William and Angelina's children were born in the winter.
It was hardly an ideal time, as the archipelago was at its harshest; scoured by icy winter winds, food harder to come by and rationed by necessity.
But it was hardly up to the two aspiring parents.
Nature did as it willed.
William woke to his wife's whisper and her hand, shaking his arm.
"Willo. The children…"
He had woken in an instant; William didn't bother to change from his nightclothes, only taking the time to throw his thick fur cloak over his shoulders. Then he raced through the frozen village in the predawn light, to the house of Angelina's sister. The current wise woman of the tribe, and the most experienced in these matters.
He knocked hard on the door. In his urgency, he came close to breaking it down.
William spoke the second Kara answered, mercifully quickly.
"Kara. Angel…"
Kara's eyes had gone wide as she stared at her panting chief.
Moments later, the two had returned to the croft.
Just in time.
/
When the first baby was born, he was completely still, and utterly silent.
"A boy," Kara muttered, her nose twitching as she analyzed the newborn's scent. Expression one of concern, she pressed her fingers to the child's tiny chest.
The baby's limbs moved slightly, but lethargically, remaining curled close to his minuscule body. Kara bent and put a ear to his chest.
"Is this…normal?" the chief asked in a low voice.
"No," Kara breathed.
"He's…is he -" Anglina gasped, eyes widened in panic. Her chest was still heaving, but not entirely from the strain of childbirth.
"Not stillborn," her sister answered. "But…there is something wrong. His breathing doesn't sound good."
Kara spent another few moments drying off the baby. The effort left his black and white pelt - long furred, like his mother's - ruffled and sticking up.
A gasp from Angelina then drew Kara's attention, though the wise woman's worried expression persisted.
"Keep an eye on him for a moment, William?"
Afraid at how still the baby was, William inclined his head in acknowledgement. Kara wrapped the newborn in a different, dry cloth and placed him on William's lap. The new father cradled him, and he stroked under the baby's chin with his finger.
His hand seemed like a giant's in compassion to the tiny body.
The baby didn't react at all.
'He already looks so much like Angel.'
This only resulted in William praying to every god his people believed in, imploring them to save his son.
The Viking chief looked up at the sound of puppyish yipping. Kara was now drying off a second child. This one was actively squirming, small mouth continuing to yip away.
Kara's nose twitched.
"Another boy," she said, placing the second triplet near his father, also in a dry swaddling cloth. William ruffled the fur atop his little head with a thumb, a smile flitting across his lips despite the potentially dire state of his firstborn.
The second boy sniffed at his father's hand, the yipping ceasing in favor of him licking William's fingers with his small pink tongue.
Another gasp, thirty seconds later. Crying from a set of tiny pipes, a second wriggling, black and white shape.
"A girl this time," Kara said quietly. William gazed at the third bundle, Kara passing the baby girl to him. "Now -"
"I wish to hold the oldest."
Angelina's voice was weak from the childbirth, but there was clear steel in her voice.
Both her sister and husband saw the determined glint in her eyes. William handed the firstborn baby to his mother. The deeply worried father collected up the other two children in his arms.
Poignant worry etched in the lines of her face, Angelina hugged the tiny child as close to her as possible. He remained as still as before; save for the faint, irregular rise and fall of his chest.
"Is he going to die?" she said quietly.
"There's…a chance of that," Kara answered, with reluctant honesty. "But, if you keep him warm enough, and we keep him nourished, he could pull through."
The winter wind rattled the windows of the croft, a slight, chill breeze trickling in.
Angie clutched the baby even closer and hissed at the wind, as if trying to scare it away.
/
The next week was a special kind of torture.
The oldest triplet continued to remain in his sickness induced sleep. Despite that he felt feverishly hot to the touch, the two parents were given strict instructions to keep him wrapped up in a blanket. Kara showed them a way to feed the ailing baby, despite his continued unconsciousness.
