A/N: The idea for the first part of this chapter actually came by way of Le'letha herself c: Also I've been watching way too much of History's "Vikings" and that's probably going to leak a lot more into my writing at times lol

Learning from the Masters
A How To Train Your Dragon Fanfic
Based off of Le'letha's "Nightfall"

The first thing Alekt becomes aware of in the half-light of morning is familiar to him. Its to the nibbling beak of his little crow companion, Arvaken, letting him know its time to start getting up by preening his hairline. He hums acknowledgment and lazily reaches a hand up to scratch behind her head, and she leans to whatever angle feels best.

She croaks a pleased sound that he can interpret as something like right there and good spot, feels good. He hums again, indulging her with a light scratch of fingertips and nail, not even bothering to open his eyes, warbling a groggy love you sound. His arm still hurt from when he fell during the first test-flight, bothering him with its ache no matter what position he chose. It was really more of an annoyance than anything, and he knew at least that it wasn't broken, but sprained was still bad enough for his tastes.

Not that there was anything to do about it except for let it heal. It wasn't as if it was the worst wound he had lived through, but it would make re-crafting the wings difficult, and trying to fly again regardless would have to wait.

At the very least, most of the repair work that would absolutely have to be done was the one wing frame, but already his mind was diligently working to think up modifications, namely two things: adding a tail for better control, and making the wings such that he could fold them in without sacrificing strength and stability. The tail would be the easier part. The wings... he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Overactive calculation aside, the morning was lazy, and he couldn't be bothered with getting up so damn early when he was so comfortably curled up amongst soft furs and wool blankets. Apparently neither could Arvaken, since the crow shuffled closer and rested her chest against his throat, contently chattering.

Of course, if he had plans for the morning and relaxing, Tt-(click)-th-uhp-ss had something entirely different in mind, of which the first warning was a sound like an onslaught of rain droplets suddenly disturbed from a branch, followed closely by a quite clearly professed "What in Thor's name?"

He silently wondered if it was even worth opening his eyes to look or who had caused the outburst and who had spoken it. He breathed out a quiet sigh through his nose and cracked an eye open when he heard several more droplets hit stone much closer to himself, it taking a moment for him to focus on colored spots that freckled the cave floor.

That may have puzzled him, if not for knowing already what they were and where they'd come from (and more specifically, who had probably gotten into them). With a quiet sigh, he peeled back part of his blankets, glancing upwards. Sure enough.

(click)-uhp and Tt-th-ss chirped at him from the air with far too much of an amused sound, before Tt-th-ss whipped fully around mid-air and sent drops flying from a painted tail fin. Alekt only flinched when a few of the drops hit his face, otherwise not reacting even as the Fury thrummed a sound of laughter deep in his throat. Arvaken was far less amused, pointedly hopping several paces away and croaking irritation, feathers fluffing.

Alekt's own lack of reaction didn't seem to deter them, flying to the far side and landing on one of the empty cages, where they were making sure Tt-th-ss thoroughly coated his tailfin again before taking off. (click)-uhp had something as well in-hand, which he flung and pelted one of the other men with who wasn't yet awake. Or at least, not before now, and they were none too happy.

"What in Hel is going on now?"

"Looks as though our scaled friends there have declared their own brand of war," Alekt hummed, wiping spots off his face with the back of his hand.

"Oh, I'll give 'em a war," someone grumbled, picking up the object (click)-uhp had thrown first (Alekt noted it looked like a clump of paint-soaked moss) and marching towards the airborne Fury and rider, hurling it. Rather than give any kind of indication that they should stop, they dipped underneath the toss and (click)-uhp yelped his own mocking sound, returning his own projectile paint.

It missed its intended target, or at least what Alekt assumed was the intended target, and hit someone else behind him, who sputtered in outrage.

Clearly, this was quickly going to go south.

It very quickly turns into a full spectacle.

