Blind Spot

by Fjord Mustang

Toothless' spy mission showed Red Deaths are a worldwide threat. He & Hiccup got humans to trust & partner with dragons. In this story, allies of Hiccup & Toothless also have a hard challenge: getting dragons to trust & partner with humans. Can they?

11. Ordeal in the Mountains

Chapter 11-

Ordeal in the Mountains

"The death rate is the same for us as for anybody ... one person, one death, sooner or later."- R.A. Heinlein, Tunnel in the Sky

Disclaimer: (As I pass through airport security). I need three trays. I put my computer in one. I put my winter rain and windproof coat, Icelandic fleece jacket, shoes, bag of liquids and gels and cell phone in the second one. And, in the third, I put a piece of paper that says : I am writing a HTTYD fanfiction as I travel between the USA and your country. As per your regulations, I am letting you know that Hiccup and Toothless and the Terrible Terrors belong to Dreaworks and Cressida Cowell, not to me." The guards read it over and let me pass, but they laugh at me for being in love with a kiddie cartoon, and I am a grandma who should know better! Where is my cynicism? Why did I choose dragons and Vikings over being cool and sarcastic? Am I a mutant? Well, they let me pass, anyway, but they view me as a mentally damaged lady who could have made something with her life if she had supported something classier, like "Kill Bill" or "Debbie Does Dallas." I hold my head high and tell them I love HTTYD because its style speaks for itself. They let me go through, indicating I have never really been able to grow up. And I smile, knowing I feel sorry for them. Maybe one day they will see the movie, but until then, they mark me as a crazy lil ole lady. Heh. Their loss.

A/N-

1) Just so you know, the leader of the Amazons- Purple Sonja- speaks with her own unique style. I imitated a "Sopranos"-style New Jersey Mid Atlantic accent. Even though this is totally not historically accurate, I wanted to convey the sense of a tough little lady- a warrior but also very aware of her femininity. The New Jersey accent seemed right for that. Take it with a grain of salt, of course, and hope you enjoy it. It's there to show her personality.

Youse= plural you or you all. Sometimes used in singular, too

We's= we

Ya or ye= singular you

th sounds (them, this, the)= use a d sound instead- e.g. this = dis, the = da

2) Dreampath madness- more visits to the Dreampaths! Lux gets to discover some more places in his quest for his identity, and he even learns a few important clues. This time he visits three places on the Dreampaths. Can you guess what they are? One is a popular mythological personality from legends of the Western hemisphere. One represents a storybook series and movie that heavily influenced the HTTYD directors in how to portray the friendship between Toothless and Hiccup. The movie version of this book series actually is both directors' favorite movie of all time. And the third comes from a very popular fan fiction story on this site. The author kindly reviewed my writing and let me use that fanfic's characters for a few moments in my story. Can you guess the fan fiction? I am very grateful and thank the author for letting me play in that author's fan fiction sandbox. After you all have a chance to guess, I will put up the author's and story's name, but for now, THANK YOU to the author. I appreciate it!

3) The intro is a crazy-lovin' homage to the way the Conan the Barbarian and Red Sonja comic stories always begin (lots of references to Atlantis and mountains and skulls, etc. ) It's so corny it makes me laugh in a loving way, so I spoofed it here.

---

:: Know ye, dat in da years between when da oceans drank Atlantis and da gleamin' cities and da years o' da rise o' da Daugthers o' Argyle a great band of warriors roamed da Savage Lands. Dis era, shall ye mark, was da Dawn of da coming of da Bronze-clad Great Hordes of Dey who Wear da Skulls of da Slain…::

::Cool::, Lux breathed, amber, red-flecked eyes gleaming in wonder, ::This sounds awesome… and may I have some more free range haunch of wild boar, please? Clawed from the medium rare portion, if you don't mind?::

::Of course, dear. Awwwww, who's a growing boy?:: crooned one of the Amazons, the delicately- featured one Purple Sonja had identified as Blossom the Butcher, ::How would you like it, Lux? Paw-tossed or freshly regurgitated?::

Ah, the old "shaken-but-not-stirred" dilemma of dragon hospitality!

::Ummmmm…, tossed, please, My Lady Sweet Plates- uh-err- I mean, most esteemed, warrior dragoness of the Vast Empire of Amazonia!::

::All two acres of it::, Ravenwing thought snidely to me, flicking a sardonic black ear.

::You're a little cutie, aren't you?:: Dark-bronze-scaled Sadie the Salacious purred while Blossom the Butcher groomed her own baby-sweet face in modest pride before patting Lux on his wolf-shaped head.

::Yes'm. If you wouldn't mind, I'd be ever so pleased if you would continue the " Amazon Chronicles Part I: Epic Exploits of the First Sisters of the Scales?"::

Gatalas chuckled softly, "That's interesting how these Amazons have picked up some of our story telling skills- next thing I know they'll be describing jeweled skulls and flower entwined daggers."

::And, lo, dese tribes did set many colored stones in the helmets dey made from da skulls of deir enemies, and, to mark deir gender was dere also much twining of flowers around deir claws, sharpened to resemble Firemaker daggers:: Sonja continued the story, the fire dancing shadows on her claw- tattooed face.

Gatalas, very slowly, lowered his head and smacked a fist against it in the "oh, irony" gesture of the Sarmatians. He glanced in my general direction and gave me a brotherly smile. He flexed his other hand, the burnt one. Setareh had medicated and bandaged it, and hopefully it would heal soon.

::Ever wonder, oh, ape-faced one, if maybe it was we Sarmatians who borrowed the storytelling tradition from the dragons?:: I asked softly.

"How could that be, Horsebutt?" Gatalas scratched me affectionately between the ears with his good hand. I leaned in, nudging him to scratch harder.

::I don't know. I just was proposing an idea. Gotta let this mind of mine out for a romp every now and then.::

"Could be, could be," Gatalas stretched, "It is something that intrigues me… I never guessed dragons could tell stories- let alone eating meat they roast themselves."

He held up the skewer of boar meat he had been gnawing on, "Dragons eat their meat raw. That, alone, tells me these little ladies borrowed the idea of cooking their meat from Firemakers- along with our weapons technology."

::I think this sad-fated excursion might have one silver lining: the chance for us to learn more about the dragon People:: I sighed, memories of our fallen comrades still sitting heavily on my heart ::I wonder how many Sarmatians have actually sat at a dragon-built campfire and listened to a group of she-dragons tell heroic sagas::

::One conversation, please!:: a brown and gray dragoness hissed.

We all silenced, and we Sarmatians were treated to the odd experience of listening to dragons tell their great adventures.

It seemed that dragons were just as inclined as Firemakers to bend the truth a bit into an amazing story.

Jessamine the Juggernaut, who seemed to be more refined than her tough talking Amazon Chief, took up the thread of the story.

:Our People are the Eastern type of Sticky Fire People, but we are also known as the People of the Clay, a name more respected than that of the People of the Rainbow, who live in the Western Lands. 'Twas said the Night Lady made our People, and she used the finest clays of the Earth. But the Cukkow, Lord of the Trickster Birds, wanted this fine clay to line his mate's nest, so he stole clay when the Night Lady was not looking.

::Alas, there was soon no good, solid, strong clay left to make Sticky Fire People, but Cukkow indeed had built a very fine nest. Night Lady was sore indeed, but she had to finish creating the Sticky Fire ones before the First Night of Life-Creation was over. So she clawed some drops from the rainbow and mixed them with dirt to make the clay for the western Sticky Fire People. They came out beautiful and in bright colors. Like the Rainbow their colors sparkle and gleam, but like the Rainbow, their attention span and loyalty fades in and out.::

::Sa.,:: agreed Salacious Sadie, ::All beauty and no brains. We, Amazons, however, have both in great quantities.::

::Indeed,:: Jessamine the Juggernaut thought sent, ::We Terrible Terrors of the East, the Clay People, are the favored of the gods because we were made of the prime materials. Later, the Night Lady punished Lord Cukkow bird by cursing his line so that they no longer have the skill to build nests. Instead, his descendants, now known as cuckoo birds, have to sneak their young into nests of other birds and hope the other birds are foolish enough to raise their child as their own chick.::

Lux listened , ears tilted to the sides in amazement. He must never have heard a story before. I was a bit envious of him; that moment a child or kitten or foal first hears the magic of a tale and sees it happen in his imagination is a special moment.

::Stretching back into the fragrant mists of thyme, the People of the Clay roamed the Eastern Lands, raiding settlements and conquering vast swatches of territory…::

::Lands so vast a snail could cross them in one minute:: Ravenwing whisper thought-sent to me, and I clamped my teeth on a laugh-nicker.

::… and instilling much fear and respect into the hearts of all creatures who dared to inhabit these hills and plains and forests.::

::Uh, ma'am?:: Lux asked softly, ::How can time be fragrant?::

::Not time, cutie pie, Purple Sonja purred, Thyme. Da fragrant mists of thyme. It's a wild-growin' field about three days' flight from here, in the spring, when da mist settles on the blooms, da smells're legendary.::

::Oh. I'm so glad you're here to explain these things for me. I was thinking this was a really ancient story, y'know- epic exploits and First Sisters of the Scale and all::

Purple Sonja lifted a claw in a dismissing gesture and scratched distractedly in the earth near the river, ::Pffff. Hardly. You're lookin' at da First Sisters of da Scale. We's History in da Makin'.::

"Really," Setareh said softly. She sat cross-legged, Kourosh lying like a fawn colored feline across one leg, his head resting in her lap. She stroked his fine-boned forehead affectionately, and he wore a happy grin, brown-gold eyes closed in contentment, "You're the first all female warrior group among the Sticky Fire Breathers?"

Purrs of agreement rippled among the sixteen Sisters of the Scales (yes, Gatalas had to tell me how many there were- counting is not my greatest talent- we Turkmenes can run fast, but don't ask us how far we run.)

::We are the first, indeed,:: Jessamine the Juggernaut's rich and deep thought voice wafted through our minds, ::The Original Band of Sisters. Our people are famous for their exploits, but always have the exploits been tales of bachelor bands.::

::Ugh:: Purple Sonja groaned, and a little spark danced from her muzzle, ::I was sick of hearin' hero exploits of da bachelors. Their Tales of Terror amounted to little more dan glorified petty vandalism. It's just an excuse for young male Sticky Fire People to run amok and cause chaos in da name of growin' up!::

Sonja sneezed in contempt and continued dryly, ::Heroic deeds like stealin' da trinkets from bathing Firemakers or filchin' fish from sleeping Self Burners..::

::Hrrrh. Don't forget the oh-so-daring dragon graffiti done on the shifting sands of the Gobi Desert, perfectly timed so no one would see it had ever really been etched.:: a yet un-named solid brown Amazon snorted.

::More likely done on the shifting sands of their own ego:: Blossom the Butcher hissed in soft irony.