There were tiny things that were encouraging. The baby would occasionally move just a little, his eyelids sometimes twitching.
But not opening.
William almost would have preferred a dragon attack over this tense, loaded waiting. Yet the raids slowed down quite a lot during the winter. He supposed the lizards might get lazy during this time.
The younger triplets - now named Wakko and Dot - were doing well. He woke one morning, finding that they'd both opened their eyes for the first time.
The two had already been playing extensively on the bed, even without sight. Their activity picked up even more once they were able to see, Wakko and Dot now ranging into the rest of the chief's large dwelling.
It became necessary to keep a close eye on them. Unlike human children, animal-based toons became mobile very quickly.
While Wakko stayed on the ground or on the wooden furniture, the two parents quickly found Dot on top of the furniture; or trying to climb into the rafters. Being concerned about her safety, they both tried their best not to allow it. Dot also took a liking to any objects in the house that were shiny, and started trying to hide them away.
Neither parent was quite sure what animal she took after. All they could do was adjust.
It was somewhat easier to manage Wakko, save for the fact that he was full of puppylike energy. And except for the fact that many household objects and furniture legs ended up in his mouth. They were subsequently covered in teeth marks, as a result of him chewing on them.
Unable to properly expend the child's energy by keeping him inside, William started to take him outside to play when the weather was clear. There he carefully supervised Wakko as he romped around in the snow, and did his best to dig holes in the frozen ground.
The youngling didn't seem to register the cold. Still, his father made sure to take him back inside as soon as he started to become tired. He would then sit by their firepit with Wakko curled in his lap. All the better to banish the chill.
Wakko, William thought, looked almost exactly like him.
Dot's appearance fell somewhere between him and Angelina. Her facial features reminded William of his own, though they were more delicate. Her muzzle was a close match to her mother's.
Meanwhile, the oldest triplet firmly resembled Angelina.
They hadn't named him yet. Both parents were holding out hope that the baby would pull through. So they could get a sense of what he would be like, and come up with an appropriate name.
While William had to spend some of his time running the village, Angelina tended to the children; the oldest in particular. Her dedication was fierce, powerful, and it made William love her all the more.
Angelina's refusal to give up ensured he remained hopeful as well.
One night, William had just started to doze off when he heard a sound.
A tiny meow, akin to a kitten's.
"Oh!" Angelina's gasp was one of wonderment. "Willo. Look!"
William sat up, carefully; trying not to disturb Wakko and Dot's small, sleeping forms. He looked at the child in his wife's arms just in time to see his eyes starting to open.
The baby meowed again, showing off four tiny canine teeth. William's heart immediately felt lighter when he saw telltale movement within the blanket he was wrapped in.
The child's eyes opened fully, and Angelina crooned in adoration. A grateful, immensely happy smile graced William's snout.
Angelina gently took the child's hand in her own, and applied some slight pressure. The action revealed bedded claws, pale and soft. New, not yet hardened.
"Just like you," William felt movement. He looked down and saw that Wakko and Dot were now stirring. "It seems he's taken after a cat as well…"
"Mini me, hmm?" Angelina crooned.
The baby meowed some more, repeatedly. As if trying to carry out a conversation.
"Is that so?" Angelina murmured, with an amused smile.
Another meow, then an inquisitive mewl. The baby was squirming more vigorously, possibly eager to escape the blanket. His erect, floppy ears twitched at the sound of his mother's voice.
"Interesting."
More meows.
Angelina beamed and quickly pressed the baby to her chest, hugging him fiercely. William heard her purring.
A light kitten's purr came from the baby in return.
"He's already quite the talker, isn't he?" William stated fondly.
"Yes…"
The two parents shared looks.
"How about…" Angelina gazed down at the child again. He had loosened the blanket quite a lot by now, kicking his legs and stretching out his limbs and long tail. "Yakko?"
William's response was a contented nod. "Perfect."
