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Chapter 21: As South as South Goes

(Toothless)

Above them only night, stars, and a full moon. Below them only sea, and the sparks of moonlight, dancing on each small wave and ripple, producing a vivid, if fitful trail.

Apart from Hiccup's, the smell of humans in the air was faint, almost nonexistent. Still, with the wind blowing northwards, it was likely the three Viking ships were sailing in that same direction, carrying most of their scents with them.

Toothless did not truly wish to find those Vikings, but he did not disobey his rider's command. It was not so much that Toothless disagreed with the unspoken plan. He did not mind killing a few humans, especially for Hiccup's sake. Also, despite being a Night Fury, the proudest and most solitary of dragons, he could not feel complete indifference at their winged friends' deaths, though he could not really tell why. Had he truly begun to care for them too? It was more plausible that he cared about Hiccup, who did care for them in turn. Or maybe it was a bit of both.

Even so, Toothless did not think avenging their friends was worth endangering his rider. What use was revenge, if Hiccup ended up getting hurt? Three ships meant a lot of humans, most of them likely weathered in combat. Toothless was confident in his own abilities, but Hiccup was no warrior; he had no scales, no armor. A stray spear, a wound gone bad, and they were both going to die. Not to mention the fact that Hiccup was not thinking straight.

He nonetheless held his course, wrapped in worry and unease, and with that unexpected tinge of sorrow, budding in a part of his consciousness he did not remember having. He tried his best to stall, sometimes changing direction ever so slightly, pretending to pick up a new scent, hoping to delay their meeting with their enemies, without Hiccup noticing, waiting for his rider's mind to open up again.

Unfortunately, he could not make the connection. Part of it was surely due to his own agitation. Yet, despite the boy's weight on his back, Hiccup might as well have not been there at all. Toothless would occasionally turn his head to check on him.

Dark, dried blood covered Hiccup's face. The blood was Dreyri's, unwittingly applied by the boy's stained hands whilst grieving. Fresh tears had also started to trail his cheeks again, guided backwards by their speed against the wind, carving lines in the blood. Hiccup did not seem to notice. In fact, his expression was no longer one of sorrow. Instead, despite the tears, his eyes held a strange, stern, distant look.

Their eyes met. Hiccup averted them quickly, but Toothless knew his rider's mind was finally back. He still said nothing. He beat his wings, and waited patiently.

When Hiccup decided to speak, his voice came out as a tired moan: "What am I doing..." It did not sound like a question. It was more like a lost fragment of some other conversation.

Toothless answered anyway: "You want to kill them, right? We can do it from the sky. No need to get close. Some will probably survive, but I can destroy the ships from a safe distance." He knew he could, he had enough fire in his lungs for three ships. It was not a particularly dangerous strategy, perhaps not dangerous at all with the cover of night.

"No," Hiccup replied harshly, "they must know what they did. I want them to know. I want them to see me... I want to see them, before I decide." Anger still lingered in the boy's voice, but there was uncertainty too now.

You won't get a chance to decide anything, if they kill you first!

Toothless wanted to protest. He did not care about how they exacted their revenge, if at all. He did not speak his mind, though. Maybe, if he insisted, he could have managed to convince Hiccup to exact his revenge in a safer way. Maybe he could have even tried to convince him to turn back, and forget about revenge altogether. Maybe it was going to work, if he took advantage of his rider's distress, or if he just refused to fly straight. Yet, he found he could not bring himself to do any of those things.

Why he seemed unable to disregard Hiccup's feelings, however, in light of the danger that awaited them, was turning out to be an uncomfortable mystery. Perhaps being concerned about Hiccup's feelings was just as important for his rider's health as being concerned for his physical safety. It seemed like a legitimate way to rationalize it, though it was not the Night Fury way.

I am a Night Fury, am I not?

It should have been an easy question to answer.

Of course I am a Night Fury! I have to be fast. I have to be selfish. That's how Night Furies survive. That is every Night Fury's nature! I am going along with this human's wishes for my own sake. I want him to be happy, so I can be happy. That is what I have been doing all along. That is what I am doing now! I am not really sacrificing anything, I am just contormizing… no… Comprimizing...?

