Hello, It's me, I have too much time and too little to do with it. Shame on me. Oatmeal is Da Bomb! GIVE ME YOUR REVIEWS!

Italics = thoughts

Me: Karma come back here, we need to write your story!

Karma: NO! I'm sulking cuz you killed me off in the story!

Me: Your not dead yet darnit! I still have people that want to read your story!

Karma: No! You don't own anything! not even your own imagination; you bought that from a demon!

Me: Hey, you shut up! That's a touchy subject!

Karma: HE OWNS NOTHING!

Me: SHADDAP!

"So, what kinds are on the isle anyway?" Gobber asked, still pretty sober after his third pint. They were getting into the habit of coming down to the mead hall, seeing as Gobber was somewhat out of the job of making weapons, and Hiccup was waiting for Toothless' sprains to finish healing (can you guess how he got them?). It was already dark outside, the end of the first day of Karma's lesson and Hiccup's anxiety pains had dulled only slightly. He tried to recall all the species cataloged on the island in his journal.

"There's a pride of Nadders, a Timber Jack that sometimes migrates there, and um . . . there should be a lot of Terrors somewhere on the island. But I only have that info from a quick survey there; for all I know, there could be a brace of Nightmares!" Hiccup burst out at the end, waving his arms like a drunk man. There could be caves and burrows that he couldn't see from above, what if there were a dragon that would truly kill Karma without a second thought?

"Well, Nightmares would be a little too big to escape a birds eye view. Anythin' in a cave should leave him alone if he leaves them alone, he shouldn't be stupid enough to bother anything that is in a position to hurt him." Gobber rationalized, trying to calm his good friend's son, to little avail. Karma was not the smartest, but he wasn't a complete idiot.

"That never stopped him before, Gobber." Hiccup stated angrily, knowing that his son had gotten himself into situations with dragons that would easily have killed him. Had that stopped him? Nope, not even fazed him.

"Like I said last night,: if you aren't around to protect him, he won't have as much to give him courage to do what he does. He's relied on you to protect him from the consequences for so long, I don't think it will take much to show him that." Gobber reasoned, getting tired of arguing. He understood Hiccup's mindset: he had almost lost Astrid, and now there was terrified of losing Karma or anything else for that matter.

"Its because he's used to protection that he'll do something stupid!" Hiccup corrected him, knowing how his son thinks "Once Toothless is in better shape, I'll go down and check for myself."

"Aye, whatever." Gobber sighed, shooing Hiccup off to go home, before thinking back to his battle brother Stoic. Hiccup's almost old enough to take over the tribe. If he's handling these problems badly, I can't wait to see how he'll take a whole village's.

(Scene change)

-next morning

Oooowwch, everything hurts. It was a miracle that I was alive, but also a curse. My head felt like a frozen egg stuck in boiling water, powdering itself as it was being cooked. My teeth ached, my throat felt like someone had stuffed it with sand and coals, my lungs felt like pincushions with hot nails. Everything else either felt numb and cold, or hot, tender, and achy. Even moving my eyes hurt as they looked for the small chest of food; I hissed in pain when I reached for the box, realizing that even that hurt to do. Woden, just kill me now!

I winced as I yanked the lid open, yelping in anger when I saw the insides; waves of agony coursed through my torso from doing so. All the meat, and some of the vegetables were gone, only a few stray carrots and a head of tough, rubbery lettuce. Somebody had dined and dashed while I was sleeping! Freakin ridiculous! No weapons, and now this? I was irked to say the very very least.

I would have screamed "Why does this sort of thing happen to me!", but my throat screamed otherwise. I wanted to jump off a cliff, except I couldn't find one nearby. Slit my wrists and end it all, but I had no knife. Cut my head off, but I was too tired, and didn't have the hatchet. Basically, I wanted nothing more than to die; convinced that it would feel so much better than living through this torture. I picked up one of my last four carrots, fingers squealing in protest, and started to nibble at it as softly as I could as not to hurt my teeth. Whoever said that it's only fun if you get hurt, had obviously never experienced this kind of pain. Ow-what, now even thinking hurts!

