.
Broken
Chapter 16: The Strength of Scars
He had been here before, played false by a salty gust that should have given him no trouble. Instead of adjusting without thought he wobbled and over corrected and plummeted. There were four shallow holes where he had repeatedly thumped into the ground. Frustration began to rise but he smothered it. Things were different this time.
This time Two Hearts had a skilled flight mate comfortably perched across his shoulders. They had many and more days of skilled flight behind them. They had learned the winds. More, they had learned each other.
It was still difficult, though. It was still new. He even had doubts the results of their effort would be worth the trouble. Flying with Featherstone was more than flying and he now had little interest in climbing the cool sea air by himself. Even the idea of hunting for himself held scant appeal. There were other, more personal misgivings as well; ones he didn't care to dwell upon.
He knew, however, that Featherstone thought it important. And he couldn't deny that Kin without the ability to fly properly were Kin diminished in power.
Featherstone laid his small, warm foreclaw against his neck and quietly said, "Wait." Instead of launching himself again, he folded his black wings and watched as his flight mate climbed down and crawled beneath his belly. He felt a slight tugging on the strands of dried bleater skin that now dangled beneath his hinds. He craned his head around to watch, amused by the sight of the young preytooth trying to press his thin body under his own. Feeling playful, he shifted his body slightly and raised his rear leg on that side. Before Featherstone could react, he lightly scratched that one's head with the claws of that paw. He was pleased to hear the humor/happiness sound that preytooths made.
Featherstone was attentive though, and quickly changed whatever he'd found wrong. As he climbed back onto his shoulders, he muttered something too quiet to understand. The tone of it left little doubt, however. He was less than pleased with his own work.
For a moment Two Hearts wondered if perhaps his flight mate's work was the cause of his difficulties. But that tasted false to him. Each time the wind had shifted and he'd tried to use the new parts to control his dead tail fin he'd failed. It had nothing to do with what Featherstone had created or how it worked. At least, in his mind it didn't. He was still used to his flight mate working his dead fin in perfect harmony with his living fin to let them fly true. He had to keep reminding himself he was now in control of both halves of his tail, and that caused him to falter and fail. He was also used to his rider influencing how and where they flew. He often caught himself waiting for the subtle cues from Featherstone that would direct his flight.
The wind rushing over the top of the sea cliff gusted again and he took advantage. He snapped his wings out and lifted gracefully. The fibrous strand that connected him to the tree stump pulled taut until it fairly hummed. Featherstone used his controls to keep them steady until he was prepared. He grasped with his hind paws for the dangling wooden rods that let him work his dead fin. Once he had them, he grunted, "Ready." He heard the raspy slither of metal against metal as Featherstone withdrew from his own controls.
Left, still. Left, still. Right left left still.
When he concentrated, it was manageable. Not too different from the first, short hopping flights near his egg nest. It was a matter of teaching his body to respond to his wishes without having to think about it so hard.
Right right right, still. Still, still. The steady breeze let him try a gentle movement. He banked slightly left, then right. He was satisfied with the result. He moved both rods to flare and rose half a tail length up, then down. A grumble of pleasure rolled up his throat.
The wind heard him and gave a twisting slap that he took mostly with his wings and mid wings. It wasn't enough, though. He worked the rods while arching his tail to stay level and did it backwards. Again. This time the next unexpected gust filled his right wing and instinct sent his tail spiraling helplessly to counteract. He partially folded his right wing but it was too late. His body spun and his legs splayed and he hit the ground on his right side.
If Featherstone had been straddling his shoulders instead of riding with his legs tucked, he would have pinned his flight mate's leg beneath his body. As it was, his rider wound up dumped on the ground a small distance away, sprawled on his back and groaning.
"Featherstone!" he called, worried for his preytooth partner. He wriggled himself upright and tried to move closer. The fibrous strand stopped him. He pulled against it, hard, but it wouldn't let him go. His anger rose up but he calmed almost immediately as his soft, pink companion sat up.