He felt light as air, swamped with unbelievable, dizzying relief.
His precious little boy was going to live.
William leaned over and fondly tickled Yakko's tiny stomach. He mewled again, playfully swatting at his hand with his tiny claws.
"I can only imagine what it'll be like when he can actually speak," Angelina said fondly.
By now, the other two triplets were awake. Both were pawing at their mother, staring wide-eyed at the squirming baby in her arms.
"Do you want to meet your brother?" William said gently, shifting to leave more space between him and Angelina. Almost delicately, she put Yakko down on the bed. He kneaded the blankets with his small hands.
The next instant, the two younger triplets were eagerly investigating him. Wakko practically tackled Yakko, trying to lick his face at the same time. Yakko responded by trying to rub his cheek against his brother's, meowing again. Wakko responded with a tiny puppy bark, licking Yakko's nose.
His sister combed through the fur on the back of Yakko's head with her nails. Then she turned her attention to his fluffy, catlike tail, trying to grab it. Dot didn't seem deterred by the fact that Yakko's tail kept twitching away from her, just kept trying to pin it down.
Yakko planted his back feet against the straw-stuffed mattress and managed to push Wakko over. Dot attempted to jump Yakko and bowl him over in turn. All three engaged in a short play fight before laying together in a pile, nuzzling each other's faces.
Angelina laughed and lay down as well, gathering the three babies up in the crook of one arm. William did the same, facing her; the children nestled between them.
William petted Wakko's small back, the baby huffing and rolling onto his side. He ended up rubbing the baby's chubby stomach with a forefinger. Wakko's tiny tail began to wag, his soft eyes wide and adoring as he stared at his father.
"You're going to be just like me," William said affectionately.
"Willo," Angelina was gently stroking Yakko's cheek, the purring child nuzzling into her stomach. "You don't know what he will be like when he's older. Wakko might not take after you."
William fondly watched his children as they snuggled up even more firmly. "I suppose you have a point, dear..."
But privately, William couldn't help but believe that Wakko's close resemblance to him was far from a coincidence.
'It must be a sign.'
A sign that Wakko was destined to be like his father.
That he was destined for greatness.
That he would be the bane of dragons across the archipelago…
/
Fifteen years later…
Wakko grunted, startling out of his light nap when roars and the sounds of battle sounded outside. He had been slumped over a ream of parchment that he'd been drawing diagrams on, tired from spending most of the previous night working on an invention.
"Look alive, sibs!"
He blinked fuzzily at Yakko, in his usual getup; shirtless, wearing brown leather pants, the hem lined with goat fur. They were held up with a thick brown belt, with a gold buckle. A light shortsword was holstered at his hip, the sheath clipped to his belt.
The gold was a mark that he was the son of the tribe's chief, a status that he shared with his two siblings. In Wakko's case, he wore a gold band on his upper arm.
Yakko was a little taller than him, with a slender build that was somewhat feminine for a boy. By contrast, Wakko was much more stocky, with more muscle despite a pudgy stomach.
The gap in their heights was less pronounced now at fifteen years old, compared to when they were younger. But the adults in Wakko's life had often commented on how Yakko looked almost exactly like their mom. Which meant Yakko would undoubtedly always be an inch or two taller than Wakko, given he himself took after his dad.
And Angelina had been taller than William.
She had vanished at sea, when the three triplets were nearly two years old. None of the three could remember her well. The word of others was all Wakko had to go off of, when it came to what she'd been like.
"Fire brigade time, Dot," Yakko continued. His sister raced down from the upper level of their house, flowing gray skirt fluttering, a golden necklace glittering on her neck. "I bet I can put out more fires than you!"
Yakko's tone was light, though his smile was slightly strained; probably because of the very real danger that was presently outside their home. But humor had always been his way of making scary things seem less frightening.
"We'll just see about that," Dot snorted, tossing her head; and her length of braided hair along with it. "I'll make you eat those words."