The next hurled moss ball didn't go as intended, Tt-th-ss whipping around in the air and hitting it back at the same person who threw it, before both he and (click)-uhp landed on stone with the human-half of the pair throwing a moss ball from one hand and tossing the other for his dragon-half to bat at Alekt's men with a well-swung tail, both in rapid succession.

Anyone who had still been asleep wasn't for much longer.

One person sputtered and hacked, and Alekt guessed the guy must have inhaled one. There was much cursing and shouting from a few men. One man sat up and blinked in blatant confusion, wiping paint off before deciding even this was too much to bother with and rolled back over to go back to bed. A side-swung ax went flying, which both Fury and feral man darted out of the way of, and offendedly sent an entire small bucket of wet paint back that (click)-uhp hurled, along with a screech that rang clear disapproval. There wasn't a surface anywhere that the resulting splatter didn't reach (unforeseen incidents like this are exactly why Alekt keeps his drawn plans tucked somewhere safe from getting ruined). Healing dragons were roused and some pelted by return-fire of paint-soaked moss. The one Gronkle among them snarled surprised annoyance and hacked up a fireball that sent two men throwing themselves aside.

It's all pure chaos, and the Fury pair look like they're having far too much fun with it. They've both perched themselves on the tops of the empty cages, hopping between them as moss balls and other objects - among them Alekt sees a flagon, a shoe, a few rocks, at one point someone throws a shield like a disc... - are thrown in their direction.

Mostly they're missed or barely nicked. One particularly lucky throw saw an explosion of blue across (click)-uhp's entire face, which Alekt saw and heard Tt-th-ss pause and vocalize a throaty laugh at him, before raising a wing to shield himself from moss balls coming for him now, which ends up leaving a good half of one wing largely spotted with a menagerie of colors.

Alekt notices (click)-uhp gathering up a new pile of moss balls while an outstretched wing shields him and Tt-th-ss both, chattering noises all but indiscernible. Within perhaps a minute, the dragon-man has almost more moss balls gathered up than he can hold bunched in both arms, tossing them up for the Fury to hit with his tail-fin and send a whole bunch flying at once.

That, of course, happens to be just when, through the cave entrance, the Stormcutter returns.

Amused dragon laughs cut short mid-bark as a few bounce off (click)-shhh-prrr's head, leaving it - too - streaked in a few extra colors it didn't have before.

There's a moment where nothing moves, not Viking nor dragon nor man who believes himself to be a dragon. The Stormcutter is hunched but rigid, looking like a poised statue, before it finally, quickly, snaps its head over at the Fury pair, who are trying increasingly hard not to look guilty.

It doesn't fool anyone, and with yelps answering a snarl, both dive behind empty cages out of sight as the Stormcutter lunges towards them, landing where they had been mere seconds before with a loud clang and searching for where they'd gone while other startled dragons scatter aside.

Fury appears with rider on its back, slinking low to the ground, almost enough so that Alekt swears he can almost hear belly-scales scraping stone, and they bolt for the cave entrance and open sky as soon as they both run out of cover behind a cage. He sees the black shape zip outside quick as a bolt of lightning, and the Stormcutter isn't far behind, screeching and scolding at their tail.

And just like that, the momentary chaos is over. No one is complaining about that, but almost everyone is complaining about a whole lot of other things, chief among them being woken before anyone was ready for it.

Alekt himself could have done with another hour or two of rest, but there's nothing to be done for it now, as he's too awake to get back to sleep even if he wants to. Yawning, he stood with a languid stretch, mindful not to rub at his eyes so as not to end up with paint in them and looking to find water to wash it away.

He is by far one of the luckier occupants of the cave when it comes to having been pelted with paint. He can't quite say that about many of the other men, some which seem to have gotten hit by a gratuitous amount of only one or two colors somehow, while others might as well be emulating a rainbow. Idly, he can't help but wonder if that's mere coincidence or entirely deliberate. It very well might be.