"I live," he declared. "Maybe." He tried to stand up but couldn't. His dead leg was twisted. A faint red whiff of pain hit his nose the same time a quiet whimper reached his ear canals. Featherstone hissed quietly and used his thin, clever claws to move the dead leg back into place.
Two Hearts hated the thought that he had caused his flight mate any pain. It wasn't intentional, they both knew, but such accidents had happened several times since he started learning this new way to fly. He crooned an apology to him, still pulling against the strand.
With his dead leg corrected, Featherstone stood. He wavered, like wide wings in a fickle wind. Then he shreek-shuffed over to where Two Hearts strained against the binding strand. The pain smell was gone and a quick sniff of the joint told him there was no damage. He nosed his rider's chest and warbled, "All good now?"
Featherstone didn't have those words yet, he knew. His preytooth was an intuitive creature and understood much of what he intended, even if his pathetic ears couldn't yet hear most of his words.
"Yes, good now," that one answered. Blunt nails rubbed near his jaw hinge, not quite at the 'drop spot' but close enough to feel real pleasure. Thus did they reaffirm their commitment to each other. "Again?"
"Yes, again."
Before he climbed back onto his shoulders, his flight mate said, "No Teeth, I have idea." He took a step back and gazed at him. "Let me teach you how to use the sticks."
That confused him. How could Featherstone teach him? The little preytooth didn't always make sense but he did seem to understand Two Hearts' puzzlement.
"Let me use controls while you hold your sticks. Don't hold hard, hold gentle. When you feel stick move, move with it. I keep us in air, you follow my moves. Do this long time, you learn."
It was times like this the ghost wing wished he had better use of Featherstone's words. Despite having spent many, many cycles perched on the preytooths' woodcaves at night, listening to their talk, he still had trouble understanding some of the things they said. He'd gained much when Featherstone became his flight mate and spent many days talking to him. But sometimes it wasn't quite enough. He was fairly certain he knew what his flight mate was telling him, but he couldn't comprehend the intention behind it. Wasn't the purpose of the new sticks to let Two Hearts work the dead tail himself?
He hesitated, trying to get it clear in his mind. Featherstone apparently took this as apprehension. The preytooth stepped close, placed his foreclaw gently on his snout between his nostrils and said two words that banished the doubts.
"Trust me."
Two Hearts rumbled his willingness, and they took off once more.
It still took him some time to figure out what it was Featherstone had meant, but once he did he began to see the wisdom of it. His rider was strong at working the tail, and their controls were connected. When Featherstone worked his, the sticks moved. Instead of trying to move the sticks, he concentrated on learning how they moved during each maneuver. His preytooth was, in fact, teaching him how to work his dead tail fin.
The sun was about to hide and they were both tired. Two Hearts was also very hungry.
"Fish," he said, using one of the newest words Featherstone had learned. "Featherstone fish Two Hearts."
"Yes," his flight mate agreed. "Fish would be good." He finished gathering up the fibrous strand and set it on his shoulder to carry. As soon as he was mounted they took off. It was a short flight from the cliff to the nest but they took their time in spite of their weariness and hunger. As they flew, Two Hearts continued to lightly grip the sticks to feel what Featherstone was doing with his controls. He was getting better already, sometimes able to anticipate what his preytooth partner would do. Once he learned this new way to respond to the wind's needs, he would again be in balance with the air and the wind. He would be able to fly alone.
The thought of flying alone still made a cold place in his liver. It was a fledgling's foolishness, he knew. He would have to join that hunt sooner or later. He would have to look for her.
Two Hearts had last seen his dam a few days before he was grounded and injured. He hadn't worried for her during his strange captivity. Nor was he concerned after Featherstone and he grounded the Great Eel. But after his flight mate's recovery, he'd had thoughts of her.
Long Eye, having named herself for her extremely keen sight, was the only other ghost wing living in Fire Nest. His sire had warned away all the other Watchers when the huge form of the Great Eel settled itself in the glowing depths of the nest's main cave. After he died in a vicious, and hopeless, battle against the invader, there had been only the two of them left. She, obviously of breeding age, had become a thrall as all the others in the nest.