::So, it fell upon our brave Purple Sonja to take to task the idea of sending a group of unmated dragonesses out to perform great deeds and show we, females, are, indeed, worthy of bringing honor to the People of the Clay!:: the brown and gray striped dragoness who had hushed us now purred.

::Lo, was it indeed a match of wills between we Sisters and the Elder, who thought us crazy,:: Jessamine flicked her petite, pretty head and crooned softly, :: Female Sticky Fire People stay in the flock, learning hunting and nest crafts. We mate for life, but we let our life mate go prove himself on quests. We are not supposed to go on vandal- I mean quests of great adventure and courage.::

::And the drakes have all the fun:: muttered Blossom the Butcher.

Purple Sonja took over again, ::So's we's sneaked out on a raidin' party. We's used an ancient Firemaker pit trap idea to bring down some Magnesium People. We's scared'em and roughed 'em up a bit until dey agreed wid our generous suggestion dat dey should have the pleasure of goin' huntin' for us.::

::And also we made them give us a heartfelt donation of some of their most beautiful shed scales to decorate Fortress Amazonia:: Jessamine the Juggernaut added.

::We's returned to our tribe, and the Elder did agree the Amazons were very effective as warriors, so's we's earned her blessin' ta go out as a rovin' band of she-bachelors, doin' great deeds, bringin' back vast riches to our peoples, and earnin' great honor! Except we's are not a Bachelor Herd, we's are a Bachelorette Party!::

Setareh snorted hard as she laughed behind her hand while Kourosh opened his eyes and gave her a 'you crazy Firemaker' look.

"You ladies are great!" Setareh said when she could speak again, "Bachelorette Party. I like it. Well, you're certainly handy with Firemaker bolas."

Purple Sonja's large nostrils flared as she read the Thought-speech that Setareh sent along with her Firemaker speech.

::We's worked moons ta master dose bolas! It was quite da thrill sneakin' near Firemaker sheep and cow herders ta watch how da herders were using dem (as well as liberatin' a few nicely filled lunch sacks da Firemakers would not miss. A dragoness hasta eat, youse know.):: Purple Sonja said, ::And it took a month more ta make bolas some from vines- but it was a good challenge. We's Sticky Fire People are known for our quick claws.::

"But how do you rotate the bolas? You need strong shoulders for that." Gatalas asked, leaning against my legs, his warrior's braid snaking across his shoulders as he did so.

::Right you are, which is why we's use our wing-claws for it. Dat's another difference we's Easterners have compared ta da Rainbow twats of the west: a full set of claws on each wing tip. If our shoulders are strong enough ta beat our wings and rotate dem, dey can flamin'-well rotate a set of bolas, and few's know dat a Sticky Fire Person can use her or his wing claws ta hold objects.::

As if to stress her point, Purple Sonja stretched out her wings, They unfurled in velvety ripples of two toned (and dull colored) rose-grey, and gray-green. The wing claws at the top actually wiggled humorously, like a Firemaker waggling his fingers to loosen the joints for pulling a bow string.

"That's so weird I can't even imagine it," Gatalas muttered. I translated his words to Purple Sonja.

::Then, ya needs ta work on your imagination, ape face. Practice, practice, practice, dat's what matters. If youse tried hard enough, youse Firemakers could throw bolas with your back paws- not dat I'm suggesting anything.::

I got the impression Purple Sonja might be trying to encourage Gatalas and Setareh to try this just to have some fun at the ape-faces' expense.

Neither Firemaker took the bait, however.

Lux, though, grunted as he stretched his wings, squeaking in surprise as almost came open to their full length.

Sonja sighed, instead, and sat neatly onto the ground. She tucked her legs beneath her and wrapped her tail around her hide.

Watching her carefully, Lux also sat neatly onto the ground, folding himself into a similar position. He sighed in comfort and wrapped his segmented tail around him. It was so long it completely encircled his body. Twice.

He looked, for all the world, like a dull olive brown Firemaker loaf of bread with a wolflike-reptilian head sticking out of the crust.

It was disgustingly cute.

Sonja purred and I shifted my gaze to her. Half lidding her eyes, she reminded me of a content, recently-fed steppe manul.

::So's, now youse must tell us your tale. It won't be as epically epic as ours, but youse can always try.::

After much debating and polite offers to let each other have the honor, Gatalas "won" the privilege.

One advantage of traveling so much as a guide for merchants and meeting other warriors is that Gatalas wound up- getting quite a silver plated tongue on him.

"Then, listen my fine lady warriors, dragonesses of the Eastern Savage Lands of the Steppes. Hear ye, oh great ones, the tale of our passage, for it is a heavy one in our hearts."

I was surprised to hear my simple Rider lay out our tale, embellished with many eloquent turns of phrase. Copious amounts of "lo" and "great were our deeds that day" burnished his tale.

I found myself short of rolling my eyes from the smarminess, but I managed to keep my calmness in place.

But 16 pairs of Sticky Fire eyes blinked in awe as they absorbed the tale.

::So's,:: Purple Sonja thought-sent, finally, ::Youse guys and gals are tryin' ta find out why our People attacked yer Firemaker soldiers? Am I ta understand youse find us your enemies? Be careful what youse say next.::

Gatalas bit his lower lip and then, very deliberately, made the reply.

"That is the issue; you sum it well," said Gatalas, folding his legs from the story teller's position- right leg over folded left knee- and now into the common cross-legged position of Sarmatians, "But we do not come as enemies, warrior queen, but as travelers in search of answers. I have ridden with dragons before as a guide. I know your People would not attack us unprovoked; there are many opportunities your People could have attacked us, and you did not. There was no need for it. My Firemakers are convinced some unnatural force is making your People attack us. And Setareh and I aim to find out the reason. We have many brothers and sisters who gave their lives trying to find this answer."

As always, I translated his words into Mindspeech.

::Well, dat's really strange:: Purple Sonja shook her head as if clearing her mind of thought cobwebs, ::I can at least promise no Sisters of the Scales have participated in dese raids, formidable as my kind is. My memory's sharp and keen, youse see, and I don't remember attacking no Firemakers.::

Jessamine the Juggernaut narrowed her eyes at Sonja's words as the leader continuing her conversation.

::I knows we's goes ta sleep at a civilized hour each night ta rest for our great exploits, and then we's wakes up well rested and ready for adventure. No raids. I guarantee.::

::But how do you know?:: Jessamine the Juggernaut asked her leader, ::You're sleeping. We're all sleeping. What if this unnatural thing comes to us in our dreams and hypnotizes, and we go and attack Firemakers and then come back again? And we don't remember any of it?::

::Piffle:: Purple Sonja snorted at her follower, ::If dat were true,, wouldn't some of us come back scratched or wounded? Maybe even an Amazon sister might not come back at all? Yet, here we's all are, very unscathed! Sparkling dully and full of fight! And if we's raid, where's da food we raid? I know I'm hungry when I wakes up, and I see no magical dead prey lyin' around here's waitin' for us to eat it.::

I heard a little moan-purr and saw Lux had lowered his head, seeming embarrassed about something. I wonder what it was?

::Maybe the food isn't being stolen for us?:: Jessamine the Juggernaut continued her line of logic.

::Maybe it's intended for the unknown thing controlling your minds!:: I suggested quietly.

Sonja growled warningly at me. ::Keep youse thoughts to yerself, hump less camel. Youse not a part of dis here discussion, and I knows what I know.::

::Excuse me, but our little group just lost a lot of good friends to attacking dragons, so actually I have been affected by this.:: I regretted the thoughts as soon as they were sent, but the anger and sadness had built up in me more than I liked, ::I have a right to be worried.::

::Stupid beast, can't youse gets it through yer ugly skull that we's are not part of this!:: Sonja hissed back at me, ::Besides, yer so skinny and shaggy and dusty dere's nothing on ya dat is worth stealin',:: Purple Sonja huffed, ::And dere's not enough meat on any of youses carcass for a snack, so why would we attack youses for food?:::

I stomped an angry hoof on the ground and neighed threateningly, ::Hear now! This is getting personal, you dull colored lizard! You take that back now or I´ll take what you said and stuff it down your...::

::Catfight!:: yelled Blossom the Butcher, ::Gather ye round, now! I'm bettin' on Purple Sonja! Anyone else in?::

::Whoooooaaaa::: Lux breathed, impressed by the gathering fireworks.

"Mare, stop it, now!" Gatalas barked sharply at me. He rarely lost his temper, and never at me, ::You're better than this, doostam. Just let it go, all right?::

It took me by surprise and I slammed down hard on the insult coiling up in my thoughts.

::C´mon, little girls, let's cut it out. You're both pretty:: Ravenwing said in a bored tone that set the Firemakers to laughing. Kourosh sneezed, a sound that ended in a funny moan, and that made everyone laugh in his or her own way.

Purple Sonja and I kept quiet after that while the others discussed pleasantries.

The moon crept from behind dark, watery clouds, heralding a clearer night.

It made it all the easier to see the dragons as they thundered over us later in the evening. They were magnificent, a clouded herd of different sizes and shapes. The booms of their wings cutting through the air were deep and primal.

Amazing as they were, though, we were smart enough to quickly put the fire out and move under an overhanging bluff and hide from their gaze. The Amazons flew along with us and joined us under the rock lip, coiled in tense little loaves on the ground. Their eyes glinted the dark, unreadable as they took in their larger cousins flying over.

Gatalas, Ravenwing and I, thanks to our military heritage, noticed immediately that there was no logic to their formations. Lore says that dragons attack in coordinated strategies: the acrobatic, swift Magnesium Breathers, for example, fly with the calmer natured Lava Breathers or older Double Heads to keep them calmer. Leading the entire effort is a keen-minded, usually male, commander known as a Fire Drake.

These dragons just flew in a hodge podge of wings and bodies, no rhyme or reason. And, it seemed, no signs of a leader among them. All their heads pointed the same direction, with none moving a head or neck to look around them otherwise.

::It's like something's pulling them.:: I thought softy.

"Or pushing them," Gatalas added solemnly. Lux chirruped in agreement from where he now sat coiled up on Ravenwing's unsaddled back.

Setareh nodded, leaning against Ravenwing. She held the Draco up against her chest, taking comfort in its protective abilities. None of the dragons seemed to notice us, thank the gods.

Either way, the uncoordinated, hypnotic flying was not something we thought we would see from dragons.

When the flock of dragons had winged past us, I heard a snort and a sparkle of light jumping from the vicinity of Purple Sonja's muzzle.

::See, now, hump less camel? My Amazon sisters and I are right, as always. We's are definitely NOT ensorcelled.::

I dipped my head in frigid dignity, ::Very well, ma'am. I stand corrected.::

---

The next morning we awoke to see Lux and Kourosh curled together for warmth, a wise move since it was very chilly. There was even a rime of frost salting the dead grass and leaves of this river bank. The two had had meshed themselves together until they seemed a double ringed circle; Kourosh was on the outside and Lux was tightly curled on the inside. His amazing segmented tail dipped outside the circle to droop down over Kourosh's back and then trail away towards the river.