He noticed that Falas, his face scored by a couple of thin scars from their very first encounter with (click)-uhp, was sporting a great deal of yellow. Rodrik bore a heavy splattering of red and grey/silver shades. Viktor and Varjuna had mostly been hit by grey, maybe some green or blue here and there. Ingdrid had splashes of red and orange across him. Nikelas and Hartvig had been hit almost entirely with dark and light blues - as splattered his own face when Tt-th-ss flew over and woke him, though his seems to have come also with some gray. Everyone else seemed to have gotten splashed in too many colors to pin any one or two down.

Perhaps he was thinking too hard about it. Perhaps he wasn't and there was some message or reason for it. The dragon-man speaks as dragons do, but in trying to speak to humans, he is very limited. Limited by language barriers, certainly, but by no means stupid.

He doesn't say much of it, and doesn't think (click)-uhp would understand if he tried to convey it anyway, but he's seen the sharpness in those eyes and something of a glassy look, not of dimness but of thoughts constantly at work, not only taking things in but thinking of things maybe not in-front of him right that moment or ideas that can't be put into a tangible form.

It's the same look he sees of divided but intense concentration when the boat-builder back home is toying with some new design to make ships that are faster or stronger or can carry more without sacrificing efficiency in anything else, or the calculating, twitching glances that Arvaken performs when she's trying to figure out a complex puzzle, seeing it from all angles and then completing it once its all been worked out in her head. He's sure its the same look he gets when he's working on his wing designs too.

The mental clockwork is always in motion, but still ever aware of where he is, among humans whose neutrality might be fleeting at best. Alekt personally has no qualms with the dragons, but by the grumbling that continues well into mid-morning, he can solidly claim that only for himself and Hartvig.

By then, he still hasn't seen hide nor scale of the Fury-pair or the Stormcutter return. He highly doubts that the larger dragon did any kind of lasting damage to them, nor did anything like eat them (though he's sure many of the men would prefer it right now), but he can't help thinking its probably better they aren't here now.

"Damn beasts... remind me again why we haven't put a sword through one of 'em yet?"

Alekt understands that part of it is merely grumpiness from the rude awakening, but he still sees it as worth addressing. "Because they're helping me to achieve what we set out to do in the first place. Unless of course you have a problem with how I do things, but that would be something to address to me first."

"And what was stoppin' us from doing it some other way before this crazy wild-man came along? Not as if anything is much different now. The plan hasn't changed none, far as I can tell."

Alekt pondered a moment as he sat down. "Before I answer that, let me ask you a question of my own," he hummed. "Purely hypothetical. Let's say that, one day, you come across a dragon, and it attacks you, probably for food or something or other. What would you do?"

"Well that's simple. I'd kill it."

"The obvious choice," Alekt acknowledged. "So let's say that this happens... a dragon appears and attacks. You kill it. The dragon no longer poses a threat. Some time later, a ship comes from the horizon. This ship is large and full of Vikings from another tribe, with no intention of peace or negotiations or truces. They come to raid, to take weapons and food and to kill your village. The choice here is as obvious as it was with the dragon: you fight and kill them."

He was met with a chorus of "Aye"s.

"However, let's imagine for a moment that you are not victorious. The raiders come, they fight, just as you do, and they win. They take your livestock, your crops, burn your homes, and kill your families. If not this enemy, these raiders, then the ones after them. There is always a more powerful tribe or country."

He was met with another slew of voices, all disagreeing, boasting their battle prowess and the strength of their village and people.

"However," Alekt began sharply, silencing the men around him. "Let's think of another scenario, much the same. A dragon attacks, you fight it, but the dragon flees before you can deliver the killing blow, or, in a moment of weakness or oversight or mercy, let it escape. The dragon gets away and flies, far over the horizon, and perhaps just within sight or just out of it, the dragon finds this same ship of raiders. Maybe it flies over them... maybe the raiders chase and trap it... maybe the dragon sinks the boat. Regardless, the ship veers away, never finds you or your village, or perhaps they sink, or are too battered by the time they reach the shore to put up a proper fight. You win to fight another day and your village survives... all because you let a dragon live."