"Methinks you'll be disappointed, sister sib," Yakko retorted, going to open the door of the croft. He paused ever so briefly when a boom sounded from outside, a pained shriek and a shout of rage on its heels. Orange light flared through the cracks between the door, and the roughly hewn frame.
He glanced back at Wakko, quietly watching both of them. "Wakko, be careful getting to the forge, yeah?"
"Ah-hu," Wakko slowly nodded, watching his sibling's tails - both longer than his own - whip out of sight.
The question was more courtesy than anything. He'd had plenty of practice dodging danger on his way to the forge.
He slid off the wooden stool, straightening his loose fitting, sleeveless blue shirt.
Going up to the door - still partially open - he carefully peered outside. Flinching as fire lit the sky nearby, Wakko left home and hurried towards the forge.
He skirted several knots of fighting; he passed a few things that were burning, feeling the heat of the flames graze his black and white fur. With how good his nose was, the smoke sharply stung his nostrils, even more than it would for most people.
He reached the forge, glimpsing fighting not too far away. The most prominent shapes were the spiny, horned bodies of dragons, writhing, biting, clawing. Their glowing eyes caused Wakko to shiver a little, before he ducked into the building that housed the forge.
Navigating through the cluttered building and reaching the main room, Wakko was instantly tossed a dull sword. He just barely managed to catch it, fumbling the weapon and almost dropping it onto the stone floor.
"Finally!" Barked a gruff voice. The source was an aged tiger toon, with ruffled white hair and a lined face; courtesy of years of smiling and scowling. "Took ye long enough."
"Um," Wakko said meekly, stepping up to the sharpening stone; a wheel of rock, spun by repeatedly pressing down on a pedal to make it move. He sat on a small stool and started to do just that. The stone wheel spun faster and faster, proceeding to sharpen the blade when Wakko pressed the sword against it. "Sorry."
The grumpy tiger went by the name of Guanta, and he was the village blacksmith.
"Well," Guanta grumbled, "You're here now…" He tossed a fresh axe to a panting fighter at the forge window, who caught it with far more dexterity than Wakko had displayed earlier. "Which means -"
The grizzled tiger donned a feral grin, showing off a snapped lower canine. He swept up two one-handed swords, flexing his fingers on the handles. "I can get out there, show these pups how a real warrior fights! Hold down the fort and hand out the weapons, kid. Got it?"
Wakko nodded, trying to look innocent.
Guanta narrowed his eyes and sharply glanced at him.
"Got it?" he repeated.
Knowing full well why the blacksmith was suspicious of him, Wakko nodded again, more fervently.
He had a habit of taking his inventions out into the field, and trying to test them during the dragon raids. These efforts, so far, hadn't proven very successful.
The opposite, in fact. Things tended to backfire instead, usually to disastrous results.
Not that this had stopped Wakko from trying. Especially considering he had something to prove.
But it had been a while since Wakko had conducted such a field test. Which meant Guanta's guard was most likely down.
"Good!" Guanta raised the two axes and charged outside towards the nearest fight, bellowing a war cry. "Come at me, you scaly, tiny brained…"
Roars and shouting soon overpowered his words; not that Wakko was paying much attention at this point. He had already abandoned the storefront and run into the back room. He had commandeered it a few years ago, as a personal workshop.
It was filled with piles of tools, nails, metal parts, and a large drafting table. On that lay a number of parchments, covered in diagrams and drawings.
This will be the one. Wakko found what he was looking for, pulling a sheet off the contraption. I know it.
The mechanism had begun as a ballista, a large crossbow mounted on a wheeled rack. After Wakko's modifications, it had taken on a rather different appearance. One rife with additional bowstrings, pulleys, and even more mechanisms beyond that.