A twig snapped, a ways away from me, followed by another twig, and another with each footfall. I turned my head, regretting the movement, and looked to the direction my ringing ears perceived to be the source. Something was moving in the bushes, out of sight. I closed my eyes, waiting for more sound to betray their presence. Snap! There it was, and getting closer. If you've come to kill me, please make it fast. Otherwise, just go away.

Out from the bushes came a black dragon, with a fish in its mouth (cod, I guessed). I curled up as far as I could without dying from the pain it caused. This is not my day!

"Toothless?" I was confounded, why was Toothless here? Coming to dish out his revenge for all the things I'd done to it? I looked closer and noticed two things: one he wasn't wearing a saddle, and two, he had both of his tail fins. Conclusion: "it" was not Toothless, it was wild. "It" stared at me for the longest time before cautiously edging over to a spot about five feet away, Wait, this thing was scared of me?

The dragon turned its head slowly, let the fish slide out of its maw onto the soft sand, and with a nudge, slid it over to me. I stared at the fish like it was poisonous, "it" stared at me like it wanted me to do something with it. I looked at the little impressions that "its" teeth had made on the codfish, as well as the dirt that had crusted onto its skin, then gagged and gave "it" the "seriously?" look. It just laid down and gave me a stare that said "go on, it's good!". I stared at the fish for a little while longer, lips twitching with disgust. Here goes nothin', I conceded to myself as I picked the good-sized cod up, brushed the dirt off with the back of my hand, and took a bite into the slippery thing, trying to avoid the teeth marks already there.

It tasted grainy, with a hint of salt from the sea it was fished out of; it didn't taste like anything past that, just gross! I tried to shut out the flavor and gag reflex as I chewed, attempting to break up the little bones that I had taken in with the bite. Six painful chews later and the fish was now a rough paste, and I, being unable to bear anymore, attempted to swallow. It failed to go down once, even twice, the third time it finally slid past my adams apple and muscling its way below. I shuddered at the sensation, and held the fish up to the Night Fury. Here, take it back!

Apparently it didn't get the message, because it just sat there staring at me, daring me to continue. I started shaking the fish in "its" face, come on, I don't want it! It narrowed its eyes and growled, subconsciously screaming "eat it before I shove it down your throat!". Now it may have seemed stupid later, but at that moment I thought "it" really might do something if I didn't finish. I cautiously took another bite of the cod, realizing that eventually I would have to eat where "it" had already bitten. Blek!

(half a raw fish later)

Urg, I don' feel so great, sure I was hungry, but not for slimy Icelandic cod. Maybe for some lamb chops, burnt to a crisp, the way Mom used to make em. She never did do things the same way after it happened; she used to walk and run, now she'd just sit in her chair that dad had made and wheel herself around. She used to laugh with me when I made a joke not on "its" expense, but a genuine knee-slapper, now she'd just smile lightly and sometimes not even then.

I looked up at the black dragon watching me, eyes moving from the fish and back, urging me onward. Raw fish is not good for you. If I could cook it, then maybe I'd keep going, but-wait I have my flint and steel! I remembered that there had been chunk of flint in my possibles, along with a square of rough edged steel. I pulled the box over gently, and flung open the lid, taking careful notice of "its" reactions. After a bit of rummaging on my part, I withdrew the fore-mentioned items from my chest of otherwise useless junk. It stared at me curiously as I pulled together some twigs from the sand around me and piled them together. I must have startled It when I first struck the flint and steel together, because It jumped up and growled at me menacingly. It got even louder with the second shower of sparks that I rained down on the tinder, looking up I noticed that its eyes had constricted into slits. You mean to tell me that I can't cook my food!

Okay, not as long as the last one, nor as serious. But hey, Karma needed a break from his unfortunate first day. The Night Fury saved Karma from the Thunder Drum, also ate his food in the box, just thought I'd clear that up. I don't think that this was as eventful as last chapter, but I will have a new chapter that is eventful by tomorrow I think. Yeah the Night Fury idea is kind of cliched (everybody wants one, can you blame them), but I couldn't imagine Karma riding anything else, forgive me. Astrid is Karma's mom if you haven't guessed. Dejavu on some of the story, it makes the father and son more similar than they realize. If you positively loath this chapter, please review and tell me why. If you positively love this chapter, once again, review. INPUT IS HEAVENLY!

Karma: whatever, press the button!

Astrid: please?