William entered the house and closed the door with a weary groan.
The damage from the raid had been extensive, the resulting fires difficult to tame. Putting out an entire field, especially, had been a feat in itself.
He'd spent grueling hours hauling buckets of water, bags of sand, and more; the work had been hard on him, even with his great strength. Particularly as he had just come out of battle, which had already been starting to make his limbs feel like lead.
William was at least thankful he hadn't suffered any injuries aside from a few burns. And toons healed quickly, more so than humans. Another attack notwithstanding, the burns should be gone in a couple of days.
I'd probably heal faster if I slept more…
Except William didn't have much time to sleep.
He'd used to be able to split his chiefly duties - and raising his three children - with Angelina.
Yet it had been years since she had been lost at sea. His to-do list never seemed to get any shorter. He almost never completed every task before the end of the day, and William could barely remember what it had been like to get a decent amount of sleep. Not after spending so long operating on the bare minimum.
As a result, he was constantly weighed down by a lingering weariness, that almost seemed to run down into his bones
The chief slowly made his way up the stairs, to the upper levels of the croft.
He briefly checked in on his sons and daughter. To his relief, they all appeared asleep; from what William could glimpse, at any rate. He didn't linger long, not wanting to disturb their rest.
The only door William truly paused at was Yakko's.
The firstborn triplet was curled in bed, flanks rising and falling, his expression utterly peaceful.
Yakko had only looked more and more like Angelina as he had gotten older. In almost every way, he resembled her perfectly.
William loved all three of his children; he would sooner die himself than let them perish.
Logically, he knew that if they learned to fight, an early death was less likely. And that as much as he didn't want to put his children in danger, the world was dangerous. The dragons were dangerous, and the tribe's safety relied on training new blood to fight.
Yet, when it came to Yakko specifically…
Grip tightening on the handle of the door, William slowly closed it. Before he went into his own room, pausing to stare at the large bed.
Meant for two.
But without his other half, it now always felt too big.
Sloughing off his bearskin cloak, William hung it on the wall before changing into nightclothes; retrieved from a chest at the end of the bed.
He glanced at the neighboring one, housing Angelina's old garments. The contents untouched for years, but too precious to give away.
Even if he couldn't bear to open it.
William slowly got into the bed, ran a hand over the empty spot beside him. He pulled a necklace from under the nightshirt; a sturdy length of thick thread decorated with the carved wooden shapes of animals, and the sigil of Berk.
William laid back, running his fingers over the carved shapes.
Angelina had made it for him. William had taken to constantly wearing it ever since her death, though he often hid it beneath his clothes.
Both to protect the necklace. And because it was somewhat painful to look at.
One more day. Then dragon training would be in session, in the Kill Ring. And his children were now old enough to be learn to fight their ancestral enemy.
Except…
William's fingers tightened around the necklace.
If he lost Yakko, it would feel as though he had lost Angelina a second time.
While the idea of Wakko and Dot being in battle still frightened him to his core, it wasn't as hard to stomach the concept in their case. Reason could overcome his heart.
And when it came to Wakko, William was utterly confident that he'd rise to the occasion. He still fully believed the boy's resemblance to him was a good omen, that Wakko was destined to be a legendary dragonslayer.
Yakko was another matter entirely.
William did know that Yakko was talented with a blade.
Logically, he knew that Yakko had potential as a warrior.
Potential that he was sure Wakko had too, if he would simply reach for it.
Blowing a long breath, William closed his exhausted eyes. He allowed his hand to drop onto his chest, over the necklace.
He couldn't do it.
William couldn't allow Yakko to fight dragons, and possibly die on the battlefield.
He had almost lost Yakko as a newborn.
He couldn't risk losing him again.
/
Wakko usually slept like a rock.
That night, he didn't sleep very well. He couldn't stop thinking about whether he'd actually shot the Night Fury down or not.
At the very least, Wakko's spirits were slightly lifted the next day; on account of partaking in toon antics with his siblings. The trio's fun involved summoning a variety of temporary gag objects, used accordingly to humorous results. And of course, popping out of unexpected places and making exaggerated faces. The other teenage toons responded in kind. Though few could match the Warner's teamwork.
These tranquil times between raids were an excellent chance to have fun with their powers, and entertain themselves.
After all, levity was exactly what toon abilities were for.
Yet, Wakko still couldn't stop thinking about the Night Fury.
The dragon haunted Wakko's thoughts the entire day. He couldn't stop pondering the 'what if's.'
What if I did hit it?
