Every family has its ways. A rite of passage is occasionally asked of the people. This could take many forms. Sometimes, this is asked of them more than once. For the Jorgenson clan, its members were tested constantly.

"You've almost got 'em, Boy-o," the head of the family encouraged.

An eight-year-old boy was holding an ax and rolled, narrowly avoiding a boar trampling him. The animal made a turn almost as sharp as his tusks. Dodging again, the Viking was able to lodge his weapon in the boar's leg. It squealed in pain and fell to the ground. As soon as it did, the boy faced the other Viking.

"How was that, Dad?" he asked, grinning.

"Perfect! Haven't seen technique like that since I was your age."

"Spitelout! Snotlout!" a voice called to them.

Spitelout turned, sighing. "You'll distract the boy, Karina."

"Distract him from what?"

A short woman approached the pair. She gasped when she saw the bleeding animal.

"Why is he fighting boars?" she asked, horrified.

"It's only one and he's training to be strong."

"Yeah, Mom! I'm gonna be strong like Dad," Snotlout told her, puffing up proudly.

The mother's face was pale. "There's more than one," she revealed.

Tensing, Snotlout spun just in time to avoid being impaled by a tusk. He cried out when the animal stomped on his hip. Karina started to run forward, but Spitelout held out his arm.

"Let him handle this," he stated.

She glared at him and pushed past, but more boars blocked her path. Snotlout was underneath the one animal. He had to hold the ax out in front of him, using the handle to push against the boar's throat. It was the only thing keeping him from being gutted. The boar got on his hind legs and came crashing down, breaking the handle in half. Snotlout yelped, but he held the two sides of the weapon and prepared to use them to protect himself. Before he could, Karina hit the beast with a mace. It whined and ran off into the forest, being followed by the rest of the herd. Karina put up her weapon and helped her son get to his feet. Her eyes went over him fearfully, hoping he had not been injured. She gently held his face to see if his eyes looked unclear.

"Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"

Snotlout was about to tell her about his hip, but he locked eyes with his father first.

"No, I'm okay, Mom. You don't have to fuss over me."

Karina was doubtful about this, but she saw her son's tense face and did not ask again. After a moment, she sighed and grabbed the wounded boar.

"I'm going to use this one for dinner. You two, don't stay out for long. No more boars, Spitelout."

"Of course not, Dear,"

The Berkian dragged the animal off with her as she returned home. When she was gone, Snotlout sadly looked at the ax.

"I'm sorry I messed it up, Dad."

Spitelout did not say anything. He just glared at the boy.

"You never let something break your weapon," he hissed. "That's the same as being disarmed. How do you expect to be a great warrior if you can't even handle a boar?"

"I was able to stop the one at lea–"

Snotlout stumbled to the left as the side of Spitelout's fist hit his shoulder. It sent him to the ground, but he was quickly grabbed by the front of his tunic and pulled towards the elder Viking.

"The words 'at least' should never leave your mouth," the man said dangerously. "You either succeed or you don't. You do not 'at least' do anything."

Spitelout let go of him and snatched the pieces of the ax. He scowled at the items. Using the handle half, he struck the boy's back and arms. When Spitelout stopped, he threw the handle into the grass and regarded the boy in disgust. That hurt more than the strikes had. The boy's throat was sore, but he could not cry in front of his father. It would only disappoint him more.

"I-I'll make you proud next time," he said.

Spitelout turned his back on him. "You better."

As the Viking walked away, Snotlout's bottom lip quivered. He spun around in case his misfortune was great enough to make the man turn just at that moment to see him. Unhappily, he went deeper into the forest. When he found somewhere quiet, the boy sat down against a tree trunk and let his sore throat finally win. He jumped when he heard someone.

"What's wrong?"

Snotlout wiped his eyes and looked around. "Who's there?" he asked, clearing his throat to make his voice sound as menacing as possible.

Whoever this was started to laugh. "I'm not over there. Try again!"

Following the sound, Snotlout looked upwards. High in the tree he sat against, there was a redhead, dangling from his legs off a branch. The boy had a wide smile and a type of look in his eyes that Snotlout had never seen in anyone on Berk. Actually, he had never seen him on Berk either. The Viking's smile fell and he leapt down, landing on his feet.

"You didn't answer. What's wrong? You were crying."

"No, I wasn't!" Snotlout told him, turning red. "My eyes sweat. Happens to all the toughest Vikings on Berk. Don't your eyes ever sweat?"

The other boy scratched his head. "They do what yours were doing sometimes, but I've never called it sweating. Berkians are weird."

"You're weird."

"Not as weird as a sweaty eyeball."

"Well, that's not as pathetic as a teary one," Snotlout said under his breath.

"I don't think it's pathetic," the stranger said, getting into a handstand. "Everyone gets sad."