Setareh chuckled softly as she blew on her hands, her breath frosting in the air. She jumped up and down in her calf-length boots to warm herself up. Ravenwing was still asleep, standing up with his knees locked. It really is quite comfortable for sleeping. Try it sometime.

"I agree with you about yon dog and dragon over there," Gatalas yawned and stretched, "Practical arrangement with the benefits of being cute."

Gatalas and Setareh had wound up sleeping together, too, seeking warmth, their bedrolls touching each other. I thought to myself how Gatalas must have felt, now that he knew Setareh was female. Did it make sharing warmth together more awkward? Like the Amazons legend they had inspired, Sarmatian and Scythian women were very open about their sexuality. A man or woman should be faithful to his or her spouse, but until then, a woman could sleep with whom she chose. As Gatalas sometimes told me, a woman's intimate life was her own business. The wandering life meant that you had to work with your wagon neighbors, and in a steppe fire or tornado, you could not afford to be judgmental about neighbors whose personal life was not hurting you in any way.

As a result, the whole concept of concubines or prostitutes was a strange one to Sarmatians, a sign of the settled folk. There were often blurred distinctions about children; a child born out of marriage was still a member of the tribe. In the end, all the nomads wound up taking care of the children together, tribal elders often taking care of the children while parents went hunting or herding or raiding. So at our gatherings, a stranger would probably have no idea whose children were whose.

Gatalas and Setareh, though, that was a Firemaker of a different color, as we Turkmenes say. Setareh was, for all practical purposes, a young man, even if she was female. She seemed very awkward with her feminine side. Still, she must experience longings, as all Firemakers do, and given her difficult past, those sexual desires must have been something that unnerved her.

"We slept just fine," Gatalas told me as he sat by my hooves, tying his boots onto his legs with cross gaiters.. He always laid his shoes out in a special code so he knew which was right and left, and his sensitive hands were able to tie the laces quite well, "It was magical, the lightning burst, the angels sang, the air was filled with golden light and joy at our magnificent union"

::You're being sarcastic again,:: I told him, bunting his face with my muzzle.

He scratched me under my jaw, "Well of course. What did you think, Horsebutt, I'm some kind of pervert?"

::Do I need to state the obvious, hairless monkey?::

"Open mouth, insert foot. "

I was teasing my Rider, of course. Gatalas is very, very shy. The years we have spent wandering the steppes together as Rider and Partner have made him even more solitary in nature than ever. He enjoyed guiding and meeting caravaners from different cultures, but he still kept his distance. And, at the caravan, he had a few close friends like Skuda and Darya, but he still hung at the fringes of socializing.

He wasn't lonely just hanging with me; he actually preferred the solitude. I really had no idea how he been before the IT incident had happened. I doubt he had been extremely gregarious, but he had indicated he did have a sense of humor and loved playing jokes on people. (Well, he still liked doing that every once in a while). The blindness had made him more isolated to himself, I think.

The great irony is that the rest of Banadaspos' caravans had accepted him and embraced him as useful member of the tribe, but he still seemed not to have accepted himself.

What had happened to him?

"I'm not a player, Eyeful. And Setareh is a closed person. She's got issues to work through."

::As do I::, his thought voice touched my mind, ::And we've seen recently just how incredibly attractive the fairer sex finds me. There's a certain two parts of my body- or I should say the lack of them- that seem to be all that most women notice.::

Gatalas rarely went into self pity, but the Slavic girl's reaction had hurt him, on top of Rasparagnos' rejection of his capabilities as a mounted archer.

::Kick those thoughts over the moon,:: I advised my Rider as he now began to loop the nose bag with my feed around my head (Nammy!), ::You know that's not true. The Priests respect you. So does your unit. And Skuda is very, very fond of you.::

Gatalas' sun tanned face turned a new shade of red.

::Very, very fond.:: I repeated, amused to see his face get redder. I wondered how long I could keep doing this.

"You are a nasty nag with no heart. You'd probably even make bad quality glue." Gatalas said back to me matter of factly, now brushing me with my currycomb from the saddlebags.

::Awww. Who's got a soft spot now? You're cute when you blush.::

"Eyeful, c'mon. Skuda's magnificent. She's a great warrior, level headed, kind hearted. And, from what I understand, easy on the eyes. And she's got a wicked sense of humor and daring- she's fun to be around. She's stuck by me since we were kids, and she's my best pal. But you know we're too closely related. If she chooses to marry, she would need to seek a mate from another caravan."

::That's for the priests to decide, I think:: I pointed out, ::Yes, you come from the same caravan, but she's not a first whatchamacojiggy thingie. Firemaker family ties throw me. We Turkmenes have it so much easier since the stallion is everyone's dad.::

"Cousin. She is a cousin, Horsebutt. But, you're right, not my immediate cousin. Still..."

::You're looking for excuses, again. ::

"Guilty as charged. Anyway, I doubt she sees me as more than a friend. I am, after all, damaged goods. There are more'n a few men who have indicated they want to race their Turkmene against her bay gelding. I've got a lot of competition."

::She's not agreed to a match,:: We Sarmatians all loved the ancient custom of a the horse race between two potential marriage partners. The man had to prove he and his Turkmene could keep up with the woman, as proof of his skills with horsemanship and persistence. It usually wound up being in the woman's hands to decide whether or not to let herself be caught or to give man and his horse a good chase. And, almost always, a woman would not agree to a match race unless she were interested in the man. Forcing a woman - or a man for that matter- into a marriage is seen as slavery, which is forbidden among Sarmatians.

"Anyway, we're both guides, and we're both rather attached to that lifestyle," Gatalas told me, "I am not ready to get settled down, yet."

As he spoke, he had unintentionally rubbed at the scars along his eyes, showing very clearly why he was not ready.

::I'm happy with our wandering, too.:: I told my Rider, ::It would be hard to give up the freedom. Sometimes I wish we could even wander outside the steppes, ride until we saw the mythical OH-Shun.::

Gatalas harrumphed and gestured vaguely around us, taking in the river, the forest, the mountains looming ever closer, the steppes a far away memory "Notice where we are? No steppes in sight. Be careful what you wish for, Horsebutt."

"Oh, Gatalas," Setareh said now, stepping up to my Rider, "Your hair is a mess. Can I rebraid it for you?"

He nodded gratefully, "I want to be able to braid hair, but unless someone helps me, I still don't have the technique down. Thanks, Setareh."

"No, problem. Goodness, your hair is very long!"

::You just have to practice:: I told him, ::You've gotten good at braiding my tail. I think you can braid your hair, too. It's too long to let loose.::

"Don't I know, Horsebutt," Gatalas said to me, as he let Setareh unbraid his hair and comb the tangles out of it. Surprisingly, there were not too many, thanks to how well it had been braided before.

Unbraided, his hair fell just to the bottom of his rib cage, "And thanks for not nagging me about the length of my hair. No pun intended, horse lady."

::Heh, I'm Sarmatian, too, apeface. I know the Sarmatian Firemakers routine. The strength of a person lies in the length of his hair. Cut the hair, and your power is lost. All except for the Forge Priests, but their power is obviously too strong to be affected by cutting hair. I think if I could let my mane grow longer I would, but we Turkmenes are doomed to short manes. If we even grow a mane at all::

"It's a blessing for us, Horsebutt. Your short manes and tails make you such good partners for archery work- no hair getting in the way of a clear shot."

Setareh tried to pull Gatalas' hair into high ponytail with side braids- as many non soldier Sarmatians have it- but Gatalas asked her not to do that. He and I had learned from experience (Skuda had tried that on him once, imitating how she wore her hair) that it looked great, but thanks to the high winds on the steppes and frequent rain storms, the free flowing hair would still tangle in the wind, leaving mats at the end of day. Also, it did not tuck up easily under a helmet. Skuda seemed to be one of the few soldiers who could work with that hairstyle, and her war helmet was designed with room in it to accommodate her hairstyle.

Setareh stuck out her tongue in a bored sigh and put Gatalas' hair into its usual warrior's braid.

"Thank you, Setareh- you're the best and... what's this?"

We heard shuffling and scratching and then little bodies coming out of a network of dens in the ground, also known as Fortress Amazonia.

::Lux! Awwwwwwwwwww, cute!::

The Amazons were awake, now.

---

A hoof rang out against rock, and a piece of rock broke loose. It fell, dropping, dropping, dropping. It seemed to take an eternity, and then we all heard it striking against the ground.

It was a long way down.

I was glad for the special shoes the Forge priests had put on me and Ravenwing. As we had started to ride into the mountain slopes, the elevation rose, and the air had begun to get colder. The ground underfoot also retained its coating of morning frost, becoming quite slippery. The new horseshoes helped we Turkmenes to step up steeply sloping hills rimed in frost and ice. We could do it as easily as if we were moving across our native rocky desert and steppes.

The terrain did require us to slow to a walk, a very wise move in the slick circumstances The air soon became filled with a mist of clouds that had snagged on the rocks of the mountains, and visibility had become limited to what I could see just in front of my muzzle.

Thankfully, sparks of fire did light up the path here and there. We had acquired some scouts, who flew ahead of us and checked out the trail, then reported back.

It was much as Toothless had done with Gatalas and I when we had partnered with him to cross the steppes.

Except now the dragons scouting the path were sixteen Amazon Warriors, also known as the Bachelorette Party.

I had expected them to be glad to be rid of us, especially based on the tiff Purple Sonja and I had engaged in. But it seems like boredom is , indeed, a powerful incentive, and the Amazons wanted to go with us for a while because they were curious about us.

(And, as I overheard later in a conversation Purple Sonja had with Jessamine the Juggernaut, they were bored silly and were craving some adventure. We were the perfect cure... even if we were ugly as all get-out. Except Lux, of course. )

We had started the ride, moving at a fast trot through the morning. The mile eating gait swept us over the foothills to the mountains. Overhead, Amazons swirled and twirled and danced in acrobatics, calling cheerfully to each other in roars and chirps.

Then we entered into the mountains proper, following a route Setareh had shown us, the one that Toothless' data matched. Whatever this power was, it seemed to prefer a mountain view in its living arrangements.

We Turkmenes are used to deserts, but rocky deserts rather than sandy deserts. And the deserts of our homeland can get quite steep- there are high hills, bluffs and even mountain ranges on the far Eastern reaches (the Pamirs). We even can get quite a lot of snow, frost and ice in the winter. So, surprisingly, we are built for galloping on the steppes, but we also can navigate steep and rocky mountains.

Like these mountains, the ones that are called the Car-Pay-The-Ons.

