap-nest had been overthrown and lost his thrall-kin.

He had no idea where these two-leg kin-thrall-makers were taking him. It was all he could do to stare at the wooden wall in front of him and keep walking while trying to not draw any attention from the two-legs.

Mind-numbing monotony. Step after step, forced to follow behind the four-leg-drawn-walker as his paws pained him after so many steps. The metal chain was tightly fastened to his muzzle, and the ropes around his wings were very tight. The two-legs who now possessed him had left no room for him to wiggle from the trap.

There was nothing he could do but reluctantly follow along the dirt path. The two-legs did feed him and stop off at streams to get water for him drink, but they were still very cruel. They marched him for an entire sun almost without stopping. He was left out of breath with his tongue lolling out in the mid-sun heat. And still they forced on. One with a large mass of brown face-fur laughed every time it came back and kicked him to get him walking again.

It made anger burn hot in his liver despite his being grounded. The two-legs were not remotely afraid of him. That was not right. Two-legs should be afraid of kin. That was normal and how all should be. Even a grounded kin still has its teeth, fire, and claws.

They should fear me. If only I could get out and get at them with my claws and fire…

He had no idea where they were taking him or why. More fighting in another false-nest for two-legs' pleasure, or could it be something else? Of all the kin they could have taken, they seemed the most interested in him at first. Also, the previous Alpha two-leg had not been happy at his being taken.

It is lucky that I am not there anymore. I would gladly kill it too.

He barely slept that night when the group stopped and made a temporary two-leg nest. Instead, he curled in on himself behind the rolling-walker and thought. The many-colored-sky-breath far above was barely visible beyond the clouds.

There had to be a way to escape. The only things preventing that were the chain binding him to the rolling-walker and the two-legs' vigilance. But even if he could escape somehow, there was a far worse problem. He was grounded and would have no choice but to flee on the ground. That would still leave the issue of the chain wrapped around his neck, his muzzle, and his tied wings.

He opened an eye and looked at his four captors. They were cheerily talking and stirring the pot of food over the fire. He could smell the fur-four-leg in the pot even from where he lay.

The wind shifted, bringing something new in the air. A faint smell of ocean water.

Another water-walker? Where to this time?

He glanced up at the evening sky and the billowing clouds. His ears drooped slightly at the portent of coming rain. His weary limbs and heavy eyelids proved too much and he dozed off while the two-legs made their camp.

The rain poured without ceasing. The clouds completely blocked the sun, and the wind whipped the branches of the trees on the sides of the path.

Every one of his steps left his paws covered in mud. As bad as it was for him, it was worse for the two-legs. Their rolling-thing and four-legs were struggling on the narrow path. There was a lot of shouting at each other. Especially now since the four-legs were not obeying their masters well and the path had a very steep drop-off into a chasm.

It was a perfect opportunity. Between the feisty four-legs, and the rain, wind, and the cliff edge just off the side of the path, the two-legs were not giving him any attention.

The chain clanged with every step. It was too thick for him to break; he had already tried that. But where the chain was anchored on the rolling-walker, that he was certain could be broken. It was only a wooden beam holding his chain to the rolling-walker.

He took a deep breath and stepped closer to the stopped rolling-walker, letting the chain coil on the ground.

No flying back after this...

He lunged backward and tossed his head with all his strength. The chain snapped taught and its base was torn away with a great crack. He tumbled backwards down the path away from the two-legs. The chain and the base it was attached to dragged on the muddy ground, fouling his apparent escape.

The shouting of the two-legs grew louder as they neared. There was no way he could run fast enough with the weight he was dragging. It was going to be a fight.

No fire, no teeth, no wings… great…

He stopped and turned to face them. They had several different types of small-false-teeth but nothing more deadly that could harm from afar. He curled his lips and snarled at them. Their carefree attitude was gone, and they were all very tense as they closed on him.

They paused a couple steps away. The largest one tried to placate him and edged closer. He growled at it and kept kneading at the ground with his paws and claws, daring them to come closer.

The rain kept falling, billowing down their heads in small streams. Their footing became slightly unsteady as the rainwater flowed down the muddy path. None of them moved. The tension in the air could be cut with a clawtip.

