Part Three: To the Water
The sun lances into Hiccup's eyes, and he grumbles a protest, no no sun hurt no go-away bad sleeping hurt bright tired sun don't-want! Grouching, he buries his face in his forelegs and turns away, rolling over in the ashes of their nest to hide against Toothless' side.
No warmth comforts him, no thrumming purr or yelped laugh greets him, and the ashes beside him are damp and cool with the morning.
Startled awake properly, Hiccup does not at once leap to his full height and cry out for his dragon-self. He is too wary, too much a wild thing, for that.
He has stalked nesting birds by their calls to each other, learning to recognize the challenging shrieks of defenders chasing away trespassers and so betraying that they have something to protect that a hungry wild child might be able to eat while his flock-mates gorged themselves on still-steaming prey. He has lain in the thin grass that slices at his bare skin, staying as still as a stone and breathing only with the waves rushing through them, and been quieter even than the skittering claws of the nesting grouse, hurrying back to her eggs. He knows the sounds that ravens make in deep winter, when one has found a carcass and called all its friends to join it; Hiccup is a dragon, and no friend of ravens, but he can follow too.
So he listens, only, even as his heart pounds in fear and desperate wrongness at being alone so unexpectedly, for Toothless had been beside him in his dreams, surely… He cannot remember. He does not need to remember dreams; they do not make things or bite him or feed him or push him from his perch only for spite. He cannot even roam through them as he can the imaginings he drifts off into so often.
Still, his ability to imagine things not seen bites him as often as it warms him, and for a breath he can imagine only terrors. Toothless taken, Toothless hunted, Toothless snatched from his side as he slept helpless, useless – no no silly-hatchling no, he huffs at himself, shaking his head to drive away such thoughts. He would have woken; he would have known.
Fear, his body says, nevertheless, cowering, and anticipation-of-loss keens from his throat.
Instead, the feral boy sits back on his heels and looks around, coughing desperation away. He ducks his head to swipe his cheek against his own shoulder, a body memory of tears he no longer sheds, and arches his back against the warmth of the sun for comfort.
He is at the bottom of a small gully, its colors new in the sunlight but its shapes familiar even through half-formed and tired memories of the night. It is no true canyon; no water runs through it, and instead the compact and hardy plants of the far north have grown up around the boulders that have tumbled into it, blurring their once-broken edges beneath lichens like stone and mosses tinged with purple in their strange veins.
A caterpillar makes its way across one such stone, sun highlighting its thin spines as fine as fur. Hiccup pays it no mind as something not-to-eat and not a threat and not much fun to play with, either. Instead, he casts around for Toothless with all his senses, tongue bared to taste the air and eyes wide, ears straining for the sound of soul-familiar wings or the pad of Toothless' paws.
The shadow cast before him cannot be a stone, even stretched out and splashed against the ground, and Hiccup turns and looks up the precarious slope. The sun glares into his eyes, but his heart sings as he scampers backward – a little awkwardly – into Toothless' shadow and rears to his back legs and whistle-clicks tt-th-ss! over a croon – Toothless-beloved!
Above, his dragon-self's shoulders hunch uncertainty and his ear-flaps are pressed against his skull unhappy. When Toothless looks back in answer, his eyes will not meet Hiccup's; they say shame, and Hiccup whimpers confusion Toothless-mine you sad why sad no sad no no no!
He raises his chin and narrows his eyes, baring the edges of his small fangs and digging the heels of his bare paws into the moss, and snarls a declaration of not!
The dragon-boy charges to Toothless' rescue with all the fury and determination of a dragon diving to battle upon a great and deadly enemy with all she loves at her tail, all but throwing himself up the rockfall. A lifetime spent in caves and on ledges has not given Hiccup a phenomenal sense of balance and coordination – he has earned it with bruises and humiliation, left behind and having to be carried like a flightless hatchling, embarrassed by the impatience of his and Toothless' friends.