What if there's a downed Night Fury out in the wood s?
And then Wakko started to think about the possibility of a still-living dragon.
A dragon that could be hurt, badly enough that it was either dying, or dead. Or, if his launcher had worked as intended, it would be entangled in rope. Unable to move, let alone fly.
Let alone hunt for food.
And then Wakko started to think about how terrible of a fate that would be, starving to death.
It was an especially horrible idea to him, as Wakko personally felt that starvation would be the worst way to go. He didn't just eat a lot because he started to feel dizzy and tired otherwise, but because he genuinely loved food.
Wakko knew he shouldn't be worrying about the Night Fury. He shouldn't be sympathizing with his tribe's ancient enemy.
Nonetheless, Wakko couldn't help it. The idea that he might be responsible for the slow death of another living creature was starting to make him feel…bad.
Even guilty.
By the end of that day, Wakko decided he had to find that dragon; had to discover what had happened to it. Before the uncertainty of it all drove him crazy.
"Another drawing, son?"
Wakko looked up, responding to William's somewhat awkward question.
He knew his dad didn't really understand the allure of drawing. Or any of his interests. Which meant that when William tried to engage with them, the attempts always came across as stilted and awkward.
Him, his siblings and his dad were all sitting together, around their firepit in the croft's living room. The fire there had started to dim. No one had bothered stoking it again; given dinner was over, and the family was due to go to bed soon.
Wakko had been drawing in his parchment notebook, while his siblings and dad had been talking.
"Um, kinda."
He was actually trying to make a map, doing his best to recall what he thought he'd seen.
It had looked like the black shape of the dragon had plummeted towards Raven's Point. Or at least, somewhere close to it. He had been attempting to mark the most likely crash sites.
Wakko quietly closed the notebook, suddenly feeling self conscious.
"Hmm." William warmly patted his shoulder, then removed his hand with a tired smile. "And what were you 'kinda' drawing?"
"Stuff," Wakko muttered, hastily finding something to say. "Like…trees."
He was a bad liar, and always had been. But Wakko could sound at least a little convincing if his lie had some degree of truth to it.
And in this case, he had been drawing stick figure trees on his makeshift map. So in a way, he wasn't lying.
"Aw," Dot leaned across the family's fire pit, pouting. "You weren't drawing us? Your lovely family?"
"For shame," Yakko fondly nuzzled Wakko's cheek. "We aren't special enough for you?"
Wakko chuckled. "Nah, it's not that at all. You guys are super special."
"Yes," William had moved behind his three children, hugging all of them all at once. "You three are very special indeed."
Their father pulled back, pensively studying them.
"I have an announcement," William said softly.
Wakko tensed slightly. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.
"Tomorrow, dragon training starts for -"
"Yes!" Dot had sprung to her feet.
"Yes, yes!"
Yakko echoed her, jumping upright as well; just as excited, his eyes as bright and eager as his sister's. The two ran in an excited circle around the fire, brimming with obvious excitement. Yakko grabbed Dot's hand and swung her around, causing her to giggle.
Wakko just sat there, feeling mildly sick. He felt as though the room was spinning, even though it surely wasn't.
He was already plagued by guilt in regard to the Night Fury, and Wakko didn't even know if he had actually hurt it.
Which meant he'd probably feel even worse, when it came to wielding a blade against a dragon. When he could actually see the consequences of his actions.
"Those lizards won't know what hit them!" Yakko clapped his hands, still grinning. "The Warners Three are about to make their mark -"
"Yakko. You aren't going to be part of this."
William's statement cut through Yakko and Dot's excitement like a knife. Dot and Wakko both looked at their father, stunned.
Meanwhile, Yakko had gone stiff, his expression shocked.
The shocked look didn't last very long, swiftly overtaken by a mix of anger and hurt.
"What? But, Dad -"
"It's not up for argument, Yakko," William responded sternly, standing up and crossing his arms. "You're…best suited for diplomacy. There's no need for you to fight dragons, when we have your brother."
Yakko was quiet for a long moment, his eyes gradually narrowing.
"You still think I'm too weak to fight," Yakko's voice was quiet at first, only to gradually build in volume. "I've spent years trying to prove that I don't need to be protected all the time! You know I'm good with a sword, even if I'm not -"
"This isn't about how strong you are, Yakko," William barked. "It's…"
The chief faltered, then steeled himself. Wakko and Dot couldn't help but stare, held captive by the sudden tension between their father and brother.