If it were not for the rain and the wind, he could surely smell their fear and hear their racing life-beats. A bit of motion caught his eye as one of the two-legs reached behind its back. A strike of sky-light lit up the sky not far away.

He had already moved by the time the flash faded from their eyes. His claws had dug into the ground and found traction in the solid dirt under the mud. He leapt between the two-legs and spun in place, whipping his tail around and knocking down a pair of them. At the same time, he reached out and clawed one of the two-legs before him. It fell with a scream, clutching its gashed-open arm. The other swung its weapon with a roar of rage and struck his shoulder, slicing a claw-deep tear next to the base of his neck.

He lunged with a snarl and knocked into the male, who was still off-balance from the swing. He grabbed its miserable head in his jaws, leapt forward toward the cliff's edge, and hurled the screaming male from the ledge. The screams were swallowed up in the storm as the sky's growl followed the strike of sky-light.

The two that he had knocked down had gotten up and charged to avenge their kin, their weapons both at the ready. He inhaled and leapt as high as he could, the pain from his wound and his anger both feeding his strength.

The tips of the weapons barely grazed his belly as he passed over their heads. A sharp crack followed as he crashed to the ground and whirled around on them. One of the two had been struck by the chain and had fallen motionless to the ground. The remaining one still standing looked around frantically. It shouted something angry at its kin and then turned back to look at him in fear.

He took one slow, dangerous step in the two-leg's direction and flashed his teeth. The two-leg backed away and fled down the path. He carefully stepped forward and nudged the remaining motionless body, putting a paw on its chest. Its life-organ was dying even as he felt for it.

That left just one. Exactly as he needed.

Now for the hard part...

He stepped over to the remaining two-leg, the first one he had wounded. It tried to run when he approached, but he leapt and pinned it to the ground with a paw on its chest. He carefully stood on its good arm to make sure it could not do anything.

It started growling and yelling while struggling furiously. It seemed to be calling to its fellows, but there was no answer. It stopped when he lowered his head just a clawtip from its head and snarled right next to its ear, the rain-water dripping from his snout. He let out all his anger at the bleeding cut in his shoulder.

The two-leg whimpered and lost its life-fire. He could smell its waste-water even through the rain.

He stood there, carefully watching it and kneading at its chest with his claws but doing it no more harm. He deeply wanted to claw it to death, to get revenge for all the times it swung a rope at his flanks to keep him moving.

Rot take me… if only I knew how to write…

Hiccup would know what to do. He stepped back from the two-leg and huffed at it. It took several nudges but eventually it opened its eyes and stared at him, all traces of its hardness and cruelty gone and replaced only by fear.

He lifted a forepaw to his muzzle and fiddled with it while keeping his gaze locked on the two-leg. Then he stepped closer to it and tilted his head to show it the straps. He put the other forepaw on the two-leg's chest, his sharp talons resting fully on its skin.

Perhaps the two-leg was an especially stupid one, or maybe it was too afraid to think clearly. It took a while before it understood what he wanted.

"No… no… good kin… good…"

He grumbled softly and flipped his head again. Very slowly, the two-leg lifted a trembling paw toward his neck. Their gazes, alternately threatening and fearful, never looked away. The two-leg struggled with the straps for far too long before they loosened. The straps were eventually undone, and he tossed his head about and struggled with the muzzle before tearing it off. The lengths of chain clanged as they and the leather muzzle collapsed on the ground.

The two-leg was rewarded with a nod and grumble, but it was not free yet. There was one more thing that it needed to do. He stepped back and turned to the side, scratching at the ropes that encircled his body and pinned his wings. A quick growl at the ropes and a glance back at the two-leg made his wish clear. The two-leg kept glancing away from him and down the path.

Not yet…

Very slowly, the male stood up, its empty paws held out before it. The two-leg glanced at the ropes and slowly bent down to pick up a small weapon.

He snarled and bared his teeth.

"No… no…"

A quick glance at his side signaled to the two-leg to move. Very slowly and with the weapon held in an open paw, the two-leg carefully approached. He made a point of showing it his teeth and flexing his claws.