Now he scrambles through the withered branches of a wind-tangled tree without care for scrapes; his skins turn its thorns aside. A rock shifts beneath his slight weight, the earth beneath it dew-damp and unsteady; he spreads himself out across all his paws and vaults away, almost dancing up the scatter of small stones before they have the chance to fall.
Love-you no sad! Hiccup declares with childish authority, setting his nose against Toothless' muzzle and glaring into his dragon-twin's eyes. He nudges their faces together and croons safety and need-you and denial all at once.
Toothless pushes back at him, affirmation, but his eyes shift away and his head lowers even beneath Hiccup's, nearly placing his throat against the ground. Scattered droplets of fresh dew linger on his shoulders and the top of his back where Toothless' tongue cannot reach and where Hiccup is always scratching away itches and shed-loose scales, so the dragon-boy knows that he must have rolled all over in it not long ago, or the water would have fled the warmth of Toothless' fires inside. His forelegs and sides and flanks all bear the faint stripes of Toothless' own tongue where he has licked himself dry.
Curiosity, Hiccup hums, when Toothless says only hiding, refusing to say. But he must, Hiccup believes, whining anxiety as well. They do not have secrets from each other, they are a single self!
The dragon-pair will bring each other gifts; they will create surprises, sometimes a new idea or game to play or thing to make, but as often a screaming ambush out of some dark corner or high ledge. Falling from the peak of the tallest spire had been a good surprise, even if there had been a very hard splash all the way down into the king's ocean lake. Toothless had startled so when Hiccup had shrieked at him in passing, and the black dragon had only just saved himself from falling into the water beside his dragon-boy. (Toothless has wings of his own; it is not fair.)
But that was not a secret, only a surprise.
A secret, though – a secret is poison, and Toothless hurts with it. Hiccup can see him hurt, and hurts with him, mewling sympathy and flinching as his dragon-love does.
Where? Hiccup demands, as if the secret were a wound he could find torn through his Toothless-self's scales. He pets and caresses down Toothless' side, marking the black dragon as his with his own scent, beyond all doubt, and rubs against dark scales to merge their scents together again. He almost does not need to, after so many years among dragons – he smells thoroughly of dragon, and always will. But he knows Toothless' scent among all others.
He feels more than hears Toothless' moan, fear shame fear fear-for-you hide bad me shame me sorry sorry love-you unworthy, as it swells the black dragon's sides and wavers beneath Hiccup's paw.
Where? Toothless cries back to him, but his dragon-beloved's eyes turn to the sky, open and empty of all but the highest clouds. He cringes into himself and into Hiccup's paws, and calls the sound that every dragon in the nest knows, except for the hatchlings too young to fly over the warding spires of ice that keeps their flock apart from the killing winter wind and the claws of strangers. It is the sound that names them all.
Toothless whimpers home where where doubt us small where home? Flock-family-us? searching, he signals, ear-flaps swiveling up to listen for a sound that is not there.
At his side, Hiccup crouches motionless; he does not struggle to understand Toothless' signals, he struggles to understand the concept. Home is…home is there, it is…
He does not know. Toothless navigates. Toothless knows which way to fly, once the nest is too far for them to see, when they have wandered away to somewhere new.
Hiccup can turn his face to home when they return to a place, when they have been there before. He can remember the shape of the shoreline they flew away from, the landmarks of mountains and distinctive trees and hunting places and napping spots. From uncountable islands – a meaningless statement; Hiccup can count no more than any dragon – he knows the way straight home.
But not from here. This is a new place, in strange skies with winds that do not know them, that bat them back and forth across the ocean like hatchlings with a terrified, half-stunned mouse.
The dragon-pair does not usually fly in a straight line. They must be very afraid before they will fly only one way, drawing a line from their noses to their tail and turning away from it not at all.
They waver.
They wander.
They follow the wind.
Summer storms have driven them from half-intended paths and sent them tumbling in unexpected directions over truly trackless seas, and they flew beneath covering clouds so that they could not see the stars. And so Toothless' homing instincts, tuned to longer journeys than either dragon-child can even imagine, have failed the young jet-black dragon.
