A/N: Sorry about the super delayed update, everyone! I've been really sick for the past week and I just haven't felt up to writing. It's been a real struggle to get this chapter out, but I'm pretty happy with how it's turned out. I'm sorry for any glaring errors; I really wanted to get this uploaded and done. I'll probably give it a second going over when I get the chance. Sorry to everyone who's reviewed and hasn't received a reply! I'm hoping to catch up shortly 3 {PS, for those of you following Snare I hope to update that sometime this week as well!}
As it happens, finding a "new home" is not quite as easy as I had imagined. After some time spent calming Hiccup, I finally managed to leave the cave. My Hatchling refused to fly - started screaming as soon as I opened my wings. In the end, I was forced to seek out another method of leaving the cave.
Climbing up a cliff face while holding a child is not something I wish to attempt for a second time.
The sun cycle is half over now; it's warm and the sky is a beautiful blue and I can see a bird circling lazily above. I would love nothing more than to be that bird, to stretch my wings and return to the sky in which I belong. But the slight weight upon my shoulders and the skinny legs gripping tight to my neck remind me why I am walking.
I hate walking.
I can't remember my paws having ever been this sore before. Dragons are not made for walking, though I am better equipped for it than most. At least I am not like the Flameskins, whose talons are so long that walking for long distances is just awkward. Hiccup is quiet, and has been since we left the cave. I feel his weight, hear the occasional hitch in his breathing. He is still frightened; I can smell it on him. Of course, I'm not much better; what kind of parent loses their Hatchling on the second suncycle?
The wind shifts, blowing directly into my face, and it carries a scent I am coming to know well. Skinchanger. I stop, my tail lashing back and forth indecisively. Had I not taken on this Hatchling sitting endeavor with the thought I could drop my Hatchling - no, the Hatchlingwith other Skinchangers, if I should meet them? Really, what business do I have with a Hatchling? I am not ready to be caring for one of my own species, let alone that of another. If I were a good, noble Dragon, I would march myself after those Skinchangers and pass Hiccup into their care.
But I don't want to be alone.
I have never been so indecisive in my life, and I am perturbed by exactly how torn I am. Part of me wants to do what is best for Hiccup; a larger, more selfish part of me wants to move in the other direction. To keep him close, so that I don't have to face the awful loneliness before I found him. I am close to doing so, plotting how wide a berth I would need to give them to avoid being heard or scented.
There's a shriek of sound, a moment where I think everything slows down, and then his small form teeters over the lip of our cave. The wind catches him almost gleefully, spins him wildly about like a leaf caught in a hurricane.
The image arrives unbidden and I am disgusted at the reminder of my failure. What a fool I was, to think I could care for a Hatchling. He had nearly died on his second suncycle with me.
Hiccup kicks at me with his heels, not enough to hurt, but he is clearly impatient with my stillness. As if I am a horse to be ridden. I move forward, however, and despite my reluctance I find myself moving towards the Skinchanger scent. Just a peek. Maybe Hiccup won't like them.
I hear them long before I see them; the clomp and thud of many Skinchanger feet. They sound like a stampeding horde of buffalo. I feel the vibrations of their passage in the ground at my feet, hear the crackle of vegetation in my ears. I crest the top of a small hill in a crawl, my belly low to the ground. Hiccup is silent, clinging to my neck as I slither carefully through the brush.
They're a reasonably small group of Skinchangers, perhaps twenty in total. Their hides are rough and filthy, the pungent smell of death enough to have me cringing, even at this distance. They carry weapons slung easily over their broad shoulders. Hiccup whimpers at the sight of them, flattening himself to my back, and I wonder at his reaction. One of his paws curls around my ear in a grip that is firm but not painful. I'm not sure why, but it seems to comfort him some and Hiccup falls silent.
They don't look very safe for a Hatchling. I observe, sweeping my gaze from the front of their little column to the back and -
They are talking in their strange, rough tongue. The words mean nothing, but the tone I understand well enough. They are in high spirits, clearly celebrating some victory or other. Four of the Skinchangers labour under a thick length of wood, two at each end. Hanging upside down from the wood…
Sunlight catches on midnight scales, on the slow drip of scarlet blood to stain the grass below. The breath freezes in my chest and it feels like fire crawls through my veins. I am burning alive and freezing cold at the same time. My heart thunders so loudly in my ears, it's a wonder the Skinchangers can't hear it. No, no, no, no. The chant starts in my mind, surges up into my throat until the act of holding it in is almost physical pain. Gas roils deep in my belly, the need to pour my fire all over their laughing faces a need I've never before encountered.
I will burn them all. Every. Last. One.
Because they are filth. They are murderers. They have no right and they need to die.
My vision is drenched in red, the rest of the world fading away but for the vision of my mother, my mother, trussed up and strung up like a deer. Like she is far less than the noble creature she was. I don't want to see how they killed her, don't want to look that closely. But it is not difficult to see, because the story is written in wounds and blood across her body. Their weapons are clean of blood, which means they stopped to clean them.