He'd changed it to be able to launch bolas; farther and faster than anyone could throw them. Bolas didn't require the precision that an actual ballista bolt would require, and it should be able to reload and fire faster, too. It could ground a dragon - theoretically - and trap it, make it unable to fight. Especially as Wakko had built this device to hurl at least four bolas at a time, maximizing the user's chances of success.
Of course, he hadn't gotten a chance to truly test it yet. Wakko had finished building the device just last night.
But if it worked, Wakko might be able to - finally - convince his father that he didn't have to attend dragon training in the Kill Ring. That he could help everyone else out instead, by giving them better ways to fight.
The idea of running a sword through something's chest or neck caused him to feel mildly sick.
But, it wasn't just that.
It had never made sense to Wakko, why the dragons attacked villages for food. There had to be easier ways for them to get it, less dangerous ways.
Even when he was younger, he'd had a weird feeling about the whole situation. Like there was something more to the whole thing, something that the Vikings didn't know about.
And that made him feel weird about the idea of killing the dragons as well, on account of how their behavior only seemed more and more strange the more Wakko had thought about it.
Of course, no one else in the tribe was interested in questioning the dragon's motivations. And it wasn't as though he had a way to truly investigate the matter.
Which meant Wakko's only recourse was to prove he didn't have to be on the front lines to protect his people.
Wakko propped the side door of the forge open, grabbing the ropes he had tied to the modified ballista. He easily pulled the heavy device along behind him as he ran through the village.
He was heading for a small hill, close to the outskirts of the village. The hill, combined with the relatively clear sky, would hopefully make his target easier to see.
The Night Fury. The most feared dragon of all.
If his bola launcher could ground the offspring of lightning and death, his dad couldn't keep brushing off his requests to remain an apprentice blacksmith.
The unseen dragon tended to target the watchtowers. Wakko was hoping that in the brief moment when its fire lit the sky, he would be able to see just enough of the dragon to take the shot.
Sometimes, Wakko wished he had Yakko's ability to see in the dark. It would have made this task a lot easier.
The Night Fury hadn't shown yet, but -
Wakko's ears pricked. Just as he had reached the base of the hill, a high shrieking sound had pierced the air.
Whipping his head around, he was just in time to see a flash of blue fire exploding against one of the towers. He stood frozen for a moment, half expecting a second blast to come hurtling his way.
He let out a long, relieved breath when that didn't happen.
Wakko easily scaled the hill when he reached it, pulling the heavy contraption up the slope with ease. Once there, he dropped the ropes and quickly set about double-checking several of the moving parts.
He knew from past raids that he didn't have long, before the Night Fury struck again.
The shrieking noise sounded once more. Wakko jumped in fright and ducked behind his invention, his heartbeat speeding up. He breathed a sigh of relief for the second time that night when nothing happened.
He stood back up and properly settled himself behind his bola launcher. Wakko tentatively put a forefinger on the triggers and tested the swivel range, and how high and how low he could aim.
The range of movement proved satisfactory. Wakko stuck his tongue out in concentration and started watching the night sky. Lining his left eye up with the target reticule, and squeezing his right one shut.
Nothing, nothing…
Then -
Another watchtower, now ablaze, and in the briefly lingering blue flare -
He saw it. A dark, sleek outline, almost one with the night sky; but just a shade darker. A living shadow.
Before Wakko could second guess himself, he pulled the trigger.
He hadn't expected the resulting recoil. Wakko yelped as he was harshly thrown backward, hitting the earth with a huff. He saw the black shape plummet, tried his best to track its path as it fell, heard an angry roar…
Did I do it?
Wakko blinked rapidly, staggering to his feet and peering at the sky.
He thought he'd hit the dragon. But now he wasn't nearly as sure, after falling over and losing track of it in the darkness.
But he didn't get the chance to think about it very much. The flapping of wings sounded behind him, a heavy body thudding to earth; Wakko spun around and came face to face with a glowing dragon maw, two equally bright slitted eyes.