Now he scents at the wind as if it might bring him a trail to follow that smells of…Hiccup cannot break the smell that means home into its pieces, for he cannot name them all; home smells of family!
Lost, Toothless whimpers, a sound for a flock-mate who has not come home, who no one has seen, whose scent has faded from her nest.
Cried with more passion, heavier with grief, it is also the sound for dead.
Numb with bafflement, struggling to encompass a world in which they might not return to their nest again, in which they might wander forever, not by choice because it is a great game and a rightness, but because they must, Hiccup turns his back on the sky – it has never before seemed too wide – and embraces his dragon-self as far as his paws will go.
Hope, he tries to send in the strength of his heartbeat and the knowledge that they are together and a single self and nothing will ever, ever change that, not even if they must be a single self alone forever. But his breath hitches fear to match Toothless' low keen, and he trembles. Hiccup was not cold before, but now he cannot know that their flock-family waits to huddle close and warm them at the end of their flight.
Toothless growls at the horizon even as he longs to mewl like a hatchling too small even to return to her mother's side on her own. But instead he cringes shame, and he cradles his Hiccup-best-beloved-self close beneath his jaw, wrapping his wings around them both.
Dragons do not pray.
But they hope.
Toothless hopes with all his great young heart that they will find their way home, and that he will be strong and brave and clever enough to keep them both out of trouble until then.
He despairs of it even as he forms the thought.
Lost is tiring; Hiccup is none too pleased to learn it.
They have flown and flown and flown and they have found only this spire, a tall stone rearing high above the sea. Waves nibble at its sides like fish that have found a carcass, tiny mouths without fangs, but hungry.
The spire is not a good place to land. There is nowhere to hide upon it, and Hiccup wants very much to hide. He is keenly aware of his own shadow cast dark against the sky, the flicker of his movements like the small creature wary of greater, fiercer predators that he is. He is a dragon – a small dragon, but that is alright because the other half of him is bigger – but with the sky bright above and nothing for it to shine upon but this half of himself and the tall stone, now he wants to crouch and press his tail to his belly at the memory of the fox cub he had cornered, forever ago, the bites long faded.
The keening screech of anxiety hums through his bones, pulling his soft-skin too tight. He wants to chew it all off as if it were shedding scales. Already there is a thin crust of blood caked across one of his claws where he had bitten too deeply as he gnawed at it.
He sings with a fear that will not fade, that lurks in his shadow and nips at him like the waves below the spire. He imagines ear-flaps like Toothless' pinned flat against his head, eyes flooding dark as he glances all around with the need to watch always, his dreamed-of tail lashing.
They have been lost for many days now, flying by night when the sun seemed to stare too intently. For a time, they had circled, finding their way back to the half-burnt island and then turning away again. The dragon-pair had come to another island where they had caught the scent of fire-skin cousins, many of them all together, and fled before they could be flamed at and driven away as trespassers. There are islets too small to stay on, where nothing lives but plants that have crept out of the sea, and Hiccup had carefully touched the tip of his tongue to one of them that looked familiar, wondering if it might be safe to eat.
Before his stomach could even rumble with hopefulness, his tongue had frozen dead. Hiccup had recoiled, spitting disgust even as he nearly fell over Toothless' tail in his haste to splash into the waves and scold the rest of it stay you bad bad ugh not-to-eat you here stay you-had-better! – a growled warning and a skeptical glare that promises punishment – this don't-like bad bad!
Salt water had splashed into his mouth as he screamed indignation, and the little boy had spat his chance mouthfuls at the offending seaweed, washing his tongue of the poison.
Toothless had waited out his dragon-boy's tantrum, eyes rolling impatience and tail-tip tapping anger and waiting. Once Hiccup had sulked back to the bigger dragon's side, dripping from a last splash into the sea, Toothless had snorted you small! and blasted the seaweed from the stone.
He had not been at all surprised to receive another mouthful of seawater spat all over his nose.