"You're too important to send into battle," William finally said, rather gruffly. "You're lucky I even let you be part of the fire brigade."
Yakko's fur had started to spike along his spine. "I'm not an only child," he spat. In an instant, he had darted across the room, to the stairs. "If it's the family bloodline you're worried about."
William sighed. Expression frustrated, a little sad, and slightly angry; mirroring his son. "It isn't that either, Yakko -"
"Then, what is it?" Yakko hadn't lowered his voice, his tail actively thrashing. "Why do you have zero faith in me?"
William visibly hesitated. Yakko scowled angrily, then ran up the stairs. A moment later, a door slammed. William groaned slightly, rubbing his temple.
The gesture reminded Wakko of his brother.
Because Yakko did it too, when something was stressing him out or vexing him.
In fact, personality wise, Yakko and William were incredibly similar. Extremely stubborn, often prioritizing the wellbeing of their loved ones above themselves, sometimes to a fault. Both of them were bad at talking about their feelings. And both were good at pretending they were fine…
Usually, at least.
Wakko did sometimes wonder if that was why - even before now - his father and brother had often butted heads on occasion.
They were possibly too alike.
"We should all take to our beds," William sighed. He slowly stood up, and it occurred to Wakko that his father suddenly looked ten years older than he actually was; the dimness created by the dying fire caused the lines in his face to stand out, even under his white facial fur. "Perhaps by tomorrow, cooler heads will prevail."
He slowly walked up the stairs to the croft's upper levels.
After a moment, the two younger siblings also got up and followed.
Wakko ended up getting out of bed after only a few minutes.
He was worried about Yakko, to the point where he couldn't sleep. So he went to his room and gingerly cracked open the door.
The room had a few furs draped across the exterior wall, probably to combat drafts. Wakko hadn't done that, but mostly because he seemed to have a higher body temperature than his brother. A small table bore a flickering candle, and a couple of sharpening stones. The light shortsword Yakko usually carried on his belt was now hung from a hook, driven into the nearby wall. A small set of shelves bore a number of scrolls and a few books; attained with glee by Yakko, whenever traders who carried such items visited Berk.
Wakko saw Yakko stretched out on the wooden floor, scouring the wood with his sharp claws. The particular plank he was clawing at already bore a number of older marks, evidence of Yakko venting his frustrations in the past.
"Yakko?"
Yakko grunted, pulling his claws from the wood and folding his arms under his chin. He wasn't meeting Wakko's eyes.
After hovering for a bit, Wakko went into the room. He sat like a dog and nosed his brother's cheek, then laid down and rested his head across his shoulders.
It was a simple form of comfort. A result of the Warner's animal instincts, and because verbally comforting people had never exactly been Wakko's thing. He relied more on physical contact, on being a grounding force for his siblings.
The other thing was, Wakko didn't exactly know what to say anyhow.
"It's not fair."
As it turned out, Yakko had started doing the talking for him.
"I don't need to be protected." Yakko's tail lashed a few times, sweeping the floor. "Why can't he see that? Is it just because I'm not…"
Yakko trailed off. But Wakko could guess what he'd been about to say.
…not as strong as him.
"You'll show Dad he doesn't need to worry about you," Wakko muttered. It was the only response he could think of. "One day…"
Yakko sighed, then started to sit up. Wakko withdrew, heart sinking at his brother's crestfallen expression.
"I just want to prove I'm more than the runt…" he said, very quietly; it almost sounded as though Yakko was talking to himself.
Wakko winced, feeling that Yakko was being overly self deprecating. He wasn't much shorter than most of his peers, after all.
Just…a lot more skinny...
Not that Wakko was going to actually say that. It was the last thing Yakko needed right now, and he knew it.
"I'm sorry," Wakko blurted; even as Yakko slowly stood up and pulled a loose robe on, before slipping off his pants and belt.
I never wanted Dad to focus so much on me.
"It's not your fault," Yakko's statement was flat and emotionless, utterly factual. He lay down on his bed and curled up on his side.
Wakko waited a few moments. When Yakko didn't speak again, he sighed, standing up and leaving the room.
Clearly, Yakko was done talking.
The short conversation hadn't made Wakko feel any better. He still felt mildly guilty that their father had so much faith - misplaced faith - in him being a future dragonslayer. And seemingly so little in Yakko.
In his own room, Wakko lit a candle of his own and sat on the bed. He proceeded to go back to drawing a map of dragon crash sites in his notebook.
/
Wakko was weirdly reluctant to let his siblings in on his search for the dragon.