Alas, this answer did not seem to satisfy his uneasy conscience, and thus the question lingered. A question that, he realized, had been secretly hanging at the back of his mind for nearly a year, unanswered.

Was he still true to his nature? Not on the outside perhaps, missing a tailfin as he was. But what about on the inside? Was he still a Night Fury worthy of his blue flame? And had he ever been able to answer that question before? Or had he always been as uncertain? Had he ever doubted his natural selfishness before meeting Hiccup? And why was he wondering about such things only now? Hadn't he already reasoned out what his relationship with the little human truly entailed?

He knew he had lost his independence. At the same time, he knew he had found the hatchling to be a pleasant companion, besides flying assistant. Hiccup was not only 'a means to an end', as Toothless had conceded. He had not lied when had said so. And yet, he also knew that, just a couple of months before, he would not have been willing to make that same concession. What had changed?

There was clearly something else, something troubling, too troubling to consider for a Night Fury, which was why Toothless forced all these doubts to resettle in some corner of his mind, hoping, at the risk of being naive, that he was still as healthily self-centered as any Night Fury ought to be, that he had not really abandoned his egotistic nature, that he had not really committed that which was considered a sin for his special kind.

As the jumbled concerns traversed his thoughts, Toothless could only warble absently to himself.

"I know," Hiccup chimed in, anticipating only some of his objections. "But I can't just let them go like that. Not after what they did."

"Then let me shoot at them from up high," Toothless tried again. "They will get what they deserve, and we will both be at a safe distance."

"No," Hiccup insisted.

Toothless wanted to sigh and growl and protest, but his complaint was cut off.

"I don't want to kill anyone."

Toothless turned his head back. A disbelieving coo escaped his throat.

"I wanted to," Hiccup added quickly; the anger and uncertainty were still there, but he seemed more collected as he spoke now. "Just moments ago, I wanted to. Part of me still does... but… I can barely kill rabbits, bud. Killing people… even if they deserve it… I… It's not something I can do."

Toothless kept warbling questioningly, and, if possible, even more worriedly. If Hiccup wasn't planning to kill them, and if he wasn't planning to turn back either, that could only mean he was planning to do something far more dangerous. Toothless hoped he had misunderstood.

"But you will not have to kill," he insisted. "I will do it for you."

"No," Hiccup said. "No more death. Not if I can help it."

"So no one dies? Then why are we even going?"

Hiccup's following silence was as irritating, as it was frightening.

"What are you planning, Hiccup?"

The young Viking breathed in deeply, filling his voice with unanticipated confidence:

"Something I won't regret."


The strategy was indeed dangerous, though it was not as stupid as Toothless had been anticipating. Foolhardy, yes, but not mindless. There was a certain amount of sense behind it, which Toothless found somewhat reassuring. It meant his rider had not gone mad with grief and rage, at least not entirely.

The plan could still go very wrong, of course, but if that was the only way for Hiccup to find some retribution, then Toothless felt he had no choice but to go along with it, and do his best to keep the boy safe.

It was not much longer before he spotted the ships, their white sails glowing faintly with reflected firelight, emitted by small braziers, which helped the sailors either keep warm, or keep track of each other in the night. As soon as Toothless saw them, he braced himself, and so did Hiccup, without any need for words.

As expected, the ships were three, sailing the calm waves in a triangular formation, with the slightly larger one leading the other two. They were long, but not very big, with hulls barely deep enough to store about a dozen barrels under a single deck.

Getting closer, Toothless recognized the shape of the lightning dragon, painted upon each sail. 'Skrill' the humans called it, as Hiccup had revealed when they had found the same shape painted on the buried crate, which the boy had unearthed at the exact same spot where he had later decided to build the hut.

Was the Skrill-painting a coincidence? He decided he was going to ask Hiccup, though now was not the time.

Silently, Toothless flew past the ships from up high, exploiting the cover of darkness. He scanned the three ships' decks, as Hiccup had instructed. Round, colorful shields hung from their perimeters. On the decks, there were crates and barrels tied together, and about a dozen Vikings for each ship. Some were dressed in armor, some in heavy pelts, some had both; all had weapons, and all had tired faces. Most were awake, but a few appeared to be sleeping, lying unsteadily on makeshift beds of crates. Toothless caught the scent of drying blood.