I small, Hiccup had signed back at him ungratefully, gestures sharp with anger that flamed over Toothless' shoulder and not at him at all. You wet!
They flew onwards grouching to each other, but the sea had spread out below them empty and Toothless had refused to turn back, hackling at the stupid water for challenging him. He will not be outflown so!
Now Hiccup lies waiting on the edge of the single spire, watching Toothless hover above the waves as he fishes. Water drips from his empty claws after many unblooded, frustrated strikes. The broad black wings that should hold him steady in the air instead shudder and miss their beats, stumbling in the air, and he dives clumsily, almost falling – Toothless is exhausted from fear and far flying and little to eat.
And worse, Hiccup knows, all around there is only ocean, and he can taste salt still on his tongue.
Draped over a stone like a cast-aside scrap of fur, the little boy licks at his own bare paws, trying to summon up the memory of the stolen human food that had spilled down them days ago, that had been almost as much for lapping up as for chewing on. He is terribly thirsty.
To distract himself, he runs the edge of his stolen blade across a stone, grinding at the sharpness of it. Hiccup has watched his dragon-cousins sharpen their claws against stones and tree trunks all his life, grumbling envy and chewing on his own softer claws in hopes that they will grow fierce and sharp. Blades are not so different. They are like claws.
Long-buried memories settle the hilt of the little knife easily in his grip, but the sensation of metal grinding against stone sets his fangs on edge. Undeterred, he persists until he can see the gleam of new metal on both sides.
Against his will, his eyes drift closed as the long northern day and the jangling stress of being too far from home wear him down. The dragon-boy fights against it, trying to mirror Toothless' movements in the barely-formed belief that he can lend his own strength to aid Toothless' hunting. That he has none to give matters to him not at all; he imagines as hard as he can his dragon-self's hover becoming smooth and effortless, as easy as leaves set afloat on the dark, still lakes in the depths of the nest's caves.
And Toothless-dearest will not dive and sink and never rise again like those leaves – they are good for pouncing on, and Hiccup is the best of all their friends at setting them afloat – he will strike as neat as ice just broken, and he…he will catch those leaves…
Hiccup is asleep, dreaming of swimming in the warm darkness, the reassuring dragon-scent of the flock thick in his nose and with sweet, cool water so close he has only to show it his tongue, when a wail of shockfearfearpanicdanger! snaps him awake again.
He catches himself on the lip of the stone before he can leap to Toothless' defense, although his heart is screaming terror to match. There is only falling before him, between them, and not for the first time the wild boy wails inside for wings to spread and the wind tearing past his own scales. He wants more than anything to leap from the edge and race through the air quick as light across water, fires blazing in his chest and a battle-scream keening from his throat, singing fury as he snaps his own fangs into the bulging throat of the steam-spitting water-cousin who is at once enemy – she is threatening Toothless!
But instead he is stuck here, caught between stone and sky and sea like the cruelest, sneakiest biting trap, and Hiccup screams back rage frustration danger beloved-mine love-you brave fierce you love-you want-to-fly ready-to-fight angry angry frustration! at himself and to Toothless – they cannot reach each other, but Toothless must not ever, ever think he is alone! – and to the enemy-cousin so she too knows that Toothless is not alone.
His shriek is a dragon's cry, piercing and shrill and threatening, and the ocean dragon turns her huge blue-green head away from the fluttering, frightened black trespasser tumbling over his own tail in his haste to escape from her. She casts about in confusion for the other dragon, and her throat swells as her own fires turn the water in her crop to steam, ready to blast both intruders from the sky.
She had been cruising deep below on the edge of the true darkness, singing to mark the ridges and spines of hidden stones. But she had kept her eyes rolled upwards towards the distant, glittering sunlight sinking through the waves, and the flickering movement and familiar shapes of many fish had caught her attention. The charr are familiar and favored prey, and she had spread her iridescent broad-finned wings leisurely, letting the currents carry her silently to ambush them from below.