They cleaned their weapons, and then tied my mother to that piece of wood and they are carrying it so proudly and now they are singing. I spread my wings, the fire rising strong and ready in my throat; the burn of it is a familiar comfort. I will repay them for every indignity my mother suffered, and it will come from their flesh. When I am done there will be nothing left, the Skinchangers will sing tales of a Voidsinger's legendary fury -
"Bad." Sanity returns with the force of a rock between the eyes. My ear is being strangled in a tiny Skinchanger paw, another one slapping insistently at the side of my neck. The rage abates, slowing from an all consuming fire to a quiet simmer. There is grief, and sorrow; but for now I hold onto the rage. I can smell Hiccup's fear, and when I tilt my head to look back at him, his eyes are tearing up. He is pointing away from the Skinchangers, deeper into the forest, and his expression is one of naked pleading. I follow his gesture with my eyes, and for a moment I want nothing more than to go where he points; to forget the sight of my mother's broken body I'm sure has been forever burned into my mind.
One of the Skinchangers laughs and stabs at my mo- the body with his long handled weapon. The others seem to find this hysterical, particularly when the Skinchanger gives his now dirtied weapon a disgruntled look.
I don't remember deciding to act, but for a moment things get a little hazy. I am drowning in a maelstrom of emotions, and the world falls away for a moment. The next thing I am aware of, Hiccup's weight is gone from my back and I am slinking down the hill. Burn them, burn them, burn them. My thoughts are consumed, buried under the single minded compulsion for vengeance. The Skinchangers haven't seen me yet - I stay low to the ground, moving as stealthily as my bulk will allow. I'd like to fly in and roast them all, but if they managed to take my mother down, then they aren't as helpless as they look.
Oblivious to my approach, they carry on with their slow march and I try desperately not to watch the sway of the bloodied form once my mother. I am close, nearly close enough to take the first man down and suddenly fire seems too quick an end to them. I want to tear them apart with teeth and talons, make them pay for the shattered lump in my chest I think may have once been my heart. I am so close I can taste vengeance, and then there is a soft thump and a tiny squeal somewhere to my left.
Hiccup.
The Skinchangers stop moving, their heads swivelling as they try to pinpoint the distant sound. Their leader, walking a few feet ahead, clomps back to them and speaks in low, growling tones. My heart is thumping in my chest for an entirely different reason, now. The leader points in the general direction the sound had come from, and the Skinchangers alter their course.
They're going to find Hiccup!
I don't know how, or why, but the thought is a terrifying one. Hiccup, my Hatchling; I've only had him for a day, there is no way he should be so important. The Skinchangers drop my mother's body to the ground, the four now relieved of their burden drawing their weapons. Their catch is forgotten as they move into the trees and now that the rage abates, I can finally think clearly. Hiccup is a Skinchanger; Skinchangers murdered the last of my family. The last of my kind. I am the last Voidsinger.
But Hiccup is my Skinchanger, and he is my family now. We are all that the other has. And I left him alone.
Not for long.
I abandon stealth, and take to the skies. The Skinchangers shout as I swoop over their heads, a black blur of motion and I seriously doubt they got more than a glimpse of me. I spit fire as I pass them, a concentrated blast that shatters a tree not three feet in front of them. There are shouts as sharp bits of wood fly in every direction and the Skinchangers cover their faces. A couple of shards sting as they strike me, but none pierce through my scales.
Besides, I find their cries oddly satisfying.
Hiccup is easy to find; his little hind legs don't carry him far, particularly not when matched against a Dragons' wings. He is just climbing to his feet, covered in dirt from where he'd obviously tripped. He squeals again as I pluck him from the ground, as gently as I can manage and I tuck him close against my chest. This is the third time this suncycle I have carried him like this, a habit I am not sure I appreciate. It is oddly comforting, however, to feel his heart flutter against mine, fragile as a baby bird. For a moment, I feel less alone.
The sounds of pursuit grow fainter, easily outdistanced by the steady beat of my wings; I weave us through the trees a little longer to be safe, and only once I can no longer hear the Skinchangers do I land. Hiccup squirms from my grasp the moment I touch down, and when I release him he thumps down onto his rear. His face is red, streaked with wet tracks, his little paws clenched tight.
"Bad, bad bad!" He snarls at me with all the ferocity of a wet kitten. I reach out to nose at him, half afraid he will start yelling and bring those Skinchangers back, and half hoping he will so I can have another chance at them.
Thwap!
Hiccup's clenched paw strikes sharply on the tip of my nose, and I am too shocked to be angry. He is glaring at me, his eyes narrowed fiercely, and really it would be a lot easier to take him seriously if he wasn't so tiny.
Tiny and fragile. My mind chooses that moment to remind me, and suddenly all I can see is the blood, tarnished dark scales and gaping wounds. My imagination viciously provides me with a vision of Hiccup, similarly battered and just as dead. I am surprised at the nausea that rolls through me first, followed quickly by a renewal of the blood rage I'd felt earlier. I ignore my Hatchling's temper, darting forward and pressing my nose to his skinny chest.
Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. His heart beats steadily on, and I try to ignore the way it feels like that sound is the only thing holding my world together.