In the split second of calm he had, Wakko manifested a gag explosive from his hammerspace and threw it. The dragon staggered, head engulfed in a comical cloud.
But it still exhaled a gout of fire.
Instantly panicking, Wakko dove to one side as the dragonfire melted the bola launcher into a heap of molten metal.
Wakko yelped, losing his balance on the uneven ground and tumbling head over heels down the hill. He ended up sprawled at the bottom, on his stomach. He frantically tried to get back on his feet; hearing the rustle of unfolding wings, he settled for dashing off on all fours.
If he'd been less terrified, he could have further tried to hinder the dragon's pursuit with his toon powers.
But fear had overwhelmed him now; he was completely unable to focus.
And regardless, toon powers were easiest to channel when the toon in question was having fun, and they weren't in actual danger. The more inherently dangerous a situation was, the harder toon abilities were to use. He was amazed he had even managed to toss the gag explosive at the dragon.
Running for his life very much did not qualify as having fun.
Wakko just kept going, his pulse pounding in his ears, certain that the dragon was going to catch him at any moment. He ran between a couple of houses, hoping to put obstacles in the dragon's way.
Even if he could miraculously focus enough to pull off a gag, it would only hinder the dragon for a few moments. It wasn't worth the risk to stop running and try; he'd just be giving the dragon an opening to barbeque him.
Wakko ducked into a narrow alley between two crofts. The sound of falling shingles and a long, venomous hiss sounded above him.
The dragon must be on the roof -
Orange light bloomed in his peripheral vision. Wakko gasped in fright and burst back into the open, the narrow space engulfed by dragonfire a second later. The houses he'd passed weren't any better off, their roofs ablaze.
He didn't realize he'd run down the main path to the village square, until a hand had grabbed his scruff. Gently, if firmly, and it broke Wakko out of his blind panic.
"Wakko? What are you doing out here?"
He looked up at the speaker's face and met his father's eyes.
Chief William looked exactly like Wakko himself, with the same strong canine features, the same dog teeth. The same stocky build, too, but on the frame of a grown adult as opposed to a fifteen year old. His thick bearskin cloak, studded belt, and braided mustaches - the braids cinched with small gold rings - solidified the Berkian chief's larger-than-life presence.
William stiffened. Wakko stared in amazement as his father turned, and effortlessly swung a heavy sword one handed. The dragon that had been chasing him shrieked as a deep, scarlet gash was opened in its neck. Two other toons fell on it, as William turned his attention back to his son.
The blow was an excellent display of both skill and raw strength, given how tough a dragon's hide was.
And that, if anything, was where most of Wakko's problems came from.
Everyone in the tribe assumed that because he had inherited his father's physical traits, he was destined to be just as much of a dragon-killing warrior.
Just as decisive, brave, and powerful.
They hadn't expected him to be…
Softhearted. Clumsy. Sensitive.
"I was just -" Wakko stammered. "I just wanted to test my bola launcher -"
William sighed, Wakko wincing at the hint of exasperation in his father's voice. He also noticed his dad's eyes flitting in the direction of the burning houses; undoubtedly, he had connected the fires to the dragon that had been chasing Wakko.
Especially since the dragon had been a Monstrous Nightmare, and those had a nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.
And, if I hadn't left the forge…it wouldn't have been chasing me at all.
Wakko only felt more guilty when he saw one of the burning roofs cave in.
"Wakko. I understand that you want to prove yourself," this time, William spoke in a softer tone of voice. "But…"
Another burning roof crumbled, interrupting the chief.
The dragons had started to retreat at this point, finally driven off by the defenders. Many of the now unoccupied toons were swarming the area, trying to put out the new blaze.
Wakko kept fixing his gaze in the ground, because many glances were being thrown his way. They ranged from angry to the same kind of exasperated look he'd gotten from his father.