Having been freed of that parasitic influence, she would be able to do as she chose. But what had become of her? Was she still at Fire Nest, hoping the other ghost wings might someday return? Had she left, sickened by the memories of her time supporting that enormous Kin?
Did she think of him?
If she did, had she figured him dead during his long absence? Was she simply waiting for his return? Or was she perhaps displeased with his choice to stay with his flight mate after freeing the Nest?
Had she been killed?
Long Eye had done her best to keep her hatchling fed and protected. She'd taught him the winds as a fledgling. She'd shown him how to attack the preytooth nest without being seen. She'd taken him on her ranging flights as Watcher and explained his responsibilities to the Nest.
So where had she gone?
As long as Featherstone controlled his dead tail fin and didn't try to return to Fire Nest, he was content to wait and see if she would come looking for him. Perhaps he might eventually hear some word of her whereabouts. But if he was given control of his dead fin, he would have to go back. He would have to look for her, find out the truth of what had happened to her.
He had asked those Kin who'd come from that Nest if they'd seen her. None had. Crush Claw had been the latest from there and he'd told of the return of most breeding pairs. That had only made sense. Fire Nest was their home and with the Great Eel gone, there was no reason to leave. They would doubtless be raising new clutches in the clear air of freedom they now enjoyed.
But if Long Eye wasn't living in Fire Nest then it no longer had any Watchers. There weren't any ghost wings there to be Watchers. The Nest could get along for a while without any, and there were old stories told among the ghost wings of disasters that had deprived Nests of their Watchers. Typically those stories told of other Kin who had taken on the responsibility. Perhaps Fire Nest would do the same.
His own new Nest, which was in truth the preytooth's nest, had no Watchers. Two Hearts couldn't yet act as a true Watcher for this unnamed Nest. He'd not given much thought to the fact that this new Nest had no Watchers, nor to his own inability to fill that role. His time and energy had been taken up with more pressing needs and problems.
That would change too, when he could control his dead fin. And how would he explain to Featherstone that he would have to go ranging once he could fly on his own? Would his flight mate want to go with him? Could the role of Watcher include a rider?
Two Hearts considered these things as they slowly made their way to where the woodfish gathered on the water. That place was always easy to find, as it smelled of fish all the time. He wished he could find the answers he wanted as easily.
They settled near the water where the woodfish gently bobbed in the rippling waves. There were fish here, many fish. The fibrous husks preytooths constructed to carry large or numerous things lay about, reeking deliciously of newly caught silversides and flatheads and roundbacks. He saw many husks near a preytooth who seemed to smell more of fish than preytooth. That one caught sight of them and raised a limb, calling out.
No longer able to hunt as he once had, Two Hearts relied on his flight mate for food. Featherstone had proven as dedicated to his feeding as any sire to a hatchling. This sometimes left him feeling as though he were, in fact, a helpless hatchling, unable to care for itself. But what hatchling had ever worried about going hungry? If sire or dam were able, they would feed their offspring. If any went hungry it was because hunting was poor, and then all went hungry.
To him, Featherstone was as a sire to Two Hearts. When he tipped over a husk full of fish for him to eat, it felt to him of safety and comfort and caring. The one who worked to secure food for one who could not was to be relied upon and trusted, sire or dam or nest mate. Or flight mate.
This was one of the ways in which Featherstone was unique among preytooths. He among all his kind had taken on the task of supporting and caring for one who was Other to him and his kin. That had been the first sign, in fact. The first roundback he'd brought to the cove to nourish a grounded Kin had signaled something Two Hearts had never expected to see: a preytooth who was willing to fly without regard for the wind; a preytooth who went where his eyes and mind and liver led him. At the time, he'd had no idea where the two of them might go together, what they might do. He'd only known Featherstone was different.
His preytooth was trying to lift the husk. With his dead leg it was a nearly impossible task. Featherstone's determination was obvious, but so was his weakness. He approached the husk, intending to help carry it. A faint whiff crossed his nose, and he blinked. Growling low in his throat, he took a step back and shook his head.