Despite Yakko saying otherwise, Wakko couldn't help but think he must be angry. Not just at their father, but at him.
As Wakko was getting to participate in dragonslayer training, when he didn't even want to be there. And Yakko was probably jealous, too, since he had been eager to prove himself in the Kill Ring upon coming of age.
He also knew that while Dot hadn't been forced to the sidelines, she wasn't happy that their father was continuing to focus so much on Wakko. Her dissatisfaction had been obvious to him; he'd always been good at reading the emotions of others.
Wakko fitfully napped for a few hours, but refused to allow himself to fall asleep.
At the crack of dawn - when there was just enough light for him to see - Wakko very carefully snuck out of the croft.
He had to be extremely careful when going down the creaky stairs, and making his way to the back door. Wakko wasn't naturally gifted at stealth like Yakko, who didn't even have to try for his footsteps to be completely silent.
Nonetheless, he made it out of the family home without being noticed. Then, as fast he could, he ran towards Raven's Point.
He started out running on all fours. Wakko was a little faster that way, though Yakko and Dot were both still a lot faster than him.
It was still fairly early when he reached the outskirts of Raven's Point.
When he got there, Wakko stood up again and pulled his parchment notebook from his hammerspace.
He spent what felt like at least half an hour wandering around in the forest, scratching out each crash site that turned out to be empty of any dragons.
With a huge sigh, Wakko roughly crossed out the entire map via a frustrated scrawl, after fruitlessly searching yet another spot. He growled and kicked at the ground, starting to doubt himself all over again.
It was stupid of me to think I could search so much land for a single dra -
Then Wakko paused, sniffing the air.
He'd caught a trace of something…a scent that stuck out in the forests of Berk.
It was a reptilian musk, combined with a faint tinge of ash. And he had smelled it before; during each raid on the village.
Dragon.
Wakko tucked his notebook back in hammerspace, then went down on all fours again and started sniffing. He found his nose right up against a flat, black thing. Like a leaf, almost, but it didn't look quite right.
He picked the thing up and looked closer.
It wasn't a leaf. It was too hard, thick, and solid…
It's a scale.
His heart starting to beat faster, Wakko absentmindedly stowed the scale away as well. He went back to sniffing, back on four legs, practically mimicking a tracking dog.
Before too long, Wakko encountered a long trough in the ground; littered with a few more black scales. Returning to a bipedal stance, he saw that the rut in the dirt was fresh. And far too straight to be natural, while the reptile and ash scent was even stronger.
Clenching his fists, Wakko began to follow it; running along the plowed trail made by the dragon's fall, reasoning it would be clear of noisy things like sticks and plants.
He slowed down when the trail ended at a clearing, ringed with a number of large boulders.
Wakko tiptoed towards the nearest rock, hunching over, trying to be small. The scent of the dragon was especially strong now.
He was pretty sure the dragon was in the clearing.
Wakko scuttled to the largest possible rock, pressing his back up against it. He edged to the left, very carefully peering around the side of the boulder -
His eyes widened upon glimpsing a black shape, stark against the brown dirt and green plants. Terror shooting through his veins, Wakko only looked for a second before hurriedly drawing his head back.
He pressed the tips of his fingers against the rock, trying to control his fear and his racing heartbeat. He had to look again, if he wanted to put his doubts to rest.
Slowly, Wakko peeked once again around the side of the boulder, looking harder this time.
It was a dragon. A dragon with pitch black scales, the black cut through by ropes; pale against the dark hide.
Wakko couldn't quite see the bolas, but he knew that was what the ropes were attached to…
Because he had done this.
A bitter taste cropped up on his tongue. Wakko sucked in a deep breath, then forced his legs to move.
But not before picking up a nearby stick of decent length.
The dragon seemed deathly still. But, Wakko wanted to make absolutely sure.
If the dragon was dead; that was that. He could simply leave this clearing. He'd never have to think about this again.
He inched closer. His throat was tight from fear; Wakko took shallow, desperate breaths through his nose instead.
The closer he got, the more obvious it became that the dragon was thoroughly trapped. It's limbs were pinned in positions that made escape impossible, and couldn't have felt good. Both wings looked unnaturally crumpled, ropes digging into membranes that looked thinner than Wakko had imagined. The scales were covered in a thin layer of dust and dirt, and Wakko thought he could smell the faintest trace of dried blood.
Distantly, Wakko noted that in the daylight, he could tell that parts of the dragon - it's face and chest, mostly - were more a very dark gray than a deep black.