It didn't matter that no one had actually witnessed his initial confrontation with the dragon. At least some of the other Vikings had no doubt seen what had followed; the Nightmare chasing him, and setting even more of the village ablaze in the process.
"Chief?" William, brows furrowed, turned to face a panting warrior who had just run up to him. "The eastern grazing field is burning."
Oh no. The hill, the dragon must have set the grass on fire, and…
The fields the village sheep grazed on were right on the other side of those hills.
Most of the sheep had been herded into a barn, that could be defended in the event of an attack. Near the storehouses, the other frequent target of the dragons.
The field being empty of sheep meant something else had drawn the dragon to the hill.
It...must have been 'cause I was there.
"Um, sorry," Wakko stiffened; realizing too late that he'd just made his involvement known by automatically apologizing.
William sharply glanced at his son. Wakko shrunk in on himself.
The rest of the tribe's kids had gathered nearby too. Most of them either looked as exasperated as the adults, or were giggling and pointing at him. No doubt, they were garnering a mean spirited amusement from his failure.
William sighed and pinched the bridge of his snout. Wakko squirmed a little, flushing beneath his fur.
He could hear unspoken words in that sigh.
What am I to do with you?
"Wakko, these contraptions of yours cause nothing but trouble on the battlefield," William finally said, sounding both concerned and angry. "You shouldn't have left your post."
Wakko shuffled his feet, his tail dropping between his legs.
"But - I got it."
His father frowned at him.
"I shot down the Night Fury with…"
Then Wakko faltered, his earlier doubts coming back.
But did I? Or - did I just imagine that I got it?
"Maybe? I…think so?"
A round of disbelieving laughter sounded among the watching crowd of toons, coupled with some angry yells.
"Enough!"
William's bellow cut through the rising noise, everyone going quiet. Wakko glanced from side to side, hoping to spot his siblings.
He saw them, at the edge of the crowd. They both looked worried, but Yakko especially so.
"Everyone, start rebuilding what you can - get those fires put out, especially the grazing field. We can't let our sheep go hungry, our food stores are already too low for comfort. Yakko, Dot, that includes you…Guanta, stay here. I need you to take Wakko home."
The toon tiger nodded, a scowl now at home on his face. Wakko maintained eye contact with his siblings until it was no longer possible, as both reluctantly followed their father's orders.
However, their parting looks sent a clear message.
We'll be checking on you later.
William sighed and knelt in front of Wakko, the boy unwilling to meet his eyes.
"You mean well, my boy," William said softly. "But before you can do great things, you need to be properly trained in the Kill Ring. But…I know you'll be an even better dragonslayer than me, Wakko. One day."
Wakko just shrugged limply in response.
He had learned over the years that it was pointless to argue. William was as immobile as the isle of Berk itself.
He was thoroughly convinced that Wakko would grow up to be just like him. It was why Wakko had resorted to actions over words, when it came to trying to change his father's mind.
I won't be you, Dad. I don't have it in me.
"Sorry, Dad," he mumbled, glancing at the burning crofts. At the smoke from the hill, and the adjacent field.
William nuzzled the top of his head fondly. Wakko risked glancing at his face, a little scared he'd see anger.
Yet his father's expression had shifted, leaning more towards fatherly love. But there was still a tired look in his eyes, coupled with a mild disappointment. And Wakko hadn't missed it.
Then William stood back up, turning to survey the damaged village. "Back to the house, then, son."
Wakko turned and started to trudge away from the epicenter of the attack, shoulders slumped. He tried to ignore the disgruntled muttering aimed his way as he left, but with his sharp hearing it was difficult. Guanta kept exactly three feet behind him, remaining somberly quiet.
Eventually unable to take the silence, Wakko started muttering to himself.
"Why do I have to kill dragons? I don't want to! Why can't I just…once I work the kinks out of my inventions -"
"Look, kid," Guanta interjected. "Your da is the most stubborn person I know. Seconded only by your brother."