It felt completely wrong to let an enemy approach him with a weapon. Especially one that had just fought him. And he was going to let the two-leg take that sharp-tooth right to his side. It was a small weapon and probably couldn't do much harm, but it was still dangerous.

If the creature tried anything at all…

He growled in warning as the two-leg slowly raised the weapon and ran it along the rope. The two-leg's paw trembled against his side as it ran the weapon back and forth, slowly slicing through the rope. Then the two-leg grabbed the ropes and worked on them with its paws.

It was done, and the two-leg quickly stumbled backward. The rope came loose, and he worked the coils off his body. They all fell in a wet mass in the river of mud at his side.

"Good kin…"

He turned his attention back to the two-leg. He fought with himself, deeply wanting to claw it to death this very moment. To revenge himself against it. But he had also made something of a bargain with it. It would free him from the ropes, and he would not kill it. Another two-leg had once freed him from ropes.

He stepped back from it and tossed his head toward the path with a satisfied grumble. The two-leg's eyes went wide with surprise. It took several steps down the path while watching him, as if it expected him to pounce or attack at any moment. He rolled his eyes and hissed at it.

"Run," he growled.

The two-leg seemed to understand somehow, and it wasted no time in starting down the path with all the haste its legs could give it.

It will have a story to tell its kin.

He was left alone.

Free of the two-legs.

No more chains, muzzles, ropes, or saddles.

Never again.

He stood tall on his hind legs and let the rain pour down his neck. The rain had not lessened and the wind still whipped through the trees, but the world felt different already. To be able to hold his head aloft without any bindings or two-leg things, it all reminded him that he had survived the worst of the two-legs. He was free and wild in the liver, not like the submissive and broken kin who had no life-fire.

He roared to the passing clouds.

A sting brought him back to reality and down to all fours. The cut was frustratingly out of his reach and stung as the falling rain hit the wound. But at least it stopped bleeding on its own and would be one more fighting hurt-mark to be proud of one sun in the future.

Far worse though was his wing. It still had the terrible and unsightly bend halfway along its length. A burn frequently flared inside the bones whenever he tried to stretch the wing at all. It was not nearly as painful as it had been shortly after being grounded, but it was enough to remind him of the truth. To remind him that he was still a grounded kin, no matter how else his condition had improved.

He started up the path toward the rolling-walker and hopped over the remaining two-leg body. Maybe there would be something he could eat up there.

The four-legs. They could be good eating.

But he growled in anger when he saw that they were gone. They had escaped at some point in the fight and had run off into the darkness. If he were able to fly, it would be easy to track them down and catch one.

Then he had a thought.

He hopped back over to the remaining body. Its death was probably fast, judging from the foul gash where part of its face was smashed in from the chain he had whipped through the air.

He might have thought differently if this bushy-face-fur two-leg had been kind or at least not unkind to him, but that had not been the case. This was not a two-leg who deserved respect or consideration. It had given him none at all.

His mind made up, he sliced off its false-skins and discarded them. Then he knelt down, sank his teeth into the belly, and struggled to tear away a mouthful. The warm, red flesh was very different from the bland, dried fish and four-leg-prey he had gotten used to.

Grr, as bad as I remember it…

Finding its liver though was satisfying in its own way. Still, something did not sit well with him about filling his belly in this way. After the body was picked of everything worth eating, he stepped back and licked his lips clean of the life-water. Something still compelled him to remove the remains, which he carefully dragged to the ledge and tossed over. Other two-legs were sure to pass by here eventually, and there was no reason to leave the mess behind for them to see.

The only signs that there had been a fight at all were the dropped weapons and broken rolling-walker. The rain did not show any sign of stopping soon and was already washing away the spilled life-water. He walked further along the path past the abandoned rolling-walker and hopped off to the side of the path to take shelter at the base of a stand of tall thin-tooth-leaf-trees.

He scratched at a few itches on his side and lost a couple of old scales. Then he curled up tightly and rested with a sigh of relief, now able to lay on grass and completely free of chains or ropes. The rain and wind continued to swirl with the passing storm.

His sleep, once it finally came, was filled with visions of mountains, caves, the catching of many ground-birds and thrall-prey-animals, himself with wings spread aloft on a wind, and another Night Fury soaring at his side.