Without being seen, he crossed the sky around their targets three times, when, finally, he found what he sought. Hiccup's basket was stored amongst the crates of the leading ship.

Toothless informed his rider, who promptly straightened his back, and removed the already strung bow from his shoulder. The boy took an arrow from his quiver, and nocked it on the string, then held bow and arrow both in one hand, while he used the other to hold on to the saddle, before finally murmuring: "Let's do this."

Even without that trace of hesitation, which was unfortunately very present in Hiccup's voice, Toothless could have still been able to sense Hiccup's fear. He was worried too, but he had agreed to go along with the risky plan, and he was not going to hesitate.

Toothless veered towards the two ships at the back. He flew further away from them, rose higher, then turned back and picked up speed, filling his lungs and throat with the right mixture of gas and air for four small charges. The whistling sound he produced warned the Vikings, who began to yell from one ship to the other:

"Night Fury!"

"Take cover!"

"Get down!"

Whizzing through the air like an arrow, flying above both ships from west to east, from port to starboard, Toothless rained four shots of blue fire on them, one after the other. Two relatively tame blasts each, one aimed at their hulls, one at their single masts. The quick succession of explosions perturbed the night, setting the two sails ablaze, and cracking the sides of both ships, which began to slowly take in water.

Nodding grimly at the results, Hiccup directed Toothless towards the leading ship. The Vikings sailing on it had begun to unsheathe weapons and grab shields. Those on the two following boats had been doing so as well, but they had more serious problems now.

"Try to land on the head of the bow, if you can," Hiccup said, letting go of the saddle to ready his own weapon with both hands.

When Toothless perched himself atop the bow, the ship bobbed up and down at the sudden weight, making all crew-members lose their footing and initiative. Hiccup pulled on the string, and pointed his arrow forward. Toothless kept his muscles tense like springs, and his fire-lungs ready to shoot at the first sign of aggression; this time, he prepared a much more powerful blast than all four previous ones put together.

Amongst gasps of surprise and outrage, all the Vikings aboard turned ahead to see the black shape of a dragon they had never seen before, and, on its back, the figure of a ragged-clothed boy with an arrow pointed at them, auburn hair messed up by the wind, face covered in dried blood, mounting the winged beast in a display most of those men and women would have only ever seen in nightmares.

There was a momentary silence. The ship's small iron brazier cast fitful shadows on the painted sail, illuminating the sailors' faces. Toothless, however, did not need this light to be able to see the shock that marked their features.

Some of the Vikings were too stunned to move; they stood, gaping with hate and revulsion at the otherworldly sight, ignoring the two fires in the distance, and their comrades' yells and efforts, as they tried to keep their ships from both burning and sinking. Some other Vikings, alas, raised their weapons towards them.

"Do NOT move!" Hiccup thundered.

The unexpected timbre of the shout made Toothless almost turn back to check if the voice truly belonged to his rider. The boy's following words were still imbued with a commanding mixture of rage and urgency, but the surprising depth vanished. It was once again Hiccup's gawky, nasal voice: "If you try anything, the dragon will shoot a hole through your ship's hull faster than you can say Night Fury! Then none of your ships makes it back home!"

Despite the anger in his tone, Hiccup spoke quickly, almost hurriedly. He was clearly trying to get his point across, before the first axe could fly. Fortunately, the warning did not go unheard, although, for a moment, it seemed it would go unanswered.

Before long, a tall, dark-haired man stepped forward. His black beard was tied in three braids, entwined with decorative iron rings under a hard face. His wide, long-hilted, double-finned axe was still confidently fastened across his pelt-covered back. Unlike most of the crew, he seemed unafraid of the strange attackers. Toothless could not help but deepen the low growls in his throat.

"Ya're him," the man hissed, moving closer threateningly, albeit alone. "Ya're the dragon-rider."