Toothless, fixated only on the fish and too exhausted to pay much heed to his surroundings, had dived nearly straight into her. Only her surprise had kept her from tearing his nearest wing from his shoulder as the charr scattered.
He is a dragon, a cousin, and she would not dream of eating him in place of the lost charr, but had Toothless not leapt from the water again with his most powerful downbeat, fleeing in pure terror, she would readily have left him to die broken and drowning.
Baffled, she blows a thick mist of steam into the air between herself and the black dragon and its ally, hiding herself like an octopus, and howls a threat any dragon would recognize.
Mine! she claims her ocean, roaring powerful. She roars stay-away! mine! and dives before they can flame at her, too canny to fight them in their sky.
Let them only meet her in her world, and she will show them who is Grandmother Hunter here.
Toothless has no desire to fight her, and no hope of victory; he is too young, and too tired, and too hungry, and too scared – and his jaws are too full of fish. Between one beat of Hiccup's terrified heart and the next, he is landing awkwardly on the peak of the spire, claws scrabbling for the edge of the small plateau and tearing stones away to splash into the ocean forever lost.
Toothless-heart-of-mine! Hiccup wails, scrambling to him and plastering his small body against Toothless' side, hiding his face against his dragon-love's steam-wet scales and whimpering terror-relieved. He leads himself back to calmer skies on the warmth of Toothless' heart-fires and the touch of untorn scales, and sings their secret songs of soul-deep devotion to comfort his other self.
Fish, exhaustion, thirst – all forgotten as they chirrup and cry together. Hiccup praises his dragon-twin in amazed warbles and low crouches, groveling in tribute and gazing up adoringly, miming being unable to look away from such a wonderful dragon, until Toothless drops his jaw onto his dragon-boy and sighs hush love-you enough.
Rising, Hiccup swats at the stone-dust coating his face and is surprised to find it damp. He stares at his paw in confusion only for a moment before catching sight of the water droplets still coating Toothless' scales from hot steam.
Wait you down stay thinking wait curious maybe… Hiccup murmurs in dragon sounds, and nudges his snub nose against Toothless' side.
But everything smells of salt, there is ocean all over.
And yet somehow, the droplets on his tongue are clear and fresh.
Purring delight, Hiccup blinks good! at Toothless, squeezing his eyes closed, and unabashedly laps the water from the black dragon's scales.
It is only a small drink, especially shared between them, but it and the hard-won charr are enough to take them a little further.
And…
That, Hiccup indicates, tapping at his drawing of the water dragon, scratched with a broken, chalky stone upon another stone. Her steam billows from her swollen throat.
Toothless stares at it, head on one side. There is meaning in Hiccup's marks – it is a magic. And although it is a magic Toothless cannot do – they cannot do all things the same, but that is not important, because they are part of each other – it is a magic he can understand.
He is just as clever as his dragon-boy, and he and Hiccup have grown up so closely, learning from each other, that he is cleverer than he might have been, at this same age. And so, he can make a leap of imagination that would baffle any of their flock-mates.
That, Toothless indicates back, but his nose points at a cloud far away on the horizon, hazy like mist, like the water dragon's defensive blast.
Hiccup whistles intrigue, an amazed and curious sound with excitement in it. C'mon! he gestures, quite distracted from the tension of being lost with no way home, and leaps to Toothless' licked-dry shoulders. Hunting! he yelps, and black dragon and little boy race off to see if other clouds might have water in them too.
The crying of gulls ahead jars all the way down to his bones, but Toothless merely flicks his ear-flaps back irritation and grumbles bad noise. He wants almost more than anything to beat his wings strongly and surge to the attack, to descend on the screaming, reeking bird flock with flames burning in his throat and bursting from his jaws. He would soar high and strike down upon them where they have no eyes, and tear them from the sky in quick snaps and harsh shakes.