They'd reached the Warner family's large croft. Wakko went halfway up the stairs to the front door, then turned to look at the older toon as he continued talking.
To Wakko's slight relief, Guanta's scowl had faded into a look of sympathy.
"Old Will's truly believed that you'll be just like him for years. He ain't about to give up on that idea anytime soon."
Guanta quickly ruffled the top of Wakko's head, then glanced back towards the interior of the village. "For the record, I'd happily keep ya as the apprentice blacksmith - you're a talented little tyke. But it ain't up to me."
He paused, then added gruffly, "Just try an' get some rest. Might make ya feel better."
Wakko blinked rapidly; he hadn't expected to receive praise after such a disastrous night. But by the time he thought to respond, Guanta was already trotting off.
He sighed and went into the house.
/
Wakko passed the next hour or so absently drawing trees and animals, on the blank side of the parchment he had been using earlier. But this time, he was doing it on his bed.
Being the chief, William's croft was one of the larger homes in the village; which meant the three siblings and their father had their own rooms on the upper level. It was also on the outskirts of the village, and not particularly near any area that was frequently attacked.
In short, it was one of the few structures that had managed to escape being entirely burned down, and completely rebuilt as a result. The house had a sense of permanence as a result, the feeling that multiple generations had called it home.
It was a rare feeling when it came to structures in the village. The forge and the Great Hall were the only other buildings that had lasted for years on end.
"Hey, Wak."
A second later, Wakko heard his door open. He didn't hear Yakko's footsteps - he was silent as a cat, as usual - but he did feel the straw mattress indent when he sat on it.
"You okay?"
Wakko shoved the paper aside and pressed his face against his bed, facing away from his brother.
"...No," he mumbled. "Not really."
He heard light footsteps, then the mattress move again. And Dot's voice.
"Was Dad mean to you?" she asked tentatively.
"Nah," Wakko sighed. "But, he also...really wasn't happy with me."
That roughly summed up his relationship with his father, when Wakko thought about it. He didn't doubt that his dad loved him; he very much did. But at the same time, William's expectations had always placed a barrier between him and Wakko.
He felt Yakko's hand, scratching behind his ear. It helped him feel better, if only a little bit.
"Is Dad back yet?" Wakko mumbled.
"Afraid not," Yakko replied, his tone falsely bright. "Those dragons are messy house guests, he's still cleaning up their mess."
"Did you really shoot down the Night Fury?" Dot asked.
"I'm - I'm not sure," Wakko rubbed his eye. "It's - I probably imagined that I hit it. It was dark, I couldn't see anything that well…"
The more Wakko thought about it, the less sure he was that his bola launcher had hit the dragon.
"It probably just flew away," he sighed. Wakko grabbed his pillow and pulled it over his head, the scent of goosefeathers filling his nose. "One of you should have gotten Dad's muscles…" he mumbled. "I'm useless. And the local screw-up."
"Don't talk like that," Yakko said, very firmly.
"I don't know," Dot mused aloud. "He's got a point, I wouldn't have minded inheriting Dad's muscle."
Yakko sighed, hearing Wakko moan. "Dot."
"Ah…never mind," Dot unconvincingly tried to walk her statement back. "I can kick butt just fine as it is?"
"Better," Yakko said wryly, "But that apology could still use some work."
Dot sighed. "Sorry, Wakko."
"...Thanks," Wakko muttered.
The mattress moved again. Wakko heard the door open again, Dot's retreating footsteps.
"Things will look better when you wake up, bro," Yakko said softly. "Sleep tight…we'll have done good old toonish fun tomorrow. Bet that'll cheer you up."
Wakko's lips twitched into a slight smile, the amusing idea briefly breaking through his melancholy. "Yeah. I bet it will."
He heard a slight laugh and amused huff, from Yakko and Dot respectively. He heard them both wish him goodnight.
Then the room was silent once again, leaving Wakko with his tumultuous thoughts.