He woke up before the sun had even broken the morning shell, the storm having long since passed. Most two-legs would not even be awake now, which made traveling safest at night when he could move unseen. Being that he was grounded now, his remaining unseen was absolutely essential.

He took one more look at the ruined rolling-walker and the place of the battle and gave it a happy growl. Then he turned tail on it and set out into the relative quiet of the pre-sun darkness.

Where do I go now?

It was unlikely that living back on his-home-nest-island was going to be possible even if he could ever get there. Hiccup's false-foul-livered sire turned on him. The only option that was possible now was for him to continue to live out here in the wild outside of the two-leg nests. This was exactly as kin were supposed to live.

But he was alone again without even the meager comfort of being around different kin in other traps.

Would Hiccup have been willing to fly the nest too?

On the one paw, nestmates were supposed to go their own ways in the world after they left the nest. They are supposed to catch their own food and find their own mates. For some reason, he had not given those any serious thought before or envisioned life after he became an adult again.

I was getting weak in the home-nest-island. Forgetting what I am. I need to live for myself and get strong again.

He stared at a wispy cloud far above.

I will survive.

He paused before taking another step though as he found his thoughts again drifting toward the home-nest-island, Hiccup, and even Astrid. Being so far away from them and having no prospect of ever returning left a gaping void in his life-fire, a sadness that he had not been very aware of before. Then he shook his head of such thoughts and continued forth into the unknown.

It had been five sun-cycles since he had seen any two-legs. His solitary sojourn up along the coast was carefully planned to avoid approaching any of their nests. He also made an effort to only travel at night to avoid being seen. His black bulk against the night's darkness made him almost perfectly unseen as he passed.

His initial elation and surging life-fire had quickly simmered as two related problems became apparent. One was that two-legs, for all their many problems and badnesses, were very good at providing food for their nest, and he had become rather reliant on that effectiveness. Now though, he had no choice but find his own food in the wild.

The other problem was of course his broken wing. He couldn't even try to lift his left wing out without feeling a burning fire flash midway up his wing. There had been several occasions when he found himself staring up at the chirping, passing birds while feeling the chill of ice in his liver. Being grounded prevented him from being able to hunt well, if at all.

He was resting by a small stream in the hope that a four-leg of any kind would wander into reach of his claws when an idea bit at his tail. It wasn't an idea that he especially liked, but the idea had lift.

Food is with the two-legs. Maybe I can grab one of their prey-four-legs to eat. Or even a grounded-bird, those are are good to eat after the feathers.

Slowly and cautiously, he made his way between the trees and walked until he came upon a two-leg path, one of the trails they made to roll their walkers pulled by four-legs. Then he began following it, keeping very alert to any sign of approaching two-legs. It was shortly after dawn broke the shell that he was noticed his opportunity.

The smoke that rose in a thin trail up into the sky was the first obvious sign that he was approaching a two-leg-nest. But how big was it? The smaller, the better. Keeping to the bushes and trees the entire time, he crept closer to the outermost nest-cave until he saw the place where the two-legs kept their prey-animals. Then he saw something that made his mouth-water flow.

Small-horn-four-legs were gnawing at the grass and completely unaware. All his old instincts resurfaced as he remembered the course of the wind and stalked closer to them while keeping himself crouched low to the ground.

Almost there... a little closer...

He dashed for the prey, closing the distance with a great leap. His jaws clenched around the neck of a braying four-leg as the others dashed for cover. One of the two-legs' guard tame-wolf-four-legs started barking from afar but didn't dare approach. He turned tail, his prize still struggling and braying from between his teeth, and ran from the place before any two-legs could arrive. He quickly snapped his prey's neck to silence it. It was only after he was securely hidden away among the bushes and trees that he paused and dropped his dead prey. A quick carving of its fur from its body followed and then he feasted, savoring the taste of fresh life-water on his tongue.

Once he was finished, he set off deeper into the forest to find a stream to drink from and a place to rest.

I should have done that long ago back on the home-nest-island even if the two-legs would not have been happy. There is nothing like the thrill of a fresh kill.