At least that is what they sound like to me. We passed by some shepherds in the late morning, grilling meat on skewers over a fire. The Amazons disappeared over the horizon while Lux hid in the basket, all dragons becoming invisible. Gatalas and Setareh spoke to the shepherds. These handsome, dark skinned fellows spoke a language that had its roots in Broomhead Latin, so the Sarmatians were able to muddle through in Latin.

The shepherds pointed out some trails we could use and the features to avoid. There were slick passes with early autumn ice near the top, and areas of falling rocks.

They also pointed out other, more supernatural , hazards. There were creatures who were half man and half wolf, humans who turned to bats and drank blood, monstrous demons created from the souls of murdered girl-children, and a leathery winged creature who swooped down on mountain travelers.

"Dragon?" Setareh asked, and got shrugs back in return. No, it did not breathe fire, though it flew. It also had a head more like a demon than a dragon.

"How is a demon supposed to look?" Gatalas had asked Setareh softly as we all rode off.

"Not pretty or cute, I would guess." She replied grimly, nudging Ravenwing towards the trail that moved in a clear line up the slope. This would take us toward a tree-laden pass the shepherds had called Prislop Pasul, but we still had to go over some high country to get to the pass.

The air exploded around us as the Amazons arrived over our heads, again. They had detoured, moving away from being spotted by the shepherds. Once with us, they again started scouting. We pointed out the trail, and several flew ahead of us to check out the route conditions.

We moved higher and higher, the view getting cloaked more and more in a boiling soup of mist. No one spoke; there was just the sound of the wind and far off birds and our hooves as we climbed higher and higher... oh, and the light velvet rumbling of wings as one of the Amazons would report back to us on the conditions ahead of us.

Every once in a while we heard mysterious hoof beats behind us, but when the Amazons went to scout, they reported no troop of enemy horse warriors.. and, even, no single horse picking its way along the trail. Of course, the milky fog obscured all. But, so far, they were right: we could reaffirm this since Gatalas' own very keen senses did not pick up any armed people hiding, waiting to attack us.

The mist did not reveal much, but every once in a while, wind would push the low lying cloud-mist away and I could catch a view of the terrain. The little I could see showed these mountains were much greener than those ringing the Eastern/Asian edges of the Great Steppe. This was due to the vast numbers of pine trees growing up the slopes, some balancing precariously on the edges of cliffs. There were also lots of rocks, dark and ruggedly square that rose to form bluffs. Some loomed dangerously on top of ledges, giving credence to the shepherds' warning about falling rocks.

Even though mist cloaked the area, and Ravenwing moved like a ghost in front of me, I realized that the sun, ironically, was shining, for gaps in the mist would show valleys in the distance where autumn grass and bushy shrubs glowed in sunlight.

The trail did not go straight up, either. It wound, moving uphill, then down, and snaked in sharp turns that Setareh referred to as hair pins. Such a path was much safer than one built straight up the sharp edges of the mountain.

Gatalas mused to me, patting my neck, whether these trails might originally have been formed by wild sheep and goats.

Going this way, we soon reached the high point of this mountain trail, the first main obstacle to cross on the way to our destination, as figured by Toothless' data. We climbed up the last incline of the mountain peak, Turkmene muscles bunching, and rocks scattering beneath our hooves, sliding into the mists.

As we climbed, we again heard hoof beats behind us, but when we halted and looked back, we saw nothing.

Ravenwing snorted in challenge, breath pluming from his nostrils.

No one answered, and we all wrote it off to our exhausted states of mind.

When we hit the top of the first peak, we saw a pile of rocks with a St. Andrew's cross on top. I am not up on my Christian martyrs, but this St Andrew fellow was keen on being given a Broomhead Crucifixion on crossed tree poles- hence all such crossed pole formations are named after him.

"Is that a burial mound?" Gatalas wondered aloud.

Setareh shook her head, "I doubt it. I think it is put here to mark the top of the mountain and point us to the next part of the trail. If this mist were not here, we might see a whole string of those poles laid out before us."

The view from the top was amazing. A light drizzle fell on us, and our breath streamed out into the day, but yet far below us and well into the westward range, the sun was shining on the mountain and valley, even though our part of the mountain was hidden in the velvet cloak of clouds and rain. I also noted that, unlike most mountain ranges I had seen, I did not see numerous lakes or glaciers. There were, however, several braided small rivers and streams, so we would not lack for water.

"The weather will get better as we go down!" Setareh called hopefully, just as Kourosh woofed in what seemed to be an agreement.

The weather did, indeed, get slightly warmer as we descended into the Prislop Pass. At least the ice now turned into mere dampness on rocky trail.

The Prislop Pass route, then, descended into a valley and was easier to follow. The pass ran between two flanks of the mountain we had just crossed and the first of the Rodna mountain cluster awaiting us. Winter-dead brush whispered against our legs as we walked . Pine trees stood like sentinels along the trail, which now followed a braided river.

We stopped to rest and drink out of the river, all of us sighing at how cold and sweet the water was. We Turkmenes munched on a few pellets of Power Feed while our riders stuffed lahndi jerky and dried apple bits into their mouths.

Pine trees around us shook, scattering droplets, as Amazons ran up and down the branches, squawking in pleasure. They would practice leaping from tree to tree. A few times they would irritate a squirrel or two and a violent quarrel would erupt, mostly one involving a lot of noise and curses rather than actual fighting.

Setareh smiled thinly at their actions. It was hard to be gloomy for long watching the girls having such a great time.

Lux hopped onto Ravenwing's back and stretched his wings, calling out encouragement to the Sisters of the Scale. I whinnied in joy when I saw that, for the first time, he was able to fully unfurl both sets of wings. Though they were dull in color, they were enormous, stretching a vast span. They would have to be, to support a body and tail as long as Lux's in the air.

The break was short, and we moved onwards. We wanted to reach an area of the pass before nightfall, one that the shepherds indicated had good shelter and caves, dry ones with no creatures inhabiting them.

The late afternoon had us ascending again to our second peak, and this time the Riders came off of us and led us up the very steep slope. Again, the air got colder and frost and ice began to appear on the trail.

Knife sharp, frost-rimed rocks shot out from beneath our feet as we climbed. Thankfully, the new horse shoes gripped the ice well, so Ravenwing and I stayed on our path, even with the rocks slipping out from beneath us.

The view from the second peak was even weirder. Cold mist-rain spattered on us as we huddled on the top by the St Andrew's cross cairn. Looking down, we now saw just fog, except for a golden horizontal band of sun. That marked the pass valley we needed to reach this night.

Up above us, foggy clouds roiled, and the flashes of Amazon fire in them made it look like lightning was striking out of the mist.

So then we descended, Riders leading Turkmenes Soft raindrops flew in our face as we moved down. I could still see the sunlight view far below, yet everything at this height was mist.

Gatalas may have initially been leading me, but he vitally needed my vision now, so he dropped back and stuck close to me, moving with me as we descended.

My hips bunched up as I took us down, front legs out, hindquarters flexing. I followed behind the wise and agile Ravenwing. Every step he took was deliberate, and every time my specially shod hooves hit the ground, they squeaked like they would slide, but instead they stayed fast and agile, making it easy for me to make my next move down.

Bless you Sarmatian forge priests. You may look crazy, but you know your stuff!

Amazons flitted back and forth, their flames puncturing the fog as they reported on the track ahead of us.

I could see Lux had come out of his basket and coiled across Ravenwing's shoulders. He leaned into each move with an expertise that almost seemed like a Sarmatian Firemaker: one who rode a horse even before he could walk. Purple Sonja landed by him, and the two rode on the black Turkmene, moving fluidly with Ravenwing.

The path down continued to remain slick, and Ravenwing and I had had our hooves full.

I smelled no man settlement and realized on this mountain trail we were truly in the wilderness.

It was at that moment we all heard the screaming cry, a hideous screech amplified many times over. It echoed across the mountains, chilling in its sound.

It seemed almost like the cross between a woman's scream, a wild cat's call, and a hawk's hunting scree. It was not an easy sound on the ears.

The air became heavy with thundering beats, and then a winged creature swept down. Claws flashed and then both Purple Sonja and Lux screamed in anger as claws closed up on them and they were pulled up and out of Ravenwing's saddle.

Ravenwing neighed in shock and rose on his hind legs, almost pulling Setarah up off her feet.

We all screamed as we finally saw the creature in its entirety, a strange, leathery-winged four legged beast plunging up and over us, its nostrils flaring. Fast glimpses showed me the creature was a gray-green in color with wide, brown leather wings flecked with what seemed to be eye-shaped yellow flashes.

I also realized a "demon-shaped " head means goat-like, but a very evil goat-like head with curled horns, a beard of tentacles and, horror of horrors, what seemed like a human's face with downward drooping upper lip fangs.

It flew up higher into the mountains, higher than we had been in the passes, and I barely heard Lux and the Amazon screaming in despair.

"How in the Land of Lie can it fly so high? And, oh crap, poor Lux and Sonja!" Setareh yelled.

Ravenwing came to a halt and looked up, letting out an almost growling sound: the challenge sound angry stallions give when facing another stallion.

And then Lux and Purple Sonja were falling, dropped by the creature. Lux wailed in despair while Sonja tried to pull her wings out to stop her fall.

The creature caught them again in its front claws. It threw them again, high up in the air, watching them fall, only to catch them again.

Each time it caught them, it must have slashed them, for both screamed in pain.

"Dear Marha! It's playing with them! Like a cat!" Gatalas snarled, his hands digging angrily into his weapon gorytus , fumbling for his bow.

"Be my eyes, Horsebutt!" He yelled to me, skilled hands stringing the bow. He winced in pain from his burnt hand, then bit his lip and made himself string the bow. The lives of his dragon friends were at stake!

Next to him, Setareh pulled out one of her mystery smoke balls, balancing it in a sling shot that had appeared magically out of her belt.

Dropping, screaming, swooping. We watched the creature playing with our friends.

::Aiming, aiming:: I told Gatalas, letting him know I was trying to guide him. It was hard, the way the creature was moving. We did not want to hit Lux or Purple Sonja. And, with Gatalas not on my back, he had very limited contact with me, thus limited vision.

He leaned his right leg against my left front one, picking up what sight he could from me as he pulled the bow and aimed it.

I swear the creature laughed as the arrow shot over its head- it should have hit its mark, but the winged beast actually adjusted its wings so it descended vertically, something pretty much impossible, except for bumble bees.

"What the bleepin' bleep?" Setareh cursed, using two most un priestlike words. (The bleeps just are there for your viewing pleasure. I'll leave it to your imagination what she actually said).

"Logic's taken a holiday, m'dear!" Gatalas growled, reaching for another arrow, "It's going to be hard to strike this fellow. It's no juvenile Red Death, that's for sure ! I just hope your aim is better than mine."