"No. Bad."
The two preytooths scented confusion to him. They didn't understand.
"Eel," he snarled, flashing his teeth.
Featherstone looked from the husk to him. Could he not smell it? The odor was as plain as the salt of the sea.
"Eeeel!" he shrieked, and partially raised his wings.
"What's wrong Lung Spasm?" asked the bigger preytooth. "Why is he mad?"
"Wait," said his rider. He opened the top of the husk and the spiky stench of it chilled his liver. Eels brought only death. Why did they have it with the fish? Featherstone thrust his upper limb into the husk and drew out the long body of the poisonous creature. He crouched, glaring at its offensive form.
"Why he not like eel?" asked the bigger one.
"I don't know. No Kin does."
"Well I do." Bigger One grabbed the slender carcass and walked away with it. Finally, he could relax. The poison within eels lay stored inside their bodies and in their mouths. It being with the fish would not spoil them. Otherwise Two Hearts would have burned the husk right then and there, fish or no fish.
Hungry as they were, they did not eat their fish right away. Two Hearts pressed his chest to the ground so Featherstone could lift the husk to his back and the two of them walked to the woodcave where they slept. He sometimes found the preytooth's need to do certain things in certain places or at certain times annoying, but these needs were often strong. If it was important to Featherstone, he could wait a bit for his fish.
Once they got to the woodcave, he rolled the husk onto the ground. His flight mate opened it and pushed it over. The welcoming scent of fish surrounded him, washing away the softer smells of the preytooths who lived there. Featherstone leaned down to collect one of the smaller roundbacks and took it inside. Although he was used to it now, it bewildered him that preytooths would burn their food before they ate it. Perhaps they thought to bring some small amount of the fire into their bodies this way. Before he'd devoured half the fish on the ground, Featherstone had fed his wood fire and placed his fish above it to burn. He came back outside and watched him eat.
Flying with Featherstone was always the best part of any day. This was almost as good. The scent of food filled his nose and the taste of fish filled his mouth. His belly was happy and his wings were tired from flying. Once the fish were gone, he would be able to lie down and doze, the scent of his flight mate giving him comfort and happiness.
As the last silverside coated his tongue with slime and blood, Featherstone put his hands on his neck and shoulders. "Want on or off," he asked. Two Hearts had no desire to try flying on his own right then. He raised himself to a full standing posture and spread his wings.
Getting his dead tail off took less time and work than getting it on. Those nimble foreclaws did whatever it was that let it fall free. He stepped away from where the pieces had dropped to the ground. Featherstone collected them and took them inside, stumbling only slightly under the load.
The sun was long gone as he prepared for sleep. He charred a spot large enough to lie on. This killed any parasites that might get under his scales and cause weaknesses. It also warmed the ground to make it comfortable. Before he could put his clean spot to use, Featherstone stuck his head out of the woodcave and said, "Want to come inside?"
For much of his life Two Hearts had been uninterested in the woodcaves in which preytooths slept. After having spent time within one, he realized they were just as good as stone caves. The floors prevented parasites from getting under one's scales and the roofs kept the warmth and smells in and the rain and snow out. Now he could appreciate having one to sleep in, but only if the other one was absent. He hesitated.
"It's good," Featherstone said, understanding his reaction. "Sire's not here."
He hadn't been sure. The scent of those that lived within woodcaves tended to linger so powerfully that from without it was often hard to tell if the preytooth that lived in one was actually within. He followed his flight mate into the woodcave.
Featherstone's sire was another puzzle to him. He hadn't actually known that particular preytooth was kin to Featherstone until the moment he'd given thanks to him on the pebbly shore of Fire Nest. With that heavy foreclaw on his brow, he'd declared himself grateful for Two Hearts saving his offspring. He'd been surprised but too hurt and exhausted to react. Of more concern to him was the obvious tension that existed between the two. While he had no difficulty understanding why the sire didn't like being near Two Hearts (the fear smell was faint but always present) he couldn't work out what was wrong between him and Featherstone.