Snotlout appeared shocked, then he crossed his arms. "Well, I guess that's kinda true." He frowned, staring at the other Viking. "Why are you doing that?"

"It's fun. Things look cooler from upside down."

The boy laughed again. Its sound was so different from what the Jorgenson was used to hearing.

"So, what's your name or should I just call you Sweaty Eyes?"

"I'm Snotlout."

"Snotlout. Hmm."

"What?"

"I'm probably not going to say that often."

"Why not?" the boy asked, frowning. "You're too good to say my name?"

"No, but nicknames are fun. I'll keep the 'Snot' part, so it's not too different. I'll change the second syllable, though."

"I like my name."

"I didn't say I didn't. Just that I won't say all of it."

Snotlout squinted at him. "Well, what's your name then since mine apparently needs changing?"

The redhead grinned and flipped around so that he was standing. He gestured to himself with his thumb.

"I'm Dagur."

"I'm going to call you Dagster."

This put a frown on the boy's face. "It's Dagur."

"You're changing my name."

"Yeah."

"So, I'm changing yours."

"But I don't like nicknames."

"Then, why do I get one?" the Berkian asked, frustrated.

Dagur shrugged. "They're fun to give. Just saying someone's name is boring. It's like you don't care enough to make it interesting."

Snotlout sighed loudly. "Who even are you? You're not a Berkian. I've never seen you before."

"I'm with the Berserkers. We're here for the treaty signing."

The Berkian looked intrigued. "Oh, I've never met a Berserker. You don't look much older than me. How old are you?"

"I'm ten. What about you?"

"Eight. Why are you out here if you're supposed to be with the others? Weren't you worried about getting lost?"

Dagur shook his head. "Nope. I've always been good at finding my way around places. I left because I got bored. Everyone was just talking and talking and talking and–"

"Okay, I get it. They were talking a lot."

"Well, it didn't seem like they were saying much of anything, so I decided I'd explore. I've been stabbing and climbing trees for the past half hour. Then, I saw some boars run by." The redhead's eyes lit up. "I'm about to go get one of them. Wanna come with?"

"No," Snotlout said unhappily. "I've already had a boar-filled day."

"Are they why you were sad?"

"Not really." The boy rubbed his sore shoulder. "Sorta."

"Then, that's all the more reason why we should go get them!"

Snotlout lifted an eyebrow at the older Viking. "What? Why?"

"Because you can end your boar-filled day on a high note. Can't let those mean pigs win. Come on!"

Eagerly, Dagur grabbed Snotlout's arm and started running towards where he had seen the animals go. Snotlout considered pulling his arm free, but he was slightly fascinated by the idea and even more by the Viking. Dagur was fast, but Snotlout could keep up with him. They stopped as they approached the herd digging their snouts in the dirt. The pair hid behind a big tree, then Dagur turned and grinned.

"Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Do you want to ride on?"

"Wha–"

Dagur put a hand over the smaller boy's mouth. He had almost been too loud and caught the animals' attention. Peeking around the trunk, the Berserker saw that the boars were still unaware of their presence. He took back his hand, but he lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Have to be stealthy or they'll hear us."

Snotlout followed his lead with being quiet. "Why do you want to ride on one? We just kill boars on Berk or drive them off."

The redhead's eyes twinkled. "Same on Berserker Island. That's why I want to do this. I've never done it before, so it'll be a challenge. Are you in?"

Hesitantly, the Berkian glanced around the tree to look at the beasts. This was insane. Vikings never rode on boars. His father would probably say it was a waste of time that he could have been spending learning how to become the perfect warrior. Still, there was something intriguing about the idea of trying something so new. Maybe no one had to know. They were in the middle of the forest after all. No one would know unless they told them. If anyone found out, he could even brag about such a feat. The boy nodded his head and pointed at one.

"That's the one that almost got me with its tusks," he whispered.

Dagur followed his gesture and chuckled quietly. Excitedly, the Berserker crept closer, low crawling in the tall grass to stay out of sight. Snotlout started to follow, but Dagur shook his head, holding up a finger to tell him to wait. Unsurely, the boy did as he requested. He watched in fascination as the redhead got closer to the grazing boar, hiding behind a tree just as he was nearly within an arm's reach. Dagur pulled out several knives he had concealed on him and threw them into the ground near the hooves of several boars. It sent them scattering. In the chaos, they did not notice their one member.

The Berserker leapt from his hiding place and grabbed onto the boar's tusks. It tried to fling him to the side, but his grip was tight. Angrily, the boar tried to charge. Dagur dug his heels into the dirt and pushed against the beast. He began forcing the side of the boar's head closer to the ground. When it was practically touching, he looked over at Snotlout.

"Your turn, Snothat," he said eagerly. "Get on its back!"