Toothless snarled, letting steaming saliva drip from between his bared teeth. The man stopped on his steps, but kept talking: "Ya're the one they talk about! I thought it was a joke. Thor help us all... The son of Stoick the Vast... on the Night Fury." The man spat disdainfully, while mutters of "traitor!" and "filth!" filled the throats of the other Vikings on the ship.

"What is the Archipelago's most dishonorable turncoat doing here?" The black-bearded man asked, spite filling his every word, twisting his mouth.

Hiccup took his time before replying. Was he swallowing?

Predators should never swallow their spit! Toothless thought to himself. They must let it out. All animals know this. Even this man knows it.

Still, Toothless could not clearly see what his rider was doing; he did not dare take his eyes off their enemies for more than a heartbeat. Fortunately, he could feel rage filling the boy again, when, finally, using almost the same imperious voice as before, Hiccup shouted back:

"Why should I not be here?! You destroyed my home! You took my things! You killed my friends!"

It was not fear that widened the man's eyes, first with surprise, then utter hatred; it was sudden realization. Ignoring the arrow pointed at his chest, he barked: "So it was yer hut! Ya made those dragons attack us! Ya call them friends! Fuckin' Loki-spawn!" He spat again. "They killed three of my men because of you! I should have yer head thrown at yer father's feet, and crushed before 'is eyes!" The naked disgust on the man's face suddenly transformed into a lopsided grin. "Knowing Stoick for a man of honor, he might even reward me."

Ignoring the man's words with what Toothless could tell was a strenuous effort, Hiccup went on talking at the top of his lungs, so that everyone could hear: "Your comrades' ships are sinking! Their sails are on fire. More will die, unless you save them in time. If you want them to return to their families, before they freeze and drown, if you'd all rather not swim on your way back, you will do exactly as I say."

"We're Berserkers!" The same man shot back daringly. "The proudest Vikings in the Archipelago! Ya think a little swim in the moonlight will scare us, when the prize could be the Night Fury's own skull, and a seat at Odin's table?"

"You want to kill me and my dragon?" Hiccup replied quickly. "You can try. Maybe you'll even succeed. But not before there's a hole in your ship. Even proud Berserkers will freeze to death in this sea. None of you will see daybreak, if you decide to swim. So, think carefully. Give me back the basket you took, and no one else has to die. Your comrades are sinking as we speak. If I were you, I'd save my strength for rescuing them. What would you rather do: go back to your families and tell them how you survived seeing the infamous Night Fury, or would you rather never see your families again?"

From the back of the ship, where a man's body was stretched out atop the crates, a pale, blonde-haired woman stepped slowly forward. Toothless thought her handsome for a human, at least by what he believed were Hiccup's tastes. She was tall and slender, and wore a combination of white sheepskins and chainmail. There was fear in her scent, and grief, but, apart from her red eyes, neither emotions appeared on her face. She was scowling.

"Who's to say the dragon won't shoot us anyway?!" She shrieked angrily, glowering at Hiccup. In her one hand was a spear, her knuckles white around the shaft, in the other was a blood-spattered shield.

There was a tense pause, then Hiccup answered, addressing not just the woman, but all of the crew: "If I wanted to kill you, Toothless would have done it from the sky already. You all know how powerful a Night Fury's fire can be. Those two ships would already be at the bottom of the sea, had I wanted them to. But I didn't come here to kill. Just give me what I want, and I won't have to."

Hiccup spoke the words with surprising decisiveness. At the same time, he looked as if he was going to be sick, especially after listening to the woman. He seemed to be out of breath. His elbow had begun to shake with the effort of keeping the bowstring pulled. The boy's feelings transpired on his face as a crazed, twisted mixture, which, along with the bloodshot eyes from all the previous crying, the actual dragon's blood smeared across his face, and the ragged, feral look, was clearly giving his opponents pause. For a time, nobody on this ship spoke.

Though he was still growling, Toothless felt almost unnecessary for the purposes of intimidation. He decided to growl louder, and make smoke pour steadily out of his nostrils.

The wait ended when the black-bearded man let out a short chuckle. A still disdainful, but somehow also amused grin stretched his lips. He then glanced back at another man, and nodded. The other man went to the back of the ship, scowling, before bringing Hiccup's basket. He did so without any haste. It was as if some of these humans did not care about the other sinking ships. Were they just pretending?

