A memory struck me as suddenly as a sword through the stomach - there was a Dragon Training meeting tonight! My surroundings materialised around me as anxiety rose in my stomach: the outskirts of the forest, the dead oak I used as a signpost of where to enter. I ran towards it and trudged the familiar path back into the centre of Berk, keeping a keen eye out for any passersby who might become suspicious. I saw nobody, however, and instead managed to slip through the island unnoticed, reaching the meeting point as the last sliver of sun sank beneath the horizon.
Gobber's words were like sand slipping straight through my ears; sure, his tales were always interesting… The first time you heard them. Given his choice of words, I found it safe to assume this was the story of how he'd lost his limbs. I'd heard it first around six years ago, when my father had invited him round for meat and mead only to immediately regret his decision as we were thrust into all of his beguiling tales. Nine-year-old me had loved it - brutal dragon battles, ships destroyed, thieving trolls! By the seventeenth time you heard the stories, however, they kind of lost their spark.
"And with a twist—!" the man shouted with a flourish of the whole chicken attached to his skewer-hand. Yep, always the exact same wording. With a roll of my eyes, my thoughts returned to the toothless dragon. The retractable teeth were like nothing I'd ever seen before, a feat of evolution so strange I didn't know what to make of it. What was the purpose behind that? A lure? To get close to potential prey with those wide, feline eyes and show its toothlessness as a sign of weakness and safety? Only then to sprout them again as quick as a flash and purloin a meal in those fierce, powerful jaws.
Snotlout's growl interrupted my thoughts, with yet further claims that he'd be the hero of the day. He'd avenge Gobber's missing limbs, apparently, but was only met with Gobber's noises of disapproval.
"It's the wings and the tails you really want! If it can't fly, it can't get away."
Wings and tails. Go for the wings… And tails to prevent its getaway.
"A downed dragon is a dead dragon."
I'd downed the dragon. The clumsy flight, the lack of control, the crash landings… All because my snare had maimed its tail. The membranous fin must have acted as a sort of sail, to catch the wind and help it steer as a ship's would; as any Berkian would know, half of a ship's sail being torn off would be unreservedly devastating. The Night Fury was trapped in the pit, scrabbling up the earthen barriers with caterwauls of panic, struggling to snatch up fish from the lake, and resorting to hiding in a hollowed-out tree trunk for safety… Because of me.
But I didn't have a dead dragon yet. Looking around me, the group were all focused on Gobber now, who was finally getting around to the matter at hand - the next Dragon Training session. My mind raced as I dropped my dinner down next to me - how hard could it be to replicate the other half of its tail? I had leather for its membrane, metal for the struts, and plenty of sketches for reference. I could do this - I could save the dragon. Standing, I took off down the steps without a further glance, feet taking me away from the group and headed straight for the workshop.