He still saw no movement from it.
Wakko gulped and gingerly poked the dragon with the stick.
There was a long, chilling hiss. The dragon's flank heaved. Wakko jumped back when an orange eye flashed open, almost tripping over his own feet.
He realized that the dragon had been breathing all along, but it must have either been breathing extremely lightly or holding its breath…
Feigning death.
Wakko wasn't sure how he'd made that connection. In the end, it probably didn't matter very much.
The orange eye simply stared at him. Wakko, frozen by terror, stared back.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl, moments becoming hours instead.
Wakko thought he saw fear in the depths of the dragon's orange eye.
Intelligence, even.
Once more, Wakko thought about the motivations of the dragons, and how they just didn't make sense. How he'd always wondered if there was something more going on.
And…
How would I feel? If I were the one laying there?
Trapped, possibly hurt, waiting for death…
Afraid.
He'd be afraid.
Furthermore, the dragon looked smaller, smoother, less spiky than he had envisioned. It had a streamlined body and a flat, spadelike head with two large pointed ears, and only a few tiny horns. The crumpled wings looked huge in comparison to the rest of it, even folded up.
A far cry from what Vikings speculated it to look like, when talking about the mysterious Night Fury around the fires on stormy nights.
Those tales often described a beast out of the darkest of nightmares. Yet that wasn't what Wakko saw before him now.
The Night Fury's eyelids twitched minutely. Wakko gulped, then withdrew a small dagger from his hammerspace.
Usually, he used it to cut rope and leather for his inventions. He'd never once used it in something that was alive.
But, it seemed cruel to just leave this dragon here and let it slowly perish.
"I…" Wakko didn't know why he'd started talking to himself. "I can't just let you starve but - at least if I kill you, it'll be fast -"
The orange eye continued to stare at him. Wakko gripped the dagger's handle, hard enough his knuckles had no doubt gone white under his fur.
He couldn't stop imagining himself in the Night Fury's position now.
He raised the dagger. A defeated rumble came from the dragon. The orange eye started to close.
I…could let him go instead.
Yet if he let the Night Fury go; for all Wakko knew, the dragon could decide to either run, or attack. And he had no way of knowing which outcome was the most likely. Whether freeing the dragon would result in his death or not.
But -
Wakko dropped his shaking hand, then paced in a small circle, whining like a distressed dog. His free hand pulled at the hem of his blue shirt.
He couldn't. He couldn't leave the dragon to die.
But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to kill the Night Fury.
Wakko licked his lips several times, in a doglike display of nerves. His eyes went to the ropes entangling the dragon.
He almost felt detached from reality as he stepped closer…
And slowly started to saw through the first rope.
One gone.
Wakko cut another.
A third. A fourth.
He ended up entirely focusing on the ropes themselves; in an effort to block out the tiny voice reminding him that this could be a very, very bad idea.
Which meant he didn't notice the Night Fury's eyes shoot open again, or how the dragon's body subtly tensed up.
In an instant, Wakko found a heavy paw slamming into him, unyielding rock colliding with his back; his breath escaped him in a terrified wheeze.
He bared his teeth in an instinctive intimidation ploy, but Wakko knew that his wide eyes gave his fear away. As did the pitiful whine that escaped his throat.
He couldn't seem to feel his own limbs, let alone move. Wakko stared into the Night Fury's blazing orange eyes; numbly accepting that he'd gambled with his life, and it hadn't paid off. It hadn't paid off at all, and now he was going to -
The dragon reared back, blue light flickering in it's mouth.
Wakko closed his eyes.
Then, the paw was suddenly gone. A roar sounded, hot breath buffeting Wakko's face.
The roar almost sounded…
Confused?
Wakko's eyes opened in time to dazedly observe the dragon, clumsily flapping off into the misty space between the trees.
Something about the way the dragon was flying seemed strange. But Wakko didn't know what.
Not that he was thinking very hard about the dragon's flight. He was too busy trying to process that he wasn't dead, and was somehow still alive.
After sitting against the boulder for a whole minute - hand pressed over his thundering heart - Wakko stumbled upright.
Then he dazedly started walking, which turned into frantically running.
His flight powered by terror; invoked by the thought that the Night Fury would return and end him, if he stayed in the clearing any longer. Or that he had died after all, and he was actually a ghost.
He was debased of this notion by running face-first into the back door of his house, and feeling pain as a result.
"Oof!" Wakko grunted and reeled back, holding his aching nose. Half his face wasn't much better off.