Slowly, Hiccup softened the grip on his bow, then tucked away the arrow, and wore the bow across his shoulders. As Toothless had expected, his rider slid off his back, and onto the deck.

Toothless did not like it, but there was no other choice. Hiccup had to tie the basket to the saddle. After crawling lower on the deck to keep his rider close, Toothless found himself contemplating a hundred strategies, in case things went badly, in case it was all a trap. Without Hiccup on his back, he could not fly away at a moment's notice anymore.

If they attack him, I can blast the entire ship in the middle, but the fire will burn Hiccup too. I could wrap my wings around him, but we will probably fall both into the sea. It would not be a problem for me, but if Hiccup gets wet in this cold, he might die before we can find land again.

He felt stuck; there was nothing useful he could do if things went south. Now all was up to Hiccup, and his convoluted plan to force their enemies to collaborate.

Amazingly, the boy's strategy seemed to be working. It seemed as if his rider's words, or his tone, or his appearance, or perhaps all those things put together had somehow managed to make the plan succeed. The Vikings were waiting for them to leave. They were glaring daggers at them, but that was all they did.

Once the basket was secured, just as Hiccup mounted again, the captain of the ship spoke with a voice that, Toothless thought, somehow held a hint of admiration, mixed with the hatred and spite:

"Ya really are Stoick's boy, aren't ya."

Hiccup gave the man a tired, somber look.

"Not anymore."

Finally, with a flick of that special stirrup, the prosthetic tailfin was unfurled, and Toothless jumped into the night.


The darkness hung close above their heads, now that the clouds covered both stars and moon. An oppressive silence permeated their return. They were already halfway back, but Toothless was still trying to find something appropriate to say. He only did when he noticed his rider was shivering.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"I'm fine," Hiccup replied curtly. Then, as if to make up for his bluntness, he added: "Maybe a little, but… I don't know. I don't think it's from the cold. I just can't seem to control it, but I think it's passing. I'll be fine."

Toothless warbled with concern nonetheless. "We should fly lower just in case," he suggested, hoping Hiccup would snap out of his somber trance, and speak some more. Alas, Hiccup said nothing for the rest of their flight.

Toothless could still feel the waves of distress radiating from his rider. He had hoped for them to just vanish after the boy had gotten his strange form of revenge, but the only emotion to disappear had been the anger, of which there was no longer any trace. All that remained now was sorrow. It made Toothless want to coo soothingly, but he refrained from doing so. Toothless did not know how he knew, but he was sure Hiccup was in no mood for pity.

When they landed back on their island, they were once again met with the sight of their dead friends, sprawled along the beach. Toothless feared for Hiccup's reaction, but if the boy was feeling something, he did not show it.

With an odd sort of composure, after freeing Toothless from the basket and flying-contraptions, Hiccup began to work, carrying the broken pieces of wood, large and small, from his wrecked shelter, all the way to the beach.

Of course, Toothless thought. He is cold. He needs a fire, and he does not have a hearth anymore.

Yet, when Toothless moved to light the pile of wood, Hiccup stopped him.

"Is this not enough wood for tonight?"

The boy shook his head. "It's not for me."

Toothless let out a perplexed noise.

"It's for…" Hiccup looked away, "Dreyri and Khnut," he clenched his teeth, "and Sharpshot, and…" a sharp intake of breath interrupted him. Then, after clearing his throat, he continued, forcing the words out in a hoarse rasp: "…and Twitch, and Bolt, and Frigga, and her-" his throat caught, and he stopped speaking. He was sniffing, and was trying to hide it.

The boy was making a pyre for the dragons. Toothless already knew about the human custom of burning the dead; his rider had mentioned it a few times. They were not going to burn a mere human, however. The Terrible Terrors were one thing, but Khnut and Dreyri were much bigger than any Viking. The pyre needed to be much bigger too. Toothless decided to help.

"No," the boy stopped him again. "I must do this," he said determinedly.

"Alone? Why?"

"Because… it's my fault they are dead," Hiccup said, but the austerity in his voice was obviously forced, fragile.

"What do you mean your fault? You did not kill them."