He wasn't met with agreements, but neither did he get another chorus of disagreements, all laced with utmost conviction like before.

"It's all just hypotheticals though," someone finally shrugged. "And what's that got to do with what we're doing here anyway?"

"It's all relative," Alekt answered simply. "It can't ever quite be fathomed just what ripples the smallest of actions will cause, and how many of those ripples will become like the high waves of a storm. There's no telling exactly what the involvement of the Night Fury and dragon-man will lead to, but there is much more possibility to be gained by collaboration. More flies with honey and all that."

Someone scoffs. "And what do we have to show for it? A rude awakening, a face-full of paint, one of our own dead! And for what?"

"For progress."

To him, personally, it's simple. Without much thought at all, he can see things not only for what they are, but what they could have been for ill, and what they could be for better. The plans he had been working to draw up for the wings had required him to catch dragons and take their measurements, and that was made much easier and faster with Tt-(click)-th-uhp-ss able to communicate so fluently.

"Do you think that other tribes and other countries across the ocean who see our peoples, yours especially, as enemies merely sit idly by, cowering like hares in a warren until the raids in the next spring and the spring after that? They make preparations, construct new ways of fighting and killing. The peoples who keep innovating better than their foes are the ones who thrive, and the ones who stop die out."

"We've seemed to fair well enough," Rodrik grunts, unperturbed, and perhaps looking a touch insulted. By what, Alekt can only guess is the idea that a tool considered ludicrous can be more use in a battle than the age-old stubbornness and tenacity of Vikings. As far as Alekt sees, they need both - or rather, they would do better to have both.

"Before the raids, none in Norge knew of weapons such as crossbows that the Franks use, but I think none would argue at the usefulness and power of one. Now imagine the reverse. Vikings with wings, able to overcome any obstacle, to pass over mountains in only a day or two where others would have to march by foot for days if not weeks. Going over walls where before entire battlements might have to be built, or ladders tall enough made, or grappling hooks thrown, and the dangers of scaling up the walls before boulders or hot oil or arrows could be loosed, or the line broken to have a man fall to his death. And sure, enemies might get some as spoils of war eventually, but they will not have had the experience and teaching of dragons, who live as much in the air as on the ground, who view us as friends instead of something to eat and kill."

He can see some of the men imagining, playing with the ideas in their heads, some with blossoming realization of just how critical such an invention could be, how much easier it could make their lives and bring with it better prizes. Raids on other tribes was something old and familiar and almost effortless at times, but there were alliances being forged and prizes out beyond the sea, beyond walls around cities they had never before even imagined existing until recent decades, with weapons they had never before imagined.

"Cooperation is how your tribes and my clan came together to begin with, after hundreds of years of bloodshed and rivalry, and I think we can agree that it has been to the benefit of both groups to ally. The same can be said for doing as much with other species as well, like dragons, or crows." He pointedly scratched behind Arvaken's head and between her shoulders, though she seemed more interested in picking scraps of breakfast from his plate at the moment.

"Our enemies will not wait to counter us with newer, deadlier tactics, so we must not hesitate to take risks and create our own. Often the best weapons are the ones no one else thought of - and that will make it all the more crucial to accomplish. And, though I make no assumption it will come to pass, if the dragons come to see us as allies enough to aid us in our survival and our fights, then all the better."

A full day goes by where the Fury-pair are nowhere to be seen. Alekt wonders if that's deliberate, strategically finding somewhere to lie low until their morning disruption blows over. Probably a wise choice to give his Viking crew a wide berth. Simultaneously he wonders if humans are the only thing they're hiding from for the moment.