He happily rumbled to himself as he curled up under a tree across from a mumbling stream and closed his eyes. There was a somewhat reliable source of food out here after all.

You are lost, dark-wing...

A Night Fury slowly made its way through the forest...

You are not where you belong...

A Night Fury lay at the mouth of a cave in the mountains and stared out toward the horizon...

You do not know the winds of life...

A Night Fury lay unconcerned and free on the ground in the middle of a two-leg nest...

Do not let anger grow in your liver...

A Night Fury flew over a two-leg nest and rained down glowing life-fire as two-leg fighters, females, and fledglings ran in terror...

Do not think that you need to ground all two-legs...

A Night Fury held its head high and roared as it stood over a pile of burned two-leg bodies...

Yawn.

He slowly got to his feet shortly after nightfall and stretched his limbs. Then he set out again for the place where the two-legs' prey-animals were kept. His belly was still full, but he wanted to learn if he could catch another prey-animal from this place.

Unfortunately, all the prey animals had apparently been gathered into one of the large wooden-den-nests and were not out in the open for him to hunt.

Smart of the two-legs... they learned that a hunter is stalking their prey.

He turned tail on that place and resumed his slow trek along the coast. Several sun-cycles passed during which he kept to the shadows and slept under trees. A couple of two-leg nests were in his path but didn't have any prey-animals for him to hunt, so he passed those by. He paused and more closely inspected the third nest he came across.

There was a den outside the nest which happened to have a lot of ground-birds and various other four-leg-prey. Even better was how the trees and thick bushes extended right up next to the wooden side of the den.

This will be an easy hunt.

He settled down and waited for nightfall. The two-legs went out at dusk and brought all the prey-animals inside the den. Slowly and alertly, he crept closer to the mouth of the den-trap, fully aware that he was visible against the small light-giving fire. There were no sounds of alarm yet. A single talon hooked into the latch and opened the mouth, which then swung open. He darted inside and caught one of the large-fluffy-fur four-legs as the other prey-animals began flapping and braying in terror. The prey went limp in his jaws when he crushed its neck, and he turned to depart the den.

A two-leg-male holding a large metal weapon stepped into his view. It saw him and did something very foolish; it bravely charged at him.

He had tried to avoid conflict by sneaking into the den. He had fought enough two-legs for a lifetime. But this one was threatening him, just as the many two-legs in the fighting-valley had also approached with their weapons held aloft.

He lifted a forelimb and struck at the male, knocking it aside into the wall. And he felt an intense desire to continue clawing at it, to trample it, to make sure that it was dead and could never hurt him again. The thought of watching its life-water spill onto the ground sent fire into his liver. He stepped toward it with a growl and prepared to strike.

Indistinct voices approached outside in the darkness.

He spun away from the downed two-leg, dashed back outside, and ran toward the trees to get away from the place, not knowing how many other two-legs were approaching. He paused at the edge of the forest as something compelled him to stop and look. The male still lay on the ground, rolling in agony.

Yes, hurt... Feel pain.

Then another two-leg, a female, appeared from around the den and knelt at the male's side. More surprisingly though, a pair of fledglings also came out of the darkness and went to the downed male's side. One of the fledglings was very thin and had a head-fur very similar to another two-leg he had once known.

He froze and found that he could not look away as the new two-legs tended to their grounded kin.

Then he glanced down at his claws, one of which was slightly covered in life-water, and back to the downed male with its kin gathered around it. His liver was seized by something unthinkable.

What am I..

Get up... get up you stupid two-leg...

It eventually did, though it leaned heavily on its kin.

He breathed a sigh of relief that it did not seem too badly hurt, continued on into the trees, and dropped the dead four-leg-prey, his hunger momentarily forgotten. He lay down in the cool darkness and let his thoughts wander.

Something about the encounter pierced him to the liver. This was a two-leg that only wanted to tend to its flock of prey-animals and protect its own kin. And the fledgling that looked so much like two-leg-Hiccup was a painful reminder of something he had been forgetting.

Two-legs do not all have guilt of being Monsters. He could not rightly say or think anything about all two-legs from the bad actions of one or a few two-legs. That each two-leg had to be judged on its own actions.