"The only thing I can do is try!" Setareh shouted as Ravenwing snorted and neighed in anger. He had been positioning himself on a rock just over the flying bird creature as it swooped down.

::No, Setareh!:: We all heard Ravenwing warn his Rider, ::You still don't know how those weapons fully work! Do you want to blind us as well?::

The black gelding had moved to the edge of the bluff, and now the strange winged demon beast was soaring beneath us, circling us as if mocking us. Its green-purple eyes held uncanny intensity.

::This needs a more old fashioned approach! Sorry, to do this to you, Setareh, but I need you to stand down for this maneuver!::

Ravenwing bucked, tossing Setareh off to the side. She squawled in anger as she was knocked to the side by his moves. She dropped her grip on his neck hold and landed on her arms and legs, bruised but safe.

"Ravenwing, whatever you're thinking, don't do it!" She screamed to her beloved Partner.

::Sorry, Rider, this is the right thing to do! Lux and the Amazon leader are in danger! Eyeful, the mountain pass is steep, but you are agile. Charge it from the left. I will attack from the right. We WILL free Lux and Purple Sonja!::

I transmitted these instructions to my Rider, hoping he would take the hint that I had to do this alone. Bless him, blind as he was and needing my sight, he still let go the neck harness.

The winged demon now swooshed by me, opening its mouth and hissing at me in an almost lewd sneer.

I screamed, an angry warrior, and leapt at the leathery winged beast as it soared by me.

My teeth tore into hide, and foul ichors slid into my mouth as my sharp Turkmene teeth stripped a huge section of skin and flesh from the neck of the flying creature as it bucked beneath me, a panicked Lux and Purple Sonja in its claws.

My hooves screamed on the rock, dragged by the beast's pulling. And then the shoes screeched to a stop, just keeping me from flying over the edge. The flesh tore free, splattering my head with brimstone-smelling green ichors.

Thank you, forge priests!

The creature was knocked off balance from my moves, and spiraled towards Ravenwing's boulder, wings spinning it out of control.

Its cries rose in intensity, drowning out Lux's shrilling and Sonja's roaring.

On the other side, Ravenwing tensed his muscles, the wrist straps flying on his neck harness in the wind. He neighed in anger, bunched his shoulders and hindquarters and then leapt into air, screaming a stallion's attack cry. His slender but still substantial body crashed on top of the strange winged beast as it careened below him.

Ravenwing's weight knocked the creature downwards until they slammed against the nearby slope. Both creatures fell down the steep rocky slope, rolling one over the over in a grim-looking parody of a game. They were both eerily silent.

As they fell, Purple Sonja and Lux were ejected from the beast's claws. They were flung upwards, both screaming in shock.

Then Purple Sonja caught Lux's scrawny shoulders , bordering them with each of her front claws. She hissed in anger as her wings plunged down. She flew away from the attack, Lux dangling limply in her paws. She winged them to safety while Ravenwing and the winged monster rolled on the path below her.

Ravenwing and the leathery flying creature finally rolled over the end of a cliff and then landed hard on a ledge below then, both stopping all movement as they fell.

A sickening thud resounding around the mountains, rolling into the distance.

The Firemakers and I all grunted in shocked sympathy for Ravenwing.

Far below, we could see Ravenwing had landed on top of the creature. The foreign beast lay still, its neck jutting at a corner and green ichors running from its open, human-like mouth. Ravenwing thrashed on top of it, his black-blue hide shining with sweat and foam.

Gatalas grabbed my neck band again, and I felt another pull as Setareh grabbed my tail. I grunted and descended down the fog ribboned trail as fast as I could, rocks strewing beneath my hooves

Eventually I came just over the ledge where Ravenwing and the unmoving creature lay. Ravenwing's sides heaved, slithering as he shook ragged breaths into the cold air.

The creature below the black Turkmene was now quite dead, its glazed human-like eyes turned to the foggy sky.

The Firemakers and I now stepped onto ledge where Ravenwing lay on top of the monster. He breathed heavy, his black coat painted with white patches of sweat and foam.

Bright red gleamed on his chest and legs, and I moaned. I now saw the glint of blood and bone on Ravenwing's legs and realized both his front legs had been shattered in the fall.

The rest of him was unharmed, but it did not matter. If a Turkmene's legs are broken, it is THE END.

Horses do not survive broken legs; we are creatures of action- we need to run to survive. True, Turkmenes have iron hard legs, skinny though we may be. Our legs are hard to break, but if they do, there is no fixing them. Yes, you could try to rig a sling, but we are nomads. Where is a horse in a sling going to rest when the wagons are rumbling? And , don't suggest a broken-legged horse can lie in a wagon; we cannot lie for long on our sides or the weight of our bodies will crush our lungs and suffocate us. Only ponies can lie on their sides. The bottom line is: a horse with a broken leg is a dead horse.

A broken leg is the end. Two broken legs makes that point even more obvious.

Ravenwing knew it as we approached the fallen warrior, but he was nickering in laughter, ::... Showed that ... winged bastard. Heh. Take... that, sucker. Lux... and ... the Purple... broad got away. That's what matters...::

"No," Setareh was now on her knees, stepping onto the winged monster's hide.

She set Ravenwing's head on her lap, stroking it., "You can't go, Ravenwing. Not this way."

::You're a... smart ... dame, Setareh, now show it.:: Ravenwing mind sent to his Rider, pain soaking his thoughts, ::I...made my choice. What is...done is done::

::Nooooo!:: Lux and Purple Sonja had landed. Little Lux now limped to Ravenwing's head and licked the downed gelding's face, ::You'll survive this! You're a warrior, Ravenwing! Get up! We need you! I need you!::

::I want ...to, k-kiddo. But not this time. I ...cashed it in, Lux, and it ...was worth everything... I paid for it to see you safe, sonny. But ...it means I can't ...go on with you. Will you... go on for me, kitten? No... not k-kitten... dragon warrior.::

Purple Sonja lowered her head and purred sadly as her sisters landed by her.

Lux did not notice them but continued to bunt at Ravenwing, ::No, Ravenwing! No! You're a warrior! Fight it! Fight it!::

Ravenwing sighed, ::It's not my choice, any longer. You all have to continue without me.::

Setareh had been listening to this, and she was crying silently, now, tears streaming down her grimed cheeks. Unlike Lux, she knew the reality, and she was devastated by it.

"It's my fault... if I hadn't tried to use the flash bombs...!"

::Silly, blacksmith. No. Don't... think that. This was... m-my choice.:: Ravenwing's breathing was quickening as his body went into shock, ::But...I am... angry...to... leave you ...alone... like this, Rider... d-dear Rider...::

"No, R-ravenwing...my best friend." Setareh was sobbing openly, now. She unbuckled the gelding's neck harness and saddle. pushing them off, making sure her Partner died without his harness on, "Then at least I want you to die free! No harness again.. ever! Don't worry about me, silly horse. I'll be okay!"

::I ...know... that, dear:: Ravenwing's voice was getting fainter as the pain and the effort of breathing overcame him, ::But ...promise... me, Rider, to go.. on... with your life. You ...are so... young, and you'd... do m-me... the greatest h-homage to g-go... live your life w-well. If another Turkmene w-wishes you to be... his ... Rider, do m-me the honor and... accept?::

Setareh nodded, tears in her eyes, "I swear it on fire, Ravenwing."

She was not the only one crying. Silvery tears slid from Lux's eyes, and several of the Amazons looked away, blinking. More than a few scrubbed a front paw over a face.

Gatalas remained stoic, as did I. Both of us wanted to mourn, but we also sensed that the others would soon be looking to us to lead the way, now that our great warrior had been downed. Our time for mourning would need to come later.

::There... is one... last... gift you can give me,:: Ravenwing's pain-filled voice saturated our thoughts, ::It's... h-hard for you, I know, but I... want you... to release my s-soul, Rider.::

"Of course, dear warrior," Setareh pulled her knife from its holster. She hugged her black Turkmene and wept for a few moments. Then she wiped her eyes and kissed her best friend on his pink and black freckled nose.

"G-goodbye, old friend. See you on the other s-side?" she whispered, "Thank you for sharing part of your life... with... me."

Ravenwing gave a hoarse nicker, ::Nah... I am a dirty... minded... old w-warhorse. Thanks, Setareh, for... letting... me into your life. You ...g-gave me something... special I thought I ...would ...never have... after my first... Rider died. It was a p-pleasure knowing you, l-lady.::

"You, t-too, sir," Setareh said softly, tears running down her face, "I trust when I look to the sky, I will see you flying, Ravenwing."

::It's.. a date, sweet cheeks!::

Setareh kissed her Turkmene one last time and then, skillfully, lifted the knife in her hands over the back of the gelding's skull, just where it met the spine and neck. She sighed and then plunged the knife down fast and sure, quickly severing the spinal cord. She had thin arms, but she had been trained to sacrifice animals compassionately as part of Sarmatian rituals. And, as a blacksmith, she had a sure and gentle hand.

I don't think dear Ravenwing felt any pain.

Ravenwing sighed and then relaxed, eyes lowering as she gave him the last act of love and mercy, ending his pain forever,

And then he was no more, his soul fled, and only a broken body left.

Setareh gently and silently laid his head on the ground.

As she did, a line of Amazons ringed her. She, I and Gatalas were numbed as the Amazons thrummed a beautiful tone. To my surprise, it was a song! And different Sisters took different parts so it came out as a strange, discordant- but very beautiful- choral melody. It reminded me a bit of the duduk music an Armenian trader had played once for us during a guiding trip.

And then Purple Sonja spoke for all our sisters, ::Fair winds and fly well... Turkmene brother::

Then each Amazon touched Ravenwing with her muzzle before moving off to form part of a protective ring around his body.

I got the sense they had adopted the downed Turkmene as one of their own tribe at that moment, and this was the way they honored their dead.

Lux collapsed into a puddle, head down and shuddering.

::Why? Why not me?:: And then he swallowed bravely, ::Thank you, Ravenwing. Thank you for caring for me. You may not be a dragon.. but, I wish ... no, I know... you are the father of my heart. I hope I will live up to your bravery, sir..::

Setareh, still kneeling, picked him up and pressed him to her heart, softly weeping. Kourosh whined and nudged her shoulder. Setareh was starting to get even paler than usual, and shivers began to ripple through her body.

Quickly, Gatalas tossed a blanket around the priest's shoulders just before she toppled onto her side, still hugging Lux. She was shuddering with the cold of separation shock from her Partner. It was a serious situation.

Where would we go? What would we do? I raised my head and sought answers from the unanswering sky.

Kourosh was the voice for all of us. He tilted his head back and let out a long, mournful howl of loss for a fallen warrior... and that warrior's fallen Rider.

---

Gatalas and I had to bring order to this situation. It was not an easy task for a shy young man, and one who had an obvious handicap, but he rose to the task.