"Maybe not, but I should have known," Hiccup paused to take a deep, quivering breath. "I should have known this would happen. Those supplies we found, remember? The buried crate."

"The one with the Skrill-drawing. So, it belonged to those Vikings?"

The boy nodded slowly, turning back towards the beach with yet another armful of timber. "I should have known Berserkers would come here at some point. I thought they had left that old crate years ago, just for emergencies, in case of a shipwreck, or… something."

They both emerged from the forest, Toothless always hard on his rider's heels.

"I didn't think they'd stop here regularly," Hiccup continued, raising his voice. "I didn't know Berserkers traded with the south, but… after seeing that crate, I should have. I should have known, Toothless. How could I have been so stupid!"

Furiously, he tossed the planks he had in his arms towards the growing pile, missing the target. He looked at the result, and, wiping at his tears, he sighed once more, before picking up the pieces.

"I think it is stupider for you to blame yourself, for something you did not do," Toothless pointed out; he was not trying to be comforting, he honestly disagreed with that odd way of reasoning. "If you did not know, then it cannot be your fault."

Hiccup's mouth opened, ready to complain, but no sound came out. Instead, the boy stared at their dead friends on the beach, his sullen eyes wandered from Dreyri to Frigga, searching for their shapes in the darkness.

"They were right, you know? On Berk, I mean. I am a danger to everyone around me. A walking accident. I deserve my stupid name."

Hiccup went to kneel on the sand beside Khnut's lifeless body. He caressed the Zippleback's lone, unsevered head.

"I don't deserve friends, or a family," Hiccup whispered, then turned to him. "Even you did not come out unscathed from meeting me." A dry, despondent chuckle escaped the young Viking's chest, before he resumed his task.

Toothless was suddenly at a loss. What was he to say now? Should he argue more? He was not even sure whether he ought to disobey and help the boy out, or disobey and stop him, or just keep following him back and forth, as he carried the wood by himself, like some diligent Terror, building a nest for the dead.

Toothless had that feeling of being stuck once again, useless. If nothing else, perhaps he could still provide some helpful advice.

"Instead of bringing all the wood here," he began, "why don't we just take their bodies where the hut was?"

Hiccup stopped on his steps, holding a long, wooden branch, which he was about to lay down. He sighed, closing his eyes.

"Thor's… You are right, I… I should have thought of that," he softly thumped his forehead on the branch. "I'll just add more wood by cutting down the surrounding trees, to avoid wildfires," he whispered to himself, sighing once again, before taking back every log and branch and plank that he had already moved.

The Terrors were easy to carry; at least, what remained of them was. Their bodies were all but minced, yet Hiccup did not flinch as he performed the gruesome task. Khnut and Dreyri were not in as grisly a state, but Hiccup could not lift them, so he asked for Toothless' help to drag them atop the remnants of his house.

That done, Hiccup reached for his basket. It had a gash on the side, and the straps at the back were pulling at the flaky wicker. Hiccup emptied it on the forest's ground, ignoring the damage. He found his waterskin, and drank thirstily, then paused, leaned away, threw up, and drank again, trying to hold it in this time.

Toothless forced himself not to intervene, or even coo his distress at the sight. He concentrated on the spilled contents of the basket. Inside it, their raiders had hastily crammed what they had managed to gather of Hiccup's belongings. It wasn't everything of course. There were most of the things they had carried from Berk. Hiccup's journal. The spare tailfin. The two waterskins, Gobber's grooming kit, the bandages, some of the clothes, and just one of the pelts. Not Hiccup's pot though, not his pan, and none of his other tools.

Fortunately, a few of the tools were still on the island. The saw and hatchet lay upon a large tree-stump in the forest, where the boy used to cut his firewood. Hiccup trudged towards them, guided by the moonlight, which peeked occasionally from behind the clouds. Not that Hiccup needed much light; he had long memorized that part of the forest, down to the smallest tree-root, or rock, berry plant, or thorny bush. After finding the tools, he began cutting down all the trees surrounding the wreck of his hut.

With his teeth, Toothless carried the slender trunks to the pile. Hiccup did not complain about the help this time. He had clearly realized how much larger a pyre had to be to burn dragon bodies, for they were not only bigger, but also coated with fireproof scales.