He doesn't think they've gone for good, especially not with the dragons they rescued from other trappers still recovering here (dragons which he's recognized as a Gronkle, Timberjack, Thunderdrum, and Snaptrapper respectively). His arm isn't completely recovered yet, lifting anything with real weight to it still makes it strain sharply, but its getting better. In a day or two he should be able to resume as normal.

Many of the days as of late had been about work and seeing things done, but there was nothing besides daily tasks of gathering fresh water and food from fish nets or traps that he could think of anyone to do, so he bade Hartvig give everyone leave to do as they pleased, so long as they did nothing to raise a hand or an axe to any of the dragons.

Himself, he went about carving another wing frame for the one that had snapped and boiling and setting it to a shape, while some slept, others practiced their blade skills or tested their strength against each other, and others ate or drank and sang boisterously, one song after another. After he had spent some time working and getting the wing frame as he wanted it, he decided he'd work on it elsewhere, working on tacking up Sangrida and muttering the lyrics of another tune the men were repeating from many other past choruses.

"Spring has come this mor'n'
'Over docks we rush and huddle'
'Eager eyes and pounding boards'
'As we prepare to sail for trouble"

"Shields flanked, sails drawn, Avast!'
'The winds be catching fast"

He went about checking all Sangrida's hooves for stones that would make her lame and that they hadn't grown too long for the same reasons. No need for a trimming yet, though soon he would have to round some sharper edges forming from being worn against stone to keep her from growing sore.

"Seas smack against the shore'
'Angry gods leave Men befuddled'
'Sparks flash from ye hammer of Thor'
'For must Mortal have done muddled"

"Hold tight, be humbled, Aghast!'
'The storm, her furies lash"

Lifting up the saddle was a little more strenuous than he'd been counting on, what with his arm still a bit sprained. He pondered for a moment going bareback instead, but he planned on doing some more work with the wings wherever he ended up stopped, and only had so many hands to hold on with. In the end, he settled on saddling, trying to keep most of the weight as he hefted it over Sangrida's shoulders on his uninjured arm.

"The ship the seas have gored'
'Weaving ropes and lines a'jumble'
'Canvas tattered 'til no more'
'On weary sea-legs some a'tumble"

"Lands sighted afar, At Last!
'Lands raided recent and past"

Sangrida of course - as the way of most horses - doesn't want her saddle synched, taking in a good, deep breath of air and holding as much of it as possible. He's been through this many times and they've built up a routine. Sangrida can be coerced a little easier than most horses, but it takes bribing. He already has the oats in hand by the time they get to this part, catching her eye and her nose. She's a clever animal, and tries to get it with no strings attached, turning for it, but Alekt has done this just as many times as she, and he indicates what he wants with a light tug of the synch on her saddle.

"For spoils of war we roar'
'Against those who call us savage'
'We leap and rush ashore'
'For silver and gold we ravage"

Sangrida huffs out a complaint, but likewise compliance, letting him tighten up the strap so that the saddle won't flip while he's in it, and she gets her reward. While she's munching away loudly enough to almost match the song's volume, he's securing his dismantled winged device to her saddlebags, and notices a flicker of black just above the entrance of the cave.

"Shields up, for glory, Attack!'
'The gods are at our backs"

A sleek midnight head and mirroring pink with auburn hair peeks down over the lip of the entrance from a cleft above, partly upside down and curious. Alekt wonders how long they've been near and watching.

"Blades drawn, blood spilt, We Laugh!'
'Victory firmly in our grasp!"

Grasping Sangrida's reigns, he led her out to the start of the ravine, glancing up and over his shoulder at the Fury and rider, whistling a sound that the two make to form questions.

"Been here?" He keeps it short and concise, motioning with his hand to the cliffs to signify here? He finds that keeping things short and to only a few simple words and leaving the rest that would normally be spoken up to interpretation is better. Too many words, often not understood, only seems to further confuse the meaning. But there is enough cleverness there to fill in the gaps that get left silent.