His military training, and the risk-filled day to day life of a Sarmatian came into play.

"Our friend had fallen," my Rider said, his voice hoarse but full of a surprisingly reassuring tone, "He's gone now, his soul released to the sky. What's here is just skin and bones." He raised his eyes upwards, "Let's honor Ravenwing's sacrifice and move on. We need to get Setareh to those caves fast so she can recover from the separation shock."

I knew you should not move a sick person, but this naked ledge was full of wind. It was a barren, brutally cold place for a shocked soul to withstand.

Gatalas spoke with quiet authority, "Can some of you Amazon warriors fly overhead and check out the distance to the caves tonight?"

Two Sisters complied, winging off.

Gatalas sighed and pat my neck, "I know you're tired, Eyeful, but can you carry Setareh and the supplies Ravenwing was carrying?"

I tossed my head, ::It is the least I can do, but I also want to take Lux. He'll keep Setareh warm.::

And it would give poor Lux a purpose to do something helpful. His harsh experiences had made him so quick to blame himself for the bad things that happened around him.

While Gatalas strapped Setareh's bedroll and supplies to my harness hooks, I got Lux's attention.

::Little spark, we need your help.::

::Bale?:: Lux popped his tear stained head up. I smiled inwardly, realizing the little kitten had unintentionally used the Sarmatian word for Yes. He was picking up our Firemaker language quickly

::Setareh needs to stay warm. It's hard on the body when we lose our companions. You saw that with Farna. That worthy mare refused our help, but Setareh has a strong will to live. She'd want your help. Just curl up in her arms, like you are now- but wind yourself around her so you can spread your warmth. And then purr.::

I knew how his purr could create some strong vibrations, and I hoped this would help make his body warmer, too, and that would help Setareh. Lux complied, curling himself catlike around the space between Setareh's arms and her lap, and a soothing rumbling purr became a thrum along his body. Setareh sighed, and her shivering slowed down a bit.

"So... warm. Thank you... Lux." the red-haired girl whispered.

::Hey, no problem!:: Lux trilled back, pleased to help out.

Kourosh settled by his mistress, also curling to provide warmth, and he would lick at her face every once in a while.

Gatalas found himself being helped, something he had not expected. The Sisters of the Scale watched his movements and then started dragging implements over to my side, and then glancing at Gatalas. He would point to where he wanted them, and the clever little dragonesses would position the supplies, securing them in place with their quick claws.

When Gatalas tested their knots later, he was mightily impressed with how well the dragon warriors had done the job.

I think they did this as a way to deal with their own shock. Purple Sonja was especially moved by Ravenwing's sacrifice. I caught her sometimes starting into space, a sad look in her golden eyes.

::He owed us nothin'. He didn't even know us that well. But he chose ta give his life for me, and after I insulted both of youse, Turkmene.::

I nickered at her, ::We're Sarmatians, warrior lady. We've always admired and wanted to protect dragons. This is part of what we live for.::

:: But youse have nothin' to gain from it.:: Sonja rumbled back at me, now lifting up a sack of Power Feed to fly over to Gatalas,

::We have everything to gain from it. You dragons are the symbols of who we are, our inspiration. If not for you, who would we be?::

::And, tell if that's true, what da red-furred Firemaker said? That Ravenwing will fly in the sky?::

::Aye, but as a dragon, not a winged horse. And, given his coloring, I would wager a Lightning Breather- a Night Fury. For us, the supreme hope is that when a honorable, brave Sarmatian Firemaker or Turkmene dies, he or she is reborn... as a dragon.:: I tossed my head, ::And, just maybe, one of the gods might become his Rider. It is said Marha's own dragon steed was none other than our own Golden Stallion, reborn after he gave his life during the Great Migration. But that is a tale to save for more peaceful times.::

Purple Sonja nodded solemnly at me. She then flew to my left shoulder, where Gatalas pointed. The dragon warrior queen stuffed the sack of Power Feed into the saddle bag tied there, ::Hmmph. Youse truly are a crazy, delusional peoples.::

::Why, thank you.:: I whinnied back.

We had to leave some things behind, like a few expendable supplies and Lux's basket. But there were items, like Ravenwing's rolled up harness, that a few of the Sisters volunteered to carry, clutched against their chests in their powerful claws.

I was beginning to realize just how incredibly useful these little Sticky Fire Terrors could be for Firemakers when they chose to work with us rather than fight us. It made me wonder how an army made of Sarmatian horses and soldiers would work well with Terrors as our scouts and skirmishing firepower. And what joy they could provide to a caravan, scouting the road ahead, helping with chores, even assisting with herding and hunting! And I bet they would be a delight to have with the children and pups and foals with their cheerful swirling acrobats.

::And what about Ravenwing?:: Jessamine the Juggernaut interrupted my thoughts as she spoke to Gatalas and I , ::We would like to set his body in flames, to honor his bravery.::

I translated her thoughts to Gatalas.

Gatalas smiled radiantly, "Thank you, Sisters. Dragon fire- that is an honor, but I'm worried we'll alert our presence if we do that. We're getting closer and closer to that strange thing controlling dragons, and I don't want to announce that we're on our way."

He waited for me to translate.

::So, you'll just let him... remain here?:: Jessamine asked.

Gatalas nodded grimly and checked my straps, "Sadly, yes. But this sky burial is our way, as well. We bury great leaders, but we always put the rest of our people up on high scaffolds or cliffs to greet the sun and sky and to feed the birds. It's a way for the body to be returned back to nature. Later, we sometimes return to collect the bones and bury them so they go back into the earth. But, the life spark- the soul- that has gone, already, and that is what was the important part.

"And this ledge overlooking the mountain view, this is Ravenwing's scaffold. Here, his body will greet the sun, but his soul is already flying in the sky."

The dragons glanced at each other and saw there was a logic behind that.

And Gatalas agreed with their logic for giving Ravenwing a nice, clean scaffold. They cleared the area and shoved at the demon's body until it rolled over the edge and plummeted away to even further below. It took all fourteen Sisters, but they had a combined strength that was considerable.

Finally, I knelt down so Gatalas could assist Setareh and Lux on board. Gatalas gently used some leather straps attached around her belt to tie her to the saddle frame, since she was having trouble sitting upright. She complied and sat, hunched over, arms hugging a purring Lux.

We left, then, leaving our warrior brother's shell resting on his rock scaffold, but all of us calling farewells of love to him.

We climbed back up to the trail and followed the pass, Gatalas walking by me, one hand on the harness grip and the other resting on Setareh's shoulder.

As we walked, the two scout Amazons met us on their way back, squawking that we were actually quite close to the place where we could stay the night.

It took us only over a candle mark, and the descending pass wound into a gentle valley again, offering soft and easy paths for my tired hooves. The sun, indeed, was here, bathing the area in a welcoming, soothing red-gold light as it sank into the mountains.

And, then, thanks to the Amazons' quick ability to adapt and learn, we had a campsite set up in a dry, warm cave. Setareh rested in her bedroll, Lux purring and Kourosh crooning. A fire burned, and hot water with lamb jerky in it bubbled to create a warming broth.

It was then that Gatalas and I walked away from the cave, side by side. We stopped a distance away and looked over the river. My Rider sank down onto his haunches and laid his head on his knees. Wind blew loosened bits of pale blond hair over his scarred eyes, but he did not notice. I was still saddled, but that was the least of my concerns. I reached down and nuzzled his face, feeling the hot salt water of silent tears against my muzzle.

He made no sound, just let the tears fall, and he shed them for both of us. We remained that way, silently supporting each other as the sun sank into the hills and the red sky became purple and then dark blue.

---

I feel so terrible. So much has happened to good people! There's a part of me that knows it's not my fault, but a big part of me still hates that I cannot just flap my wings or strike my tail against the ground and make all things good again!

How can I make things good? What can I do? How can I lend comfort and joy to these strange Firemaker/Monsters who have become my friends? And Eyeful? And Kourosh. And, oh... Ravenwing. Braveheart, I miss you already.

And... I... yes! I know it now. I... love you, Ravenwing.

You took some time to teach a silly, scarred little dragon to take pride in himself, and revealed the great secret language of guy-ness to use around the broads!

When I find out what kind of flame I can breathe, every time I breathe fire I will remember your name.

And, every time I see a dragon winging in the sky, I will think of you, and remember your thought-laughter.

Winging in the sky? I can stretch my wings! I can do it, finally! Can I fly? Oh, what is the next step?

Well, only one way to find out... black dragon and Dreampaths, here I come!

But first I drank down the simple but soothing broth Gatalas left for me. He had come back to the cave, dried tear tracks on his face in crazy directions- straight to the side of his cheekbones instead of down.

It looked odd, but no less moving in its sorrow.

He smiled at me as he set the broth before me in its bowl, but the muscles around his dead eyes showed he was sad. I purred for him and, this time, when he stuck out his hand to my muzzle, I rubbed my head against it.

He smiled and cradled his hand so my head could rub against it.

Neither of us exchanged thoughts, but I was glad for his soothing smile, and I tried to give him one of my own. We'd lost too many good friends for me to be skittish around Gatalas, especially since I was now seeing this strange, savage Firemaker/Monster had a shining, good heart in him.

Even if he looked way too much like a bow wielding River Rat for my good.

I wished, even more strongly, I could do something to contribute to the group, but I was glad I could give a little to help keep the red-furred Set-air-uh warm, relaxed and resting. Her breathing had become slower, more even. And, thankfully, she had agreed earlier to drink a bowl of the broth.

As she had told Gatalas through blue-lined lips, "I swore on fire to keep going. I owe it to Ravenwing."

The broth did help her, and I felt her relax and fall into a deep soothing sleep. Maybe Gatalas had added some of those sleeping grasses to it, and I think it was a good move. They had helped me heal inside when Gatalas and Eyeful had rescued me, and I wanted for Set-Air-uh to heal inside, too.

Some sisters volunteered to take watches, as Gatalas was too tired to set the nightly wards, and they planted themselves in front of the cave as the haggard Firemaker stripped to his underclothes and slipped into his bed roll. His Turkmene, now unsaddled and wearing her colorfully- woven blanket, stood over him, letting herself drop into an exhausted sleep.

And then, I too, felt warmth and relaxation come over me. I slipped into sleep.

All right, I want answers, black dragon. Where are you? Show me guidance? Lead me, great one! Be my teacher!

I felt myself in that familiar pull onto the Dreampaths, and I purred.

Answers awaited.

Of course, silly me! I still had a lot to learn about how to get around the Dreampaths!

I woke up/ dream-emerged in an area where the perfect teacher awaited me and, when I saw him, I pricked my whole ear and my tattered ear and purred in joy.

The only slight complication was that even though I sensed he was a great teacher, he was not the dragon teacher I needed!