"There's not enough wood," the boy said, time and time again. And it was true. The pyre was not big enough yet. So, Hiccup kept gathering and piling up more and more wood around those scaly corpses, until there was no tree or sapling around their former house for nearly a wingspan.

"Your hands are bleeding," Toothless observed, apprehension as plain in his inner voice as he could make it. He could not hold back any longer. "Stop now. You can finish tomorrow."

"No I- I want it done before first light," Hiccup replied.

Despite his rider's determination, Toothless decided he could not allow him to go on. The boy was cold and exhausted. He had begun to stumble with every third step.

With a couple of small shots, Toothless lit the pyre, feeling no guilt for disobeying.

"You can add more later," he said. "This much wood will last until the sun is high. You must rest and warm yourself now."

Hiccup lacked the strength to rebuke him for his initiative. Even more worrisome was that Hiccup seemed actually taken aback when he finally looked at his hands, and saw them shivering. Droplets of blood were sliding off fresh cuts and scratches. His shoulders sank at the sight.

With a defeated sigh, Hiccup found the only pelt they had managed to bring back. Using a piece of rope salvaged from the wreck, he tied the pelt around himself, like a mantle. He then sat on the ground, at a safe distance from the bonfire, its flames now picking up, and growing higher.

Toothless coiled himself around his rider, allowing him to rest in the crook between his left forepaw and his neck. They did not sleep, nor did they speak. They both stared at the large, whispering flames fending off the night, until they burned as high as the trees around them.

Just before the earliest lights of dawn, plump, white flakes of snow began to fall from the sky, landing placidly on their island, without a breath of wind to disturb their gentle descent. Hiccup did not look up; he had finally fallen asleep. Toothless licked the boy's cheek, then protected him with a black wing, shielding him from the cold and the morning light, until noon.

The bodies of the four Terrible Terrors were consumed by the flames quickly. Unfortunately, the wood had not been enough to fully burn the Nightmare and Zippleback. The pyre had to be much bigger.

Hiccup spent half his waking time adding more wood to the fire, wedging logs and twigs and branches between the simmering carcasses. They did burn eventually, but it took two days, before all but the bones and scales had turned to ash.

Four times had the fire died, and four times it had to be rekindled. Before long, the smell of seared flesh had soaked the forest whole. Hiccup did not complain, though he often coughed, despite his attempts to stay upwind. For two days, he ate from his latest purchase of dried meat and stockfish (the only batch that he still had), then spent the rest of the time either chopping more wood, or wrapped inside his pelt, leaning on Toothless' chest. Not many words were exchanged for those two days.

The heat of Hiccup's fiery friends kept the winter at a distance, melting the snow before it could pile up in that artificial clearing. Then, after the second afternoon, the last flicker of warmth went out, and winter embraced the two companions, just as it had the whole island, which was now all dressed in white.

For the first time in nearly five moons, it felt as if they were alone again, just the two of them. It was a new feeling for Toothless. There was a strange emptiness around them. Was Hiccup feeling it too?

"What will you do now?" Toothless asked, as they watched the fire die. "Will you build another house?"

"No," Hiccup said softly. "No more houses, or Vikings."

Toothless cocked his head, perplexed.

"We can't stay here," Hiccup explained. "I can't let this happen again. It's not safe for me, or you, or anyone else around me. Besides, winter is finally here." He looked up at the falling snow. "Without some shelter, I won't be able to survive the colder months, and there's no time to build another. And… even if the winter doesn't kill me, now that the Berserkers know where we are, assuming they don't come back for revenge, you can be sure Spitelout will find out, and soon my dad will too, maybe even before the seas freeze. There's just no way we can stay."

Toothless nuzzled his rider's temple affectionately. It felt like the right thing to do. "Then? Where will we go? South again?"

"Not just south," Hiccup said. Was there a hint of excitement in his voice? "We'll go as south as south goes. We'll go where winters are as warm as summers."

Hiccup smiled at Toothless for the first time in two days. A slightly uncertain, yet fond smile.

"We will go to the mainland."