He would not even eat them, he would only rip each one open with a single bite and see how they flew then! He wants to fly, to race, and be done with this sneaky gliding so far away that the birds have not caught their scent or seen their shadow. Their raucous stupid screaming lays an easy trail in the sky for the dragon-pair to follow, and the stink of fouled feathers and rotted fish is as bright as the slowly setting sun as it flames across the water.
On his back, Hiccup shifts restless, but makes no cry of protest or exhaustion. He does not need to; Toothless can feel his other half's bone-weariness in his breathing and sense Hiccup's heart-weariness in his beloved dragon-boy's silence. Hiccup's paws are tucked close against Toothless' scales, front paws trapped between the little boy's chest and his back paws pressing hard against the black dragon's ribs. Toothless can feel where Hiccup's head lolls against the nape of his neck where there are no spine-fins, still baby-soft.
Every pawprint of him whimpers unhappy like a hatchling too neglected even to cry out in disbelief at such an unimaginable betrayal. He does not sit up into a resting crouch to watch the sun burn its way across the small waves of the deep ocean, even though Toothless is flying very steady and level and boring.
It is not right. Hiccup should be screeching mimicry of the distant, tireless gulls and inventing what they are saying to each other, dragon and dragon-boy chuckling back and forth to imagine that gulls could talk.
Toothless wants to fold his wings and hide both halves of himself beneath them. He wants to go home.
But for Hiccup, he fights the dark and pulsing despair that sets its claws into his belly and coils around his heart-fires. He cannot let his wings stop and sink to the water beneath them and the deeper darkness further below. How could he carry his Hiccup-self to such a place? It must be very strange down there. And he cannot allow the whimpers of fear that build in his throat to escape – he must swallow them down as if they were the barely-enough water that snags on their scales in clouds.
They know this thing now. They are very clever, to know it.
But there is no one to boast and roar and prance to.
He would only frighten the little boy on his shoulders, whose paws and breath and body pressed so close against his scales still say trust in every touch.
So Toothless must be very brave, and he must not frighten away the gulls and send them scattering to all sides of the sky. The gulls are going somewhere, and it would not be the first time the dragon-pair has followed birds to prey or perches they can take for their own.
But he flies grimly, doggedly, the only joy in it the little life inextricably twined with his own.
He senses it when Hiccup slips into a stupor like long nights huddled deep within the caves while the wind and the snow howl to each other and the stars beyond the shelter of the nest. Then there is nothing to do but sleep, and now there is nothing for them to do and nothing to see or think about –
Toothless jostles himself awake as he begins to glide towards the water, the wayward cuff of a different wind swatting at his nose. From his back, he hears a high, shallow cry of don't-want! overshadowed with resignation, as Hiccup awakens to find nothing different than all the long day before.
Sorry, the black dragon whines, unable even to turn and nuzzle his smaller self peaceful again.
Fine fine dismissal sympathy fine regret sorry-too, Hiccup chirrups back, nudging his skull against Toothless' in forgiveness. It is not his fault.
Hiccup says this, but Toothless still cringes inside, still believing that it is. He should know where they are, where home is – he has always known!
It does not comfort him to know where the spire is, where the steam-spitting water-cousin snapped at him, or where the island of fires and human nests is from here. He could find those places. The burnt island is not far, it is only over there. But they are not important places.
What does he care to know that, if he cannot find the only place that matters?
As he does so, the screams of the gulls they are following, which have long since faded into the horizon of their thoughts, change. The seabirds say all the same thing always, which is as deeply irritating to Hiccup and Toothless as the constant mad barking of dogs might be to a traveler accustomed to conversation. There is no meaning there, only sound, and all the same sound.
When dragons cry to each other as they fly, they say things. They challenge each other to racing or to catching or to skimming low over the waves until one or another flies too low and gets very wet and the others can laugh at them. They sing of the warmth of the sun and the mood of the sky, and they quarrel with each other. They boast of their skill as hunters and roar of how hungry they are, until wiser hunters shoulder-strike them into silence before they warn all the world of their intent.
But now the gulls' voices change, and Hiccup and Toothless understand new! new! new! new! new! and hear the long shrieking cries of soaring birds fade from their hearing.