Okay…a ghost wouldn't have felt that, right?
Which meant -
That the Night Fury really had spared his life. A thought that instantly made Wakko's thoughts grind to a halt.
The idea that dragons could be capable of mercy was so at odds with the Viking worldview, Wakko almost couldn't comprehend it.
"Wakko?"
His father's voice, calling from within the large croft, caused Wakko to jump.
"Wakko, where - ah. There you are."
Startled, Wakko looked up and discovered his father standing in the doorway. He must have been so distracted that he hadn't noticed him open it.
William was back in his green hued shirt, darker trousers, and studded belt and bracers. He had donned his bear fur cloak again.
He was also frowning a little. "You usually aren't awake this early."
"I couldn't sleep," Wakko blurted, gripping the hem of his shirt; trying to ground himself by rubbing the rough fabric with his thumbs.
William canted his head and nodded, wearily rubbing his brow.
"Yes. Today is bound to be very exciting for you. Dragon training, after all."
The chief turned, gesturing for Wakko to follow as he backtracked through the croft living room, towards the front door. "In the meantime - I will leaving Berk for a time, to attend the yearly chieftain meeting on the Isle of Neutrality, and discuss the matter of the dragons. Yakko is going to be coming with me…"
"Um," Wakko stammered, tailing William through the croft's living room. Rather clumsily, as his feet seemed to have turned into unresponsive lead weights. "Actually, Dad - I…I can't -"
"I expect that by the time I get back, you'll have overcome your first time jitters," William had kept talking, obviously getting excited. "I can't wait to see you kill your first dragon…".
This was yet another thing William and Yakko had in common; both were prone to getting carried away when they got excited, and subsequently would start monologuing.
And talking over others, which was exactly the scenario Wakko now found himself in.
"I'm sure you'll be top of the -"
"Dad!" Wakko finally raised his voice out of frustration. "I can't kill dragons!"
William blinked and paused, turning to face him just as the two reached the front door.
"But of course you will," William asserted, with the stubborn attitude that Wakko was unfortunately used to. "It's in your blood!"
"No," Wakko groaned, "Dad, can't I just keep working in the -"
William huffed and opened the front door. "You're the son of a chief, Wakko. You're destined to be a hero, not a blacksmith."
"But, I don't want -"
William had opened the door and left the house. Dot was standing in front of the croft, Yakko sitting on the front step.
"You aren't listening…"
"Yakko, it's time to ship out," William announced.
Wakko sighed heavily and rubbed his itching eyes; sleeping badly two nights in a row had taken its toll on him.
Yakko, his expression surly, slowly stood up as his father walked down the front steps. William knelt and gently hugged Dot, stroking her ears.
"We'll be back soon enough, princess," William said softly. "You and your brother head to the arena now, all right?"
Dot smiled back and pressed her forehead to his nose. "Got it, Dad."
William smiled back and stood up, beginning to walk down the hill.
Grumbling petulantly under his breath, Yakko got
up and - very slowly - began to follow William down the hill, towards the main thoroughfare of the village.
"Yakko," Wakko called, past cupped hands. "We'll miss you!"
His brother paused and looked back. He flashed a wide grin and waved, then sighed when William called his name again; this time, more insistently.
"Okay, okay. Coming, old man," Yakko shouted, stomping off after the chief. Wakko winced when he saw William and Yakko exchange some sharp words.
While Yakko had no problem being snarky, it was very rare for him to be rude or belligerent to his dad.
But then again, after what had happened last night, Wakko supposed it made sense that Yakko wasn't very happy with William.
"Alright, then," Dot had spun around and jabbed a finger into Wakko's chest; the sudden contact snapped him back to the present. "Here's the deal. You, clearly, don't want to be in dragon training - so the spotlight's going to be mine. I'm going to get the chance to show Dad what I can do. Got it?"
Wakko nodded, raising his hands and meeting her narrowed eyes.
"No problem," he said, happy to agree.
"You won't get in my way?" Dot put her hands on her hips.
"Nope," Wakko said fervently.
Dot studied him for another moment, then nodded.
"You'd better not."
She spun on her heel and then sprinted off through the village, thin tail streaming after her.
Wakko tailed her, but much more slowly.
He briefly considered going n the opposite direction. He could hide on the back room of the forge; Wakko doubted Guanta would mind.
But, however much Wakko didn't want to do it; if he didn't attend dragon training, his dad would be mad at him.
Wakko didn't want that.
Dread had settled in his gut like a stone.