It should try to defend its prey-animals. I made it fight me. I did this...

A few more moments in that den and those fledglings would probably be without their sire. That was something bad that he could somewhat relate to.

He knelt and started slowly tearing off the four-leg's white fluffy-fur while thinking about the home-nest-island with all its kin and two-legs who lived together.

Maybe kin and two-legs should not nest together. I... cannot be around them. I should not be around them. It would only mean more fighting and killing.

He gnawed on the haunch and thought about where to go and what to do. There were fewer two-leg nests the further up the coast he went, that much he remembered from the past. The forests were thicker and there would be more prey to hunt the further from two-leg nests he went.

That is what I will do. I will go away from two-legs and live on my own. I must for now.

"Sire?" he chirped upon the great kin's return.

"First of mine," sire rumbled while nuzzling his head.

"You and dam said 'two-legs'. What prey are those?"

Sire sighed heavily and got up, beckoning him out of the cave. He followed by hop-flying from boulder to boulder in a display of his growing strength. Then he followed sire over to the cliff where they both lay down.

"Your dam would not want me to tell you yet, but I think you are big enough to learn and understand."

His life-fire glowed with sire's praise.

"Two-legs are the great not-prey."

"Not-prey? Danger?"

"Yes, they are danger to kin, but they are more than only danger."

"How danger?"

"They have weak bodies. No big teeth, very small claws, no wings, and no fire. But they make things to make them strong. They make sharp sticks to be their teeth and claws. They make themselves Alphas of four-leg-hunter-packs. They take prey-furs to put on their own bodies where they do not grow fur. Very clever creatures. They are very dangerous, and you should run on sight."

He considered all that wise sire told him.

"Much danger from two-legs. Are they in your range?"

"They range closer to here every season. Some suns I think that we kin should nest here, two-legs should nest in other places, and the two not see paw or tail of the other. The two-leg hunters are monsters, but I wonder if they only grow into monsters but are not monsters as nestlings and fledglings."

"What do two-legs look like?"

Sire gave him an amused rumble.

"How many legs do you think they have?"

He thought for a moment until the answer grabbed at his tail like his little nestmate at play.

"Two?"

"Yes," sire rumbled, "the front paws they hold up in front of them. They have fur on their head and their mouth and they have no tail."

"No tail?" he exclaimed.

"And they stand up on two legs all the time."

He gasped in amazement.

"But how do they not fall?"

"That is an amazing thing about two-legs, my little one..."

"I am not a little one..."

"You are to me, my little one."

Grumble.

Countless sun-cycles passed. The star-shapes in the night sky changed. The new-life-season fledged into the hot-season.

He walked on, keeping to the shadows and forests and avoiding all signs of two-leg nests to not risk any violent encounters. He lost weight as the catches were more infrequent than he was accustomed to. However, each meal was thoroughly earned. More of the old instincts and skills that had not been needed for many season-cycles awakened, helping his hunting improve as much as possible on the ground only.

In all the sun-cycles that passed, he only saw a couple of kin, far up in the sky. Why there were so few kin was a mystery. He looked up to them in longing.

He continued onward on the ground, never feeling fully confident that he had found a good place to roost. Either there was no good hunting around or there were two-legs nearby.

Finally, after a further moon-cycle, he crossed over a small ridge near the coast and saw a very promising location. The coastline jutted out into the ocean, and the entire area seemed ringed by the large mountains far inland. It looked so large that it would take a great part of a sun-cycle to walk from the mountains to the distant coastline. More importantly though, there were entire areas that were grassy and in which he could see herds of grazing four-legs. There were also inlets and shallows in which he could easily catch fish. Best of all, there were no signs of any two-legs; no paths worn into the dirt, no smoke spiraling into the air from their den-nests, nothing at all.

Without letting his hopes get too much lift, he continued on into the place, down the ridge, and toward the plains. The four-leg prey-flock eventually spied his approach and galloped away into the forest.

I will not chase you this sun...

He took the sun-cycle slowly, exploring the coastline, plains, and forest for any sign of two-legs. There were none except for the bones of a water-walker crashed on the rocks. He did not bother inspecting it because it was dead and grounded. Then he found the one thing that made his decision final, something that he had not enjoyed in many season-cycles.