And where was his dam? Was she lost to him, as his own was? Could he help him find her?
There was so much he desired to ask his rider. It was what drove him to improve his dirt signs as often as he could. It warmed his liver greatly that his preytooth worked as hard to learn Kin words, even though he could never speak them.
Featherstone was poking at his burning fish, watching the delicious oils and slime drip into the small fire he'd built up in one end of the pit. It made Two Hearts a little sad to see the tastiness of a roundback ruined that way, but that was how preytooths ate their fish.
He was tempted to offer to burn his fish for him much faster, but he'd learned not to flame within a woodcave. Not even in the fire pit. He'd tried that once, at Featherstone's encouragement. He'd certainly gotten the fire lit, but had also blown ash all over the place. There had been much coughing and yelling that afternoon.
He lay down on the wood floor instead of hanging from the beams. When he was inside Featherstone's woodcave, he preferred to sleep where his flight mate could join him if he so chose. The smell of the sire mixed with the scent of burned roundback and kept him from dozing easily. He watched as his rider finished burning his fish. His preytooth took a few wobbly steps to his side and sat down, leaning against his warm flank. He began pulling flakes of burned fish off the bones and eating them.
His curiosity finally got to him and he leaned his nose closer to the fire-chewed roundback. It smelled... oddly familiar. As though he had eaten burned fish before. Featherstone noticed his sniffing and asked, "Want to try it?"
Deciding he wanted to know how fire-in-fish tasted, he nodded. He gazed with interest as Featherstone pulled another large chunk of flaking flesh from the bones and held it up. Two Hearts opened his mouth and his rider tossed it in.
Instantly he remembered where he'd tasted burned fish before. It had been in the tiny woodcave of the dusty one. The old preytooth female had made a liquid that tasted of fish and not-fish and other things he hadn't been able to understand but had thoroughly enjoyed. The fish-but-not-fish tasted exactly like the burned fish he now crushed against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. The flavors were strangely enticing yet not entirely pleasant. He decided he liked the way she burned fish better.
Thoughts of the dusty one flew up in his mind. She'd spoken to his rider about many things that morning. She'd even spoken to Two Hearts, whispering to him in quiet yet urgent tones, "He is as important to us as he is to you. Please take care of him."
That had been surprising. It was the first time anyone other than Featherstone had truly spoken to him as though he were a preytooth and able to understand their words. He'd wished he could tell her that he had every intention of taking care of his flight mate, at least as well as his flight mate took care of him.
Those thoughts flooded his liver with warmth and he gently nosed Featherstone's ear as that one tossed the last of his fish bones into the fire pit. A quick dart of his tongue over the pliant skin of the jaw and cheek brought forth the humor/happiness sound. One small foreclaw rubbed the fine scales above his nostrils while the other rested on his nearest foreleg.
Something happened. The foreclaw on his leg stopped moving and Featherstone looked down at it. His face changed from pleasure to discomfort and he could smell the barest trace of fear from him. Confused and concerned, he looked down at where the foreclaw lay. He saw nothing unusual.
"Featherstone," he said. "What?"
His preytooth looked up as though startled and the fear scent grew slightly. That put a distinct chill in his liver.
Featherstone withdrew his foreclaw, held it against his own chest. "I... nothing."
The air flooded with scents now, all of them false and confusing. Why would his flight mate ever have reason to feel uncertain of him? Did he not think Two Hearts would notice the scents he gave off?
A new thought sparked in his mind. Did preytooths not use scent to help them understand one another? Those tiny noses had always puzzled him.
Another thought, sparking brighter than the one before. Could preytooths not use scents the way Kin did?
He shook his head slightly, dropping those ideas. There was a more important question in his mind.
"Why do you feel bad?"
As soon as he asked, he knew he'd get no answer. Featherstone had none of those words yet. There were other words they had together, though. Those they had in dirt sign. He reached with a forepaw toward his chest.