He waited for me in a beautiful canyon, its sides reflected in colors of lavender, mauve and gray (ooh, more words I'm discovering. Yea!)

The Firemaker/Monster was a physical type I had never seen before: he had coppery colored skin and silver-streaked black hair that hung in two side braids past his knees. His eyes were slanted like Gatalas' and Set-Air-eh's, but his were a pure, mysterious deep brown. He wore a colorful, bird feather cloak combined with a plain leather tunic and leggings, and his feet were bare except for simple strips of leather on the bottom and across each foot. The leather cap he wore on his head was much more colorfully beaded than what the Sarmatian Firemaker/Monsters wore. A collection of bright-toned bird feathers stuck out of it, lined in a single row, like the crest of a cock bird. And, I swear I saw a few horns and dragon sensors placed around his head.

This guy was playing no favorites: He had tuned into the magic of both Firemaker/Monster and Dragon kind!

He held a wooden flute to his lips, and he played it for me, shifting and dancing. The melody he played was nothing like what the River Rats played when they tortured me, nor was it the looping, skipping, intense melodies of the Sarmatian Firemakers. This was a fluid, solid note that reminded me of the wind blowing through rocks and trees, soothing and mystical. His booted feet tapped a THUNK thunk-thunk-thunk rhythm, and I nodded to it in joy. Whoever this Firemaker/Monster was, he could play an inviting flute tune!

.

I noticed now there were plenty of golden canine creatures gathered around him in a large band. They vaguely reminded me of wolves (oh, another word I now remember!) , but they were smaller, their golden-brown fur more plain and more rough. And they were more rawboned and rough-looking than the cinnamon-colored, leanly-muscled, long-eared wolves of my homeland… wherever that was.

The flute player lifted the instrument from his mouth and laughed at me, "Welcome, dragon. I greet you, and my brothers greet you. These are the cóyotl People of this Land, also called my coyote brothers. You may know our cousins: Anansi, Loki, Set of Egypt, Chanticleer, Renard and the Kitsune. But we all share the same job description. I see you, too have the look of a coyote about you, little dragon. Maybe you are kin? If you would like learn from me, I can teach you to be a great trickster."

As he spoke another coyote joined the mysterious brotherhood of the cóyotl. He was a darker brown even and more mangy than the others. Amazingly, he had mastered the art of moving on his hind legs. In his front legs, he was clasping a box. Carved on the box were strange symbols that looked like A, C, M and E.

The flute player blew another melody on his wood wind, a more cheerful one. The melody offered me true wisdom, great wisdom on trickery and cunning. The strong and the fierce are often defeated by the small and the clever, and tricks are a great arsenal.

I was tempted, but this was not the path I should tread to learn to fly.

I shook my head in surprised amazement, :: Uh, thank you, Mister whoever you are, but I wanted to learn how to fly, not to play tricks. But, thanks for the offer.::

The flute player laughed and danced and played a merry melody for me. I heard the coyotes behind him howl in joy. They called the Firemaker's name, one in four sounds, but much of it escaped me, except for two sounds like "Ko-Ko"

::But, maybe you could help me find someone I am seeking, feathered, flute-playing noble one?:: I asked, ::I am seeking a black dragon who has the look of a leopard. And he is friends with a Firemaker with red hair, like the wolves of my homeland.

"Oh", the flute player said, "Well, you got on the wrong Dreampath, brother. I think you took the wrong turn at Albuquerque."

I had no idea what he meant, but he touched my head and gave me a few coordinates.

I sighed and tucked them away in my memory. I decided to try it without the coordinates, I still thought I could do this on my own.

I made myself sink down. I wished for a noble black dragon, one with the great soul that Ravenwing had. And his brave, but small rider.

The Dreampaths shimmered opened, and suddenly I was on a wild, white-sand beach. The air was warm and soothing, but I could see this beach I was on was very barren. I smelled no trees and very little water. Who would want to live here? No, change that: who would even survive here for more than a few days?

Something leapt over me, and then I saw a slender, firmly muscled, but feral looking young man crouching before me. He had wild, long, sun-streaked, coppery hair with brown undertones that fell in loose knots just to the edge of his Firemaker shoulder blades. He'd made no attempt to tame the mass, and it blew around his face. His skin was quite red and peeling, but beneath it, I sensed it was originally very pale.

Strange small brown dots stood out on his face and chin, shoulders and legs and his eyes reminded me of the sea: they were blended of all colors of blue, green and gray, and they shifted in the light.

He had a corded, wiry body, and he wore little in the way of Firemaker coverings: just something of ragged brown cloth tied around his hips that fell to his mid thighs.

He gave me a glance of horror and then of curiosity. He cocked his head in a comical way, then he raised fingers to his lips and blew a shrill sound, a piercing noise.

Thundering, thumping sounds and then a magnificent black stallion galloped up behind the Firemaker. I thought I could see Turkmene (oh, Ravenwing!) in its breeding, but its mane and tail were very long and flowing, and it seemed more compact in the chest and rounded in the body than the Turkmenes. It was like a cross between a Turkmene and the Arabian creature that Eyeful envied so much!

But there was no mistaking the wildness in its eyes as it galloped up to the half naked, red-headed youth. It reared in front of the young man and then stood before him, nuzzling him as gentle as a little cat. The youth let out a whoop of joy and leapt onto the creature's back. Clinging perfectly to the black stallion with his legs, the young man pat his stallion friend and laughed in joy. The two galloped away from me, cantering along the beach.

The youth raised his hands and whooped again as the large, vicious, beautiful horse ran beneath him. They raced away into the distance.

I grunted to myself in irritation. Beautiful example of the bromance between a large black beast and its small, slender red-haired rider, but no answer for me.

I sank down again. No, I screwed it up again! I did not want a horse (sorry, Ravenwing and Eyeful) ! Where is my black dragon and red-haired rider?

Then I sighed and tried to use the coordinates the Coyote Flute-Playing Man gave me.

Ah, there! See, it's working!

I emerged into a soothing, calm late summer afternoon. A Firemaker sang in the far distance: a woman singing in a liquid, flowing language. It was quite nice.

I heard a dragon chuff and looked up.

I was lying on the slope of a hill looking down at a far river bank with a blue-green river and white bluffs marching up to the sky. The air was fresh, clean and warm; something about it made me remember very old memories- first memories- where the air had been this warm and dry.

Sweet, rich floral scents wafted in the air, and my increasingly agile sensors placed them as coming from the purple flowers that marched into the far distance from the river banks in the valley below us.

::Lavender::, The word popped up again into my mind, and I trilled it.

::It lives, it thinks. It's alive. Maybe:: The dragon chuffed again. I rolled onto my back to see the black dragon- MY black dragon.

He was every bit as I remembered him, except he was MUCH larger. He also seemed older, in a way. And he bore quite a few more scars than I remembered, mostly what seemed to be the remains of nasty blows made by Firemaker spears and swords.

However different he seemed, the cynicism in his eyes was exactly what I remembered.

"What're you looking at, Toothless?" Firemaker words registered against my mind.

It was River Rat language, and I found myself flipping onto my legs again and growling. The sound that came out was deeper than I had been able to make so far.

It was enough to make the black dragon take notice and show respect... for about a nanosecond.

::Eh. it's just small fry, Hiccup. Wait a minute! I thought I was sleeping and dreaming- and you- and that excuse for a dragon- are in my dreams. Well, whatever. Now, I'm debating about that dragon punk: ask questions first or fight? Hmm? I guess the answer depends on what day of the week it is.::

Now I got really confused when something ducked under the black dragon- no, Toothless' wings, and a tall Firemaker in a long cream colored sleeveless tunic, blue cloak, dark brown leggings and boots appeared. His arms showed wiry, well-developed muscles- the kind a Firemaker archer gets after much practice and exercise.

"We shouldn't have drunk that strange mead those French musicians gave us, Toothless? I swear I am dreaming- and- wait! Hey you're right here in my dream, along with me! That's it! What was in that mead, again… something called… what… absenthium… er… wormwood?"

Now I saw something that truly puzzled me.

I know from Gatalas and the red-furred lady-not-lady that Sarmatians hate River Rats. So, why in the name was a bona fide, prize-winning Grade-A Sarmatian speaking like a River Rat—and not a Sarmatian?

What a weird world!

The young man who faced me was, most assuredly, a Sarmatian! The signs were all there: pale skin, long red and brown streaked hair (even with hints of blond) pulled back in a high Sarmatian pony tail. And part of that ponytail included a mess of small side braids that had been also pulled into the pony tail. They were woven with jewels and charms. I counted at least six braids, and my guess was more were getting added over time, each braid depicting the charms and jewels of a culture he had visited. I wondered- if I met him many years from now, would he weave his hair entirely into small braids pulled back in one high pony tail?

The hair was not as long as most Sarmatians, and much of it seemed to be falling loose from the pony tail to drop onto the shoulders and collarbone . He also kept his hair in front loose and cut shorter, in a ragged, Turkmene -style forelock over his eyes.

I also took in ears pierced with multiple ear-rings depicting various Firemaker styles and jewels (my sensors picked them up, filling in data I had long thought lost to me in my capture: Egyptian, Hindu, Thracian, Bedouin, Xin, Tibetan).

And I saw a necklace showing a Sarmatian skull with roses growing out of its eye and nose socket. (So cute!) . And tattoos winding up the arms, depicting an amazing bestiary in blue ink.

Creatures I had never seen before- but none the less fascinating!

And, the clincher- the exact same composite mounted archer bow that Gatalas used, but this one seemed to be made of several forms of light, pure gold.

I remember from chats with Eyeful that Sarmatian bows are made of wood combined with a mixture of horn and sinew to make it more efficient for the riders. They don't have to pull as hard to get good power behind the bow, a useful skill to have when clinging by the legs to a galloping horse. Or a flying dragon?

This one was gold colored, but I could not tell if it was pure gold or, more amazingly, high quality wood and horn and sinew plated in light gold. The gold chased in designs that combined many Firemaker symbols. I recognized River Rat chicken scratches, Scythian/Sarmatian tamgas, Celtic Oghams, and, my memory stirred to fill in words for symbols I must have seen a very young kitten, before the River Rats took me. I now remembered them as Egyptian hieroglyphs and Amharic Ge'ez luck symbols.

When I thought about it, the Ge'ez were the symbols that seemed the most memorable to my ancient memories.

Other than that, the Firemaker oddly resembled the same fellow who had leapt on the black horse, though he was older, more cleaned up and physically fit. Was it possible there were multiple possibilities on the Dreampath- modes of existence where this River-Rat speaking Sarmatian and the black dragon had met, but as a ragged, abandoned Firemaker and a black horse?

Another difference was his eyes. They were a color I had never seen before on a Firemaker: a deep, pure mix of various colors of green and gray, and flecked with gold.

Another word popped in my head… an old memory of a herb that lined our nest that I breathed in that soothed me- in the long, long, long ago layer of my past.