A hot-water-bubbling-pond.

He dashed for it and gladly jumped from the rock at the side of the pond, splashing into the steaming water. The warm, bubbling water flowed over his entire length as he stretched himself out and slowly unfurled his wings. He floated, savoring the heat bubbling around him. It felt like resting on a black rock that had been soaking in the sun's heat at the end of a bright sun-cycle. His thrum of pleasure vibrated in the air as he floated in delight.

He only dragged himself from the hot pool well after the sun vanished beyond the horizon.

This is a good range to live in.

One more quick glance around followed as the small bugs and birds of the night began to sing their songs all around him. Then he set out for the mountains in search of a cave in which to make his den.

Closer dark-wing, you are still lost...

You need to be shown the winds of life...

A vast mountain-range loomed ahead, a waterfall streaming down the side of a cliff...

A grass-covered landscape dotted with barren rocks...

A mountain-ridge that looked down over the valley and toward the sea...

An old, strange type of kin lay on its belly with its eyes closed, its wings spouting old rips and tears...

The kin turned toward him...

I am waiting...

He shook himself awake and looked around in confusion for the old kin. It seemed so real that he even forgot for a moment that it was only a sleep-vision. He grumbled and looked around the cave and just outside the entrance for any sign that there was another kin nearby. There was none, no smell and no sound of anything out of the ordinary, but he knew that he was not going to find any more sleep this night. After walking for a long time, he looked back at his cave hidden partway up the slope.

It was the best of a few caves which he had discovered while ranging several suns after he arrived here. It was rather hidden from view in case there were to ever be any two-legs around here, which there never seemed to be any. The only two-legs he ever saw were far out at sea on their water-walkers. They never showed any interest in stopping here, perhaps because they were foiled by the sheer cliffs that ran partway along the shore. There was only one place where the two-legs could easily bring their water-walkers to land.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard rustling in the bushes up ahead. Something dashed away from him and vanished among the trees in a flurry of hooves, but something else was left behind. A tiny four-leg prey head rose from the grass and froze when it saw him, clearly trying to not be seen. He approached and sniffed at it.

You are a lucky little one. I am not hungry now. Go, grow bigger, make more of your kind, and I will catch you another cycle.

He turned away from the petrified prey hatchling and slowly made his way down the slope to the cliff. Once there, he lay down and stared out over the moonlit ocean and listened to the waves crashing against the rocks below.

Maybe my head is trying to sleep-talk something to me. I know that I have never seen that type of kin though.

Half a moon-cycle I have been here now. The hunting is good, the bubble-water is good, the cave is good, and there are no two-legs. But why always have the same sleep-vision?

The soft wind blowing in from the sea seemed to answer him.

I am waiting...

"By my egg, now I think the wind is talking to me."

He had the strange and uncomfortable sensation of bugs crawling all over him and under his scales, though he knew well that there were none.

He closed his eyes and ducked under the warm water, completely submerging himself in the bubbling comfort. Slowly, he floated up to the surface where he lay on his back and relished the simple pleasure of being. Of being free of two-legs and of living on his own terms under his own power, limited though it was. The game trails and best hunting locations were becoming clearer with time. It was actually very surprising that there were no other kin living in this range, not that he was going to complain about that point. It left more hunting for him alone.

He eventually climbed out of the water and folded his wings away. The warm water definitely seemed to help with the remaining pain. The wing still had several places where the wing-bones were not straight, but the wing did not hurt nearly as much as it once had. The idea that it might heal with enough season-cycles to let him taste the winds again gave some breath to his smoldering life-fire.

But the sleep-visions had only grown more intense. They were so vivid that he was not able to sleep well. Something was certainly beckoning or calling to him from across the lands. The steep mountain loomed above him as he ambled back to his cave. A very strange, almost Hiccup-like, idea formed in his thoughts to explain all that was happening.

Maybe the sleep-vision wants me to find that kin on a distant mountain. Maybe that kin can think words to me from many ranges away.

He let out a great sigh.

I will never catch sleep until I go find that kin.