And remembered shedding the skins that worked his dead fin. He grunted in annoyance and looked around, spying it in the corner. He went to it, pushed the pile around until the shine of his metal sign stick caught his eye. Working it free, he moved to the center of the woodcave and started making signs on the wood floor.
Again his intentions were grounded. The floor would not mark with the rounded tip of the sign stick. He snarled softly in frustration. How could he use his sign stick here? Outside it was too dark and inside it was too hard. He looked around, seeking any surface that he could mark.
His gaze stopped at the fire pit and he remembered the day of exploding clouds of ash. Ignoring the small wood fire at one end, he reached into the pit and tamped the ashes down. The dusty gray leavings easily took his paw print.
Two Hearts smoothed out a spot to mark in and asked his question, disregarding the few small bones that poked up there and there.
[what wrong - you feel bad]
Featherstone's eyes moved slightly, looking down at Two Hearts' foreleg again. He shook his small head and made helpless noises for a moment. Finally he answered. "I want we had met without..." He pointed, a twitch of his foreclaw. "You know."
This explained nothing to him. He flattened the ashes again. [not know]
The eyes, the expressive eyes that told as much as scent and words, showed pain. The chill in his liver grew.
"I still not like... not like that I hurt you." He pointed again to Two Hearts' foreleg. "I want I hadn't. I want to take it back."
Winter took his innards in its teeth and bit so hard he thought he would break in two. His wings dropped, just dropped and lay like dead things. A gurgling moan worked its way out of his throat.
How could Featherstone, his flight mate, say such a thing?
He picked up the sign stick that had slid from his grasp and wrote over the previous signs without wiping them away.
[you not want Two Hearts]
"What?" The fear and confusion that came from that small body now was like a burning ember in his nostrils. "NO! No, that's not right!" He held up both foreclaws in a fending gesture. "It's... it's the opposite." He pointed again. "I not like I had to hurt you for us to be flight mates."
Two Hearts quickly calmed, letting that reassurance fill his liver with warmth for a moment. It also filled his mind with a new understanding.
They had talked about this before. Forgiveness was an idea Kin understood. Featherstone had asked for it and Two Hearts had been more than willing to give it. But this was more. This was different. It was lodged in some deeper place within his flight mate and harder to get to. Why would his preytooth feel this way? And why was he upset about his foreleg?
They stared at each other, unable to find the words that would bring a clearer understanding. Two Hearts sniffed deeply of the air, searching for some missed clue. He gazed at the small, round eyes that showed misery and guilt. The two of them could speak like no other Kin and preytooth. There were no others to ask for help, for explanations. His own dam was missing and Featherstone had taken the place of his sire. Who else could he ask for wisdom?
Sire! The thought came to him, as sudden and bright-burning as lightning in a storm. It opened his eyes and burned away every bit of chill in him. He had to suppress the impulse to raise his head and send his own blue fire high into the sky in delight.
This was the action of a sire, concerned for its offspring! They were flight mates, but now he saw that Featherstone held Two Hearts closer than that. His preytooth truly saw him as his own kin and felt that irresistible need to protect and never to harm.
He had to think a moment how to explain that he'd come to this new understanding. He patted the ashes flat and drew with slow, deliberate strokes. He knew what he wanted to say, but the limits of their shared words forced him to strip the idea to its bones.
[my hurt hurt you]
"Yes! Yes, your hurts hurt me." Featherstone pointed once again to his foreleg. "I made you scarred forever!"
Those words caused a second flash of understanding. Two Hearts could now see the source of his flight mate's unhappiness. He looked down at his foreleg and saw the long, deep scar that he'd gotten there from being grounded. That's what Featherstone's foreclaws had touched, what his eyes kept seeing. Forgiveness for the past, the actions that had taken his flight from him; these things were not the problem. It was the lingering scent of consequence that pained him, like a wound that would not fully heal, staying sour and raw.
His own fears were gone now, but in their place came new confusion. Why would the signs of old hurts bother his flight mate? Did he see them as a separate thing? Did he not understand what scars meant to Kin?