"Isss," (click)-uhp answers immediately, thrumming and chattering some other sounds and subtle motions that Alekt loosely interprets as having been lurking and listening and watching from outside but not for the whole time. Beyond that, it's none of his business where the two have gone, so he doesn't ask, instead swinging up into the saddle while another song starts wafting up from inside.

He can see that Tt-(click)-th-uhp-ss are curious as they slink down the rocks and peek inside, chirping in wonder at what could be the cause of such collective loudness (which has driven all but the deaf Thunderdrum out of the cave to linger on some low cliffs by the ravine), but they at least don't seem to take the noise as something dangerous or negative far as he can tell.

"Song," he explains simply. "Words and sounds that are good, that humans speak together, or sometimes alone. It makes humans happy. They feel good inside." He knows they understand good and humans. He thinks maybe they understand happy and words. He explains those in vocals and that the good happy words are a thing inside, a heartfelt thing, with a deft motion to his own chest. "Dragons must have songs too, yes?"

He sees them thinking about it, interpreting the question and glancing to each other, and answer with a unison sound and a questioning whistle. He knows it as a song as animals know it and nods. Of course dragons have their own songs. Really it was more rhetorical on his part, but he knows that dragons probably have a different idea of what constitutes a song than humans do, just as the songs of birds and of dogs are different, singing in chirps and chatters and howls.

"Song. Together-sounds. Good sounds. You understand?"

"Isss," (click)-uhp hums, experimentally rolling out the sound in his own dragonic way as "S-nnngK".

"So dragons have songs. They must also know how to race, yes?" The words are lost, but they know its a question, and he indicates the meaning of the words with bundling up Sangrida's reigns, the tension in his body silently indicating what he wants to her, and he can feel her bunch beneath him, coiled and ready to spring at the first word. The mare knows the precursor to a race - its in the blood of horses, to do it. Often he sees horses in different paddocks race back and forth flanking their fences - and she snorts and paws the stone, trembling with excitement and expectation and Challenge!

They seem to catch the hint, picking their way across the rocks and pondering it inquisitively. Tt-th-ss perks the flaps on his head Alekt thinks of as ears, chirring to his companion and receiving similar sounds in return as they contemplate what they want to do, which takes little guess-work to figure out what they will decide. It doesn't take long to decide, the two of them seeing the game in it and biting the bait.

Seeing their choice, Alekt gives the indicating nudge with his heel, briefly voicing to Sangrida the trigger word for her fastest, wildest sprint, and held on tightly as she bolted from a stand-still so fast it would have left the unprepared hanging in mid-air. The Fury-pair are not long in leaping after across the higher rocks, scrambling over them with agile ease in light bounds and long leaps.

He doesn't spend a great deal of time focusing in on them, instead arching into the curve of Sangrida's shoulders and neck as she races through the ravine at a breakneck pace. There are no outstretched wings nor rivers of air currents nor horizons far as the eye can see, but this is its own kind of flying. Mane whips back against his chest and face, air tangibly rattling from mare's nose-to-chest in a dull roar, a whuffing like bellows at the smith unleashing all their breath in one heave of many men all piling onto the handle and embers coming to life, as if she were a dragon herself.

Better even then that - he thinks (though he is sure the dragon-man might disagree) - for she is an animal that would fight spear and sword and strike fear into dragons themselves, a warhorse as excellent as they come.

He knows the Fury and rider are at their tail, but there is no fear in her as there might be with others, only exhilaration and adrenaline, the readiness of a fight if it comes to that and just as much willingness to leave them well in the wake of the dusk she kicks up, proud as she is fast and intelligent enough to know the difference in victory for its own sake.