The soft sound of curiosity that Hiccup makes stokes Toothless' fires inside to blaze anew, and he races as he has wanted to for so long.
When the shadow on the horizon takes its shape and becomes an island, Toothless cannot stop himself from crying Look! in triumph and delight even as he feels Hiccup scramble to a low crouch, leaning over Toothless' head in his haste. Hiccup does not even huff that he is looking, too interested to be distracted by a cheerfully favorite quarrel.
The island is a sharp and broken thing, all jagged stones and harsh outcroppings dark against the sky when Toothless dips into a lower glide. Slime coats the edges of the land where it meets the sea, where the tide will cover it again as the sea breathes. But above the waterline is a wide expanse of rock and shadow, bare to the winds.
The nearest part of it seems absolutely covered in gulls as the flock spreads out over endless small perches and settles down. But not for long.
Birds scatter everywhere as Toothless lands with a careless thump. At home in the welcoming shelter of the nest with familiar eyes all around them, he would have slunk away with shame breathing from him like his own scent, to land so clumsily. Toothless knows he is a beautiful flier, and Hiccup's constant and openly jealous praise has made him vain.
But now he smacks his tailfins down amidst a clump of gulls to show just how much he does not care. Hissing spite, he grunts amusement as the gull-flock explodes outwards, screaming new fear of him.
Hiccup slips from the black dragon's shoulders with even less grace, sprawling out flat with his face turned to the sky. He grimaces disgust at the reek of the stones all around – there have been many birds here a lot, and birds are not tidy with their messes like dragons are – but only blinks relief at Toothless.
Wings folded at last and solid stone underfoot are a goodness so strong that Toothless sighs with all his soul and flops down beside Hiccup, only breathing.
One day they will fly together forever, but perhaps they are still too small just yet.
Stupid seabirds are very loud, but Hiccup listens to their danger! signals until the gulls forget that there are dragons among them.
At his side, Toothless pants for breath and mewls softly.
Hurt? Hiccup asks, rolling to a crouch. He rests a paw on Toothless' chest, thrumming comfort and concern. The strong flight muscles under his paw are warmer than even fires inside with all the flying they have done today, and Hiccup chirrs gratitude to them very softly.
He soothes the long sweeps of Toothless' wings as best he can, wishing for snow. But perhaps…
With a touch to his dragon-self's nose – stay? – the wild boy trudges across the rough stones one pawstep at a time. He tries very hard to be careful, but his limbs want to be clumsy and fall again.
Clicking scolding at himself beneath the racket of fleeing gulls – they do not go far – Hiccup shuffles to the waterline and dips one paw into it.
Cold, he shudders with all his small body, and grunts approval. Shaking off the impulse to lick his paw dry – saltwater is not-to-eat – he drags himself back up the rocky slope.
Toothless has not moved, and Hiccup nudges his shoulder against his dragon-self's to wake him, humming regret that is not apology.
C'mon, he beckons when Toothless turns one weary green eye to him. He splashes water, miming paddling in the space between them, and hums relief with a touch to the tight-tangled, burning coal that he can almost feel pulling at the bigger dragon's chest. Toothless-beloved you come here you please? please? help I good yes yes c'mon hurt you here bad not-like c'mon good promise sure love-you promise.
It is very hard to get Toothless to move. Hiccup clicks frustration that he cannot be big enough to pick up Toothless in his jaws and carry him to the water. But eventually the black dragon slumps into a shallow place, open to the ocean but with stone to either side, and rests his jaw on the hard-earned land with a deep sigh.
Proud me proud you love-you good good good you strong yes-definitely sure, Hiccup praises him, scratching Toothless' nose. His paws sting with the use of them again, but he stretches them gamely.
Hiccup hums you rest to Toothless, but some edge of intent must have crept its way into his dragon's voice, because Toothless at once opens his eyes again.
You? Toothless demands, glaring suspicion. Water swirls around his shoulders as he moves to step onto the land again.
