Those next two days, I did a lot of thinking. After several hours of fishing the one day, I brought the pile of fish back to the dragons.
The Hideous Zippleback grabbed a large salmon, pulling it back toward it. The two heads both tried to eat the fish at the same time. As the Zippleback was confusing itself, the Deadly Nadder tried to sneak a bite out of it. A small squabble broke out.
Toothless sent a small plasma blast into the air, breaking up the fight. I was amazed as the Nadder backed away and grabbed another fish for itself. It obeyed Toothless because it was loyal.
Loyal… unlike me.
No. No, I couldn't think that way. Berk didn't want me. Stoick had disowned me. I wasn't one of them. I wasn't a dragon killer. I wasn't a hater. I wasn't someone who fought everything he was afraid of. No!
My mind was still heavy as I went to the Outcasts again. We executed the next attack flawlessly, leaving the boardwalks leading down to the docks aflame.
The next three weeks passed by like that. Every few nights, we'd strike. I don't remember too much those weeks. The days slipped into a pattern. They never used to do that for me. Everything always used to be constant discovery, constant new ideas, constant struggling to accomplish things.
Now, I just lived. No goals, no plans. Only the vague idea of working with the Outcasts to save the dragons. I felt very little happiness, very little ambition, very little accomplishment, just… very little. I occasionally felt uneasy, but I forced myself to brush it off. The only thing I looked forward to was when Astrid would come. Maybe that would make things better.
Each attack was a little bit different. Sometimes I'd act as the diversion. Sometimes I'd set the fires myself, using perfectly aimed plasma blasts to burn or explode catapults, storage sheds, and empty watchtowers. By the time the villagers realized that there was a Night Fury around, we'd be gone.