He needed to explain this to him. He couldn't let his flight mate feel bad for something Two Hearts wanted. He couldn't think of any dirt signs that could carry his idea, but he would try anyway.
[hurt sign not bad - hurt sign show strong]
There was still confusion in Featherstone's eyes. "I don't..."
[want you - want hurt sign]
"What you mean 'hurt sign'? You mean scars?"
"Yes," he answered, nodding.
It wasn't enough. His preytooth still broadcast confusion. He tried a different way.
[you much not like leg] He raised the sign stick from the ashes and carefully tapped his flight mate's dead leg.
"Well, no, I don't hate it. It's just... there. There's nothing I can do about it."
[I much like leg]
"You... what?" He looked down at his dead leg, moved it a bit. The confusion smell grew stronger.
[leg show you much strong - you good strong]
"Uh..."
[all things have teeth - all things fight - all have hurt sign] 'Teeth' was a new dirt sign, one he just made up. It took a moment for Featherstone to understand it.
[much like you - much want you - much want hurt sign] He touched the preytooth's dead leg with the sign stick again. [show we strong - you I all good]
Featherstone looked at the signs made in the gray dust. He gazed up at Two Hearts. The ghost wing couldn't help it. It welled up in him and he spoke, knowing his rider couldn't understand. "You are my flight mate, Featherstone. You are my sky."
His rider grew calm. He looked down at his dead leg, held it up a moment.
"Preytooths see scars the same way. My kin say scars show strength, survival." His little lips curled in that small sign of happiness. "I never thought Kin would see them that way."
He could smell no more fear from Featherstone. [you good now]
Featherstone drew a long breath, let it go gradually. He reached up and laid a gentle foreclaw on his neck where he knew another of his deeper scars ran. He followed that line down and back up, scratched softly. He closed his eyes a moment, then slowly nodded. His eyes opened and he gave his little smile again. "Yes. I'm good now. Thank you."
Two Hearts had one more question.
[you like you hurt sign] He tapped the leg once more.
The smile went away. A small frown took its place.
"I don't..." He smelled faintly of fear again, of falseness. He looked up again, at the scar on his Kin's neck. Their eyes met, and the fear smell faded once more.
"No, I don't really like it. But it's mine. A part of who I am. It tells my story. It... shows my strength."
Immensely pleased, the ghost wing crooned happily and drew once more among the ashes. [you much strong - you good strong] He turned to Featherstone and nosed him in the chest. Small foreclaws scratched his eye ridges. [you no more feel bad for hurt sign]
Another deep breath, to push out the last of the bad feelings. He curled his lips in happiness. "If you feel good about your scars, then I don't feel bad about them."
"Yes yes yes." He nodded energetically, satisfied to hear the humor/happiness sound again. He lay down where he was and leaned his neck out to catch his rider's coverings in his teeth. Pulling slightly, his flight mate understood and sat down once more next to him. He curled tail and wing around the small body, intent on keeping the little preytooth close as he slept.
As he began to doze, one last thought sparked in his mind. If Featherstone could be as his sire, perhaps he could be as Featherstone's dam.
(c)Wirewolf 2011
"How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright
Dreamworks Animation and used without permission
A/N Well, I've finally gone and done it. I climbed into the big guy's head and drove him around for a while. Hopefully I haven't wrecked him.
You may notice a difference in some of the speech patterns for Hiccup when heard from Toothless' point of view. I figure that the Fury would have come to understand much of the Norse that was spoken by the Vikings while he was eavesdropping on them, but that doesn't mean he'd have a perfect understanding of all the words or a full grasp of how the grammar works. And of course when he speaks to Hiccup, that one hears sounds which he interprets as his own understanding of what's being spoken.
Thus when Toothless speaks his name for Hiccup, he says 'Featherstone' but Hiccup knows what the sound means and hears it as his name, 'Hiccup,' In this way they speak the same language, but not really.
There are a few more chapters to go to finish the 2nd act in this story, then it's really going to get interesting.