No no, Hiccup wails protest, down you rest down stay good down please. When Toothless stares back undeterred, the wild boy signs, I look go I here careful look see? see? curious.
Toothless does not like the idea of Hiccup exploring the island alone. Danger? he whistles, a warning cry softened by doubt. Reluctance shows in his eyes and his ear-flaps, cringing low.
For all the stress of their long flight, still Hiccup can open his jaw and flash his tongue in a dragon's smile. He waves a paw in a long arc and yawks an imitation of the seagulls, chuffing laughter even as he recoils so absurdly that even hatchlings would roll their eyes at him, just as Toothless does. Hiccup warms inside to see it.
Danger gulls yes very-scary run run run hide gulls I terrified, he mocks.
With his signals singing true again, he gestures again to Toothless stay, pleading you rest.
Still, as he climbs across the stones seeking a high place to see from, staying low so that he is not seen, he looks back over his shoulder often. Toothless' green eyes on him comfort him, and he picks his way among clumps of sharp-reeking bird mess with a cough of disgust. Small bugs swarm around his paws, fleeing the ravenous seagulls as they turn over stones with their long beaks.
The shadows of the stones stretch out as the sun drifts towards the water. It must be tired too after flying all day. Maybe the sun wants to be cooler, too; maybe its chest has coals in it. Hiccup squints his eyes at it in acknowledgement, and continues to explore with flares burning inside his eyes when he blinks, which he does often.
Hiccup-beloved? Toothless calls – they can no longer see each other. Worry where-you I worry where Hiccup-self answer!
I here! Hiccup shrills back, whistling no-threat.
This island seems to be all shadows between stones, with very little growing, but as the dragon-boy closes his eyes and scents the air, something new and welcome catches his attention.
It is the smell of fresh water, and dark, wet earth, and cool air. He smells caves. He smells shelter.
Where? Hiccup chirrups softly, as if Toothless were beside him, cocking his head in an almost birdlike fashion. He casts around his momentary perch, searching for the strongest scent, and finds it leading into a deeper shadow.
Without the sun in his eyes, it yawns away into a crack into the rock bigger than Toothless; he chuffs at himself for not seeing it before. The scent of water spills from it fresh and clear, with no reek of bird mess fouling the air.
The familiarity of it wakes a purr in his throat; caves are their home.
Trembling with relief at the thought of a safe place to sleep – neither Hiccup nor Toothless sleeps as soundly in the open air, and the restlessness of one always wakes the other – the wild boy scampers back to the water and his dragon-partner with renewed energy. Toothless-dearest! he clicks. C'mere c'mon look look I find yes good c'mon!
The tunnels are dim, lit only by the moon's reflected light from the stones at the mouth of the first cave, and they are so right that Hiccup nearly curls up and falls asleep before his second step within. Only Toothless at his side and the scent of fresh water deeper within keeps him on his paws and moving. Small outcroppings jut from the stones of the walls, but mostly they are smooth, and Toothless brushes his shoulder against them just as he would in their own nest. The black dragon lifts his head cautiously, questing with his nose for the roof of the cave, and finds it high enough for him to walk easily within. A single note of his high-pitched seeing song, slightly off-key still, shows no biting stone teeth all the way down, and so Toothless walks carelessly, and Hiccup beside him.
There are unfamiliar scents here, but the dragon-pair are beyond caution, driven only by the needs of their bodies for water and rest. So the cave-mouths to either side of them, suggesting other tunnels left unexplored at their backs, go ignored. The dry scent of scales is disregarded, with the scent of fresh water running over stones.
Deep beneath the earth, there is only the faintest glimmer of light sparkling from the ceaseless motion of a pure spring, but it is enough.
It is enough.
Dragon and dragon-boy drink their fill in the silence of the end of their young strength, and curl up together in a dry place, asleep almost at once.
You? a snarl demands, and Hiccup wakes to the smell of hot breath heavy with blood against his face.
To be continued.