Sage. Gold-flecked sage

It occurred to me, the black dragon, who I realized was named Toothless, had the same sage eye color.

Unlike a Sarmatian, this man did not have a beard, though it seemed like he had a very faint amount of reddish-brown stubble on his lower face. And unlike a Sarmatian, he did not wear a peaked cap or carry his bow in a gorytas. I did see a broad brimmed hat lying on the ground not far from the dragon, though. Probably a great idea for this kind of sunny climate.

And his sun-reddened skin was well covered in small dots, something unusual, but yet giving him kin with dragons, who also have hides flecked with spots.

And I also realized that feather-headed Trickster god had played a trick on me!

He had given me the coordinates, all right, but to the WRONG version of Toothless and his Firemaker!

Growling, I sank back down into dreams to try to find the RIGHT Toothless.

I emerged again into… VICTORY!

And saw the same Firemaker and Dragon in the same, summery, lavender-scented valley, but now playing some Firemaker mind game together.

Curse you, feather-headed Trickster god!

Snarling, I glanced at the two friends. They now sat at either end of a square shape claw-drawn in the dirt and made of many smaller squares. The Sarmatian sat cross-legged, and the dragon sat in a dragon-loaf.

On each smaller square a chunk of bread sat. Two colors of bread were used: white bread and the darker bread that Eyeful loved so much.

I sighed and made my own version of the dragon loaf, my tail going round and round and round.

And that got attention from the Sarmatian.

"It's still here… and it's awfully cute," the Sarmatian said, looking at me intently, "But that tail is just crazy! How can it fly with a tail that long? I wonder if it could just fold its tail up inside it?"

::You're being a nerd again.::

"No, seriously, look! The base of the tail is large, but it looks light boned on the outside. I bet those segments are made to fold down for flight. Each segment fits into the larger one- one by one. How else could it fly?::

::I can't fly!:: I called to them, ::That is why I want you to help me!::

They stared at me; I was not sure if they understood me, but they did seem to enjoy watching me.

I rolled and looked cute, and the Sarmatian tossed me a bit of white bread.

I snapped it up and purred and rolled even more cutely.

"AWWWWW!"

::Hey, Hiccup! That was one of my knights you just fed to the dragon!::

"Oh, quit whining, you petty, overgrown..."

"You're the whiner. I was winning!"

"And ...now you're not," The young Sarmatian man said smugly. He leaned over to grab another another piece of bread, a rather large one, and toss it into his mouth, "Your Queen tastes delicious, by the way."

The black dragon gave an even blacker look. There was a rush of air and suddenly a THWACK as he smacked his considerably-sized tail and fins against the Firemaker's head.

"OWWWW! What was that for!" The Firemaker was now lying, gasping, on his back, loosened hair spread out on the ground around him

The dragon flicked his tail, dropping a leather-woven cord onto the young man's chest.

The black dragon nodded his head in smug-lined dignity and showed some very well-grown teeth ::I am merely pointing out the situation in a factual manner. Note that, unlike certain, unnamed, red-haired, green-eyed, spotted Vikings, I am not petty. That's precious bread you're throwing away on the rat with wings over there- and tossing into your own bottomless stomach! Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?::

"But isn't that what we were just doing, anyway, using bread as chess pieces?"

::I'm the dragon. I get to make up the cheap puns here, not you.::

"Oooh, you are just so impressive in your ultra-suave sarcasm."

::Did the temperature here just get a bit more jealous?::

I ignored the exchange and looked at my long, long, long tail.

The Sarmatian's words did make me think a bit- I wondered if he was maybe right? Was my tail meant to fold into itself?

The Sarmatian sighed, grabbed the leather cord in one hand and sat up, again adapting the Sarmatian cross-legged style. He swept his now loose, shoulder length hair and braids back up into a messy high ponytail. He used the woven leather strap to tie around the hair-tail, securing it in place. Even newly groomed, his hair was still more forelock than braids or pony tail.

The Sarmatian tossed his head to shift his long forelock from his eyes and glanced at me, "Strange looking dragon, Toothless. I've never seen anything like that."

::I'm a smart ass dragon:: I told them, crouching down in the gesture of friendly submission.

"It's a smart ass dragon!" The Sarmatian called, "It spoke to me, Toothless! Why are you rolling and laughing?"

::They all do that, when I say that to dragons:: I told the Sarmatian, ::And I don't know what a smart ass is, even!::

The Firemaker rubbed his jaw, and there was a scratching sound from the bristles on his face, "Hmmm. A smart ass… well, that is someone who likes to speak his mind, who often says something before he thinks it through. Someone who is a bit sharp tongued and sarcastic and…well, someone a little bit like m- I mean, someone I know, I mean..."

He slowed down gradually as he spoke, and then stopped.

Toothless stared levelly at him and then gave a slow, toothy grin.

I gazed at him, thirsty for knowledge, "Like, who, Mr. Sarmatian?".

He stared back at me and grinned sweetly. His grin exposed front teeth that could have given Ravenwing or Eyeful some serious competition.

"Let's change the subject, shall we?" He shook hair from his eyes…again, "What is a Sar. May. Shun?"

::The tribe of my F- I mean they are people like you, sir. Even though you speak River Rat, you do carry yourself in a Sarmatian way- maybe you're a Sarmatian baby who accidentally fell in the river and was found and raised by River Rats? Though I am surprised they didn't kill you or torture you to death.::

"Hmmm…what is a River Rat? And is a Sarmatian another word for someone from Berk, well my Berk, the way it used to be, anyway?"

::What is Berk? This is SO confusing,:: I licked my good foot and combed it along my face, :: Well, anyway, from what I know about Sarmatians, they have bows just like yours- except not gold of course. They have long upswept or braided yellow and red hair with braids and jewels like yours, and they love dragons. They even march into battle with a fake gold dragon head and mounted on a pole.::

The Sarmatian stared at me a bit longer. Then, I swear he imitated me, sweeping his right paw through the hair hanging over his face. I thought about suggesting he lick his paw first- it's easier to comb it that way

"That. Is. Just. So. Interesting!" He said, while Toothless indicated his fascination with a huge yawn, "We had- I mean my dad had… a shield in our- I mean his house.. the one I where grew up, many, many, many years ago. And I mean a lot of many, many, many years ago. Anyway, my dad got got it from a raid in Scotland near Hadrian's Wall! It was supposed to be older than we Vikings- even from the time of the Romans! It had varnished wood and had a black, burnt-in image of a dragon's head mounted on a pole!"

He gestured excitedly as he spoke, "I always thought it depicted a dragon who had been killed had been mounted on a pole. But maybe it wasn't!" He gasped, "Now, the more I think of it, it was a banner- a man-made object that looked like a dragon on a pole!"

His strange, green eyes met mine, "It had a long face- not so different from yours, but no ears, like you have. And it had a horn crown on its head. You don't. But it also had a really long thing like a tail attached to the pole."

He stretched his arms up and winced when his arms came too high, as if something was pulling on his back, keeping his muscles from stretching out fully.

He sighed, sadly, a long-suppressed memory seeming to play across his eyes, "Maybe it was Sar. May. Shun. Whatever it is, you made me remember my home again. And those people I'll never meet again- gone on a journey longer than any I've made so far. I didn't realize it at the time, but the passing of the years has shown there were quite a few good memories along with the sad, especially in the later years.""

I nodded, picking up on his bittersweet emotions, my wings spreading out. Ravenwing's death sat heavy in my heart, and I knew how hard it is to know I will never see my friend again.

::It might be Sarmatian:: I thought-sent softly, ::And I wish I could see it. At the moment, though, I think I most want to fly. I am no dragon stuck unmoving on a pole.::

That led to him asking me why I could not fly. I explained quickly, and as I did , the Firemaker grimaced, making me realize he knew River Rats as well as I did- and how they torture people.

Apparently he calls them Norse or Vikings

The black dragon sighed and snorted and then watched in amusement as his Firemaker friend started to throw out various ideas.

Finally, he just sent,::Why doesn't the rat with wings try what you did with me, Hiccup? On the rock? With the rope. He just needs to flex his wings in the wind- build up muscles resistance.::

"But you heard the little guy. They are always on the move, Toothless, riding along on horses, gods forbid. Horses! How primitive! When and where are they going to find a rock to for the grounded flying?"

Toothless snorted, horse-like, ::There's your answer.::

Then the Firemaker/Monster laughed, said, "Horses!" and drew some pictures for me in the dirt. I stared at them, and then I realized if I pushed these sensors in my mind to work, I could remember them in my mind.

"Can you remember them, smart ass dragon?" He laughed at me, chucking me under the chin, where the hairs seemed now to be longer, now almost like little hooks

I nodded.

"Good, because I am waking up, and some musicians are going to have to answer for sharing their home-made brew, especially if they lifted some goods from Toothless and I while we were asleep."

The black dragon laughed

::Goodie. A game of scent hunting and tag! Followed by the good ole game of "dragon kidnapping". Followed by the game of Give-us-back-what-you-stole-or-you'll get instead flying lessons! Two simple steps: I drop them, and they either fly or go splat on the unforgiving ground. Amazing how they cooperate with such an invitation. Ahhh, life is good, Hiccup::

---

And then I was waking up, snorting. I had curled up near Eyeful, as I saw from a striped leg on either side of me.

::Mornin':: Eyeful sent to me, yawning, ::Sleep well, Lux?::

I nodded, ::Strange dreams, though.::

::Same here,:: Eyeful snorted, a rattling sound that made me laugh.

I shook my head. This recent visit to the Dreampaths had been way too weird for me. But then I stared at my tail and thought, Why not?

I concentrated a bit.

At first nothing happened. Then, there was a spark of pain in the bottom of my tail, near where the fins were. I whimpered, but suddenly something slid into something else.

And then my tail was a little bit shorter, and I felt segments had folded up inside of segments. My tail was shorter by maybe three or four segments, but still.. shorter.

I whipped the tail, and it was easier to move, now that it was shorter. Would that make it easier for me to stay in the air, too?

Then I concentrated, and the segments slid back out to the original length.

My tail was really like the Sarmatian had suggested.

Well! That feathered, flute-playing trickster had steered me on the right path by steering me on the wrong path.

And, thanks to the suggestion the Firemaker and his dragon had given me... maybe, there was now a way I could learn to fly again!

---

And that be the chapter!

Hope you liked it. It was hard to write about a favorite character of mine passing not gently into that good night. I hope you admire him as much as I do. I think Ravenwing has turned out to be the most like Robert Heinlein in personality, so in a way it was a homage to that old warrior poet of zany sci fi and fantasy.

And on to the next chapter- thank you, again, for following it! This one was written in three countries: the USA, Canada and Iceland. I hope I don't have to get my fanfiction a passport to keep writing it, ha ha.