They clear the ravine and into the woods, stone becoming soft earth under-hoof, and he catches and mirrors her glance at the dragon-pair springing down the rocks and still matching pace only one or two bounds behind. He knows her thoughts without needing a sound between them, watching the flick of her eyes and feeling the shift in her steps before she kicks out. Its a miss - she knows where they are and how far to aim, she meant to miss - but the screech of indignation is good enough reason, Alekt catching the dirty look that both send in his and Sangrida's way.

It's not without its repercussion, a whistle announcing one of those bolts Night Fury's are famed for, which whistles clear past either him or Sangrida but explodes bark shrapnel off the face of a tree just a short ways ahead, close enough still to make her falter aside and slow for a few steps. It makes up for the distance they had to back off when Sangrida kicked back at them earlier. The two make no secret of their retaliation or the deliberate miss with throaty houghs of laughter.

It's a sort of game that he and his own mount started, but two can play that game and he by no means plans on letting them be the ones to finish it. Crows may be very private about what they communicate and what goes on in their heads, but they are far from above pulling a good trick or two.

He lets Sangrida lead their path, giving her free reign and observing the space as they go, thundering through the brush and the ferns wherever seems most advantageous and safe. He spies another opportunity and bundles the reigns back for a sharp turn and leans, just enough to indicate the direction he wants. Sangrida catches his hint and they sharply come around a tree, almost so close as to be wrapped around its trunk.

The small branch that snaps back after they pass elicits an all-too-human yelp at their tail. Sangrida slows to a quick prance and glances back with humor in her eyes, thinking it a good trick and whinnying laughter while (click)-uhp rolls off his shoulder atop Tt-th-ss's rump, crawling back towards the saddle on the Fury's shoulders. Sangrida doesn't linger long, leaping at the first nudge to her ribs back on her path before they can fully regroup and launch another counter-attack, which Alekt knows is coming sooner or later.

He keeps a lookout in the corner of his eye as they run through the brush, Sangrida starting to get a bit winded, bunching in preparation when she leaps a log and continues on. It isn't long before the Fury is behind and above them, trying to fly in his blind spot to catch up. He thinks maybe that's cheating a bit, but then again they might argue that so was a drawn branch let to smack at their faces, even if the hit wasn't solid.

They drop down - he hears the thump of the Fury landing on the earth - and soon enough they're flanking him and Sangrida from several feet to one side, working double-time to take the lead ahead. When they manage it, they abruptly swipe in from the side and a large black wing snaps out in front of them, doing a great deal to block the view of where they're headed and making Sangrida slow and try to get around it.

When she veers, so do they, and only a few times do incoming trees and rocks and other things force them to break away from their attempts to impede Alekt's and Sangrida's progress before returning to it immediately. Their efforts finally bare some fruit when a log comes into the path, the two of them leaping over it. With so little time to see it, Sangrida can only skid to a halt, throwing him forward into the dirt.

Were he more of a hot-blooded person, he might have been angry. As it stands, he sees it for what it is. A good trick.

The two of them thrum amusement from the far side of the path, staying a safe enough distance that they could flee before he could reach them for another bout of revenge. If they continue on, something might turn into less than a game though, either that they'll take something as a threat or someone will get an untimely injury (he's probably lucky there was nothing to hit his head or fall on when he was thrown this time), so he decides to call it a tie for now and clicks his tongue for Sangrida to hop over the log, the mare having waited and watched for him to be out of the way of her landing before proceeding.

"That makes us even then." Words he's not entirely sure are understood, but it does appear they have the idea all on their own merit, or perhaps even consider it a victory by their triumphant expressions and a pleased purr, as he stands and dusts himself off before grasping Sangrida's reigns and walking in the lead of her. They take the initiative to go ahead of him, still preferring their berth of space, until all come to a glade of tall grasses.

Letting go of Sangrida's reigns, Alekt untied his wings and other various odds and ends to work on them from her saddle, choosing a seat on a mossy stone. Hopefully, this time, the wings he made would fare even better than the last ones, especially with some additions he had in mind.