Snotlout almost complained about his name, but he was too excited to give this a try. Running over, he hopped up on the boar and held its ears. As soon as he did, Dagur let go of its tusks so that it could run free. It began scurrying in circles before running around the trees. The redhead chased it down and hopped up on its back as well. He stood there with his hands on his hips, smiling proudly.

"What do you think?"

Snotlout grinned, feeling excitement bubbling up inside of him. "This is cool!"

"I know right!"

Dagur laughed and went to stand on the edge of the boar's back.

"What are you doing?" Snotlout asked.

"Making this trickier," he informed him.

The boy lifted his right leg, balancing with his arms out. It was a little difficult due to the bumps in the ride as the boar ran over tree roots and hills. Still, the Berserker did not fall. He only cackled, thrilled at what they were doing. When they came up to a tree with a low branch, Snotlout's eyes widened.

"Watch out!"

His jaw dropped over as the other boy chose to not duck. Instead, Dagur grabbed onto the branch, pulling himself up. He cupped his hands on the sides of his mouth.

"It's heading towards another low one. Try this out!"

Snotlout could see the tree he was talking about and carefully stood. It was more challenging than the older boy made it look, but he caught his balance. Setting his focus on the branch, he hopped up and pulled himself onto the tree.

"Nicely done!" Dagur complimented, clapping.

"Thanks! You too!"

The boys returned to the ground, but their excitement had not faded.

"I wonder why no one's done that," Snotlout said, grinning.

"Guess this just makes us more creative than they are."

Dagur's eyes shifted slightly from Snotlout to someone behind him. As they did, his smile faded.

"I have to go," he said.

"Aw, already?" Snotlout whined.

The redhead nodded. "I'll be back this time next year." His expression became uncertain. "Um, wanna hang out again then?"

Snotlout's face lit up. "Yeah! That would be really fun!"

His answer put a big smile on the Berserker's face as well. "Cool! I'll see you then. Bye, Snotknuckles!"

Too happy to even want to correct him, the Berkian chuckled and started heading back home. Between some boar fun and his mother's cooking, the end of his day was looking promising. As he went into the village, Dagur began exiting the forest. By then, his smile was completely gone. His head was low and shoulders were slightly forward.

"Are we going back now?" he asked.

"Obviously," a dark-haired man answered, sneering at him. His expression instantly became warmer as he noticed someone else. "It was wonderful talking with you, Stoick. We really must find some time to catch up during other days of the year."

"I agree, Oswald. Maybe that's something we can work towards."

With a parting handshake, Oswald began leading the Berserkers back onto their ship. On the ramp, he grabbed Dagur's wrist tightly. The boy subtly tried to pull free, but the hold only became stronger.

"Chief," one of the Berserkers said, voice tense even if it was hardly noticeable.

"Yes, Herald?" Oswald asked, turning to him.

The Viking hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "We found some unfamiliar maps. Would you like to lead us through the new areas?"

Oswald considered this before shaking his head. "Another time. For today, set a course for Berserker Island."

Herald opened his mouth to say something more, but he could think of nothing else. Oswald started going to the lower compartment, half-dragging Dagur with him. Once there, he quietly closed the door and shut his eyes. His eyebrows started to pinch together and he reopened his eyes to glare at the boy.

"Stop fighting against me," he hissed, annoyed that the redhead was still tugging to get free. "What were you doing out there in the forest?"

Reluctantly, Dagur stopped pulling. "I was riding a boar with one of the Berkians."

Oswald blinked at him, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You were riding boars. Of course, you were. Of course you were," he repeated, each word sounding venomous.

The chief's nails dug into the boy's arms. Dagur was yanked forward as Oswald hit him in the head. The second blow made his vision a little blurry and he roughly pushed the man away from him. He moved back as Oswald moved forward.

"Why are you angry?" he questioned, confused. "We were just having fun. I wasn't hurting anyone! I thought you wanted me to stay out of trouble."

The boy winced as his throat was grabbed. Looking into the enraged eyes of his father, blood drained from his face.

"You're going to stop making me look like a madman by association," Oswald told him.

"H-how do I do that?"

Grunting in annoyance, the chief threw Dagur to the ground. The boy sucked in a breath and quickly got to his feet to prepare for a follow-up attack. Oswald glared at him.

"The fact that you don't even know proves your problem's innate." He pointed to the door. "Get out."

Dagur sadly looked at the exit, then the chief. "I could change if you tell m–"

"Get out!"

Oswald furiously reached for the boy, making him take off. Dagur ran past him and only stopped when he was on the edge of the ship. He hated how quickly his heart was beating. With shaking hands, the boy stabbed the side of the vessel. Dagur scowled out at the water, but as he did, a smile started to appear. Out on the sea, there was an island where he could have fun with another Viking. There was the promise of it happening again. The boy was not patient, but he was willing to wait for the chance to be around someone who could enjoy his company. He could do that much. It was just one year away.