The dark clouds swathed, either way, black, night sky, whereas the sound of blowing wind was drowned by the racket of bolts, which, again and again, illuminated the horizon with their white, blueish hue. Truly, the storm-like weather - one would've said, nevertheless, since the absence of any downpours, the forge was opened, merely the windows were locked, so as to avoid the ice-cold, ocean breeze from outside.
Even though there weren't many people to serve, Hiccup's forehead was overflood with sweat, as, whilst the freezing temperature outside, the building's inside was outright boiling, which may have led to some fainting. Such a situation, obviously, took place once - the woman was recompensated, of course, she received an unrestricted service, yet Hiccup'd not allowed Gobber to forget, once by once sarcastically mentioning the collapsing.
It must've passed a few hours before she'd received approval from Gobber to close the establishment, by quite a late evening, and handling it, whereas locking the last door, she was stopped when being approached, suddenly. At once, she'd recognized these short, jet hair, which was messed under the influence of wind, the shady blue eyes, as usual, bored into her, and the contorted stance of their owner, her peer, her family - Snotlout.
The truth was the woman, at that point, glimpsing the shattered axe in his grasp, could've denied the entrance, although having in mind her shock by his presence itself, also the matter of how he'd looked as if at lost, she allowed him inside. Leaving the gap in the door, she moved to rearward the counter, while the man hadn't lingered far behind, followed her at a hasty pace, and once being by the wooden board, handed Hiccup the mentioned weaponry.
Immediately, she'd taken a look at it, studied the crack of the blade, also the hardly withholding handpiece, and, barely deliberating more, she left for the depths of the forge, where she handled the reparation. Throughout the entire duration of it, the woman had felt the constant stare at herself, as if the blueish ocean itself drilled into the back of her head, although ultimately, once Snotlout talked, she'd not sensed any harshness in his voice, surprisingly.
"I've seen the combat with Zippleback," he acknowledged, his arms knotted atop his chest, "Good job."
What the man referred to, was the situation from today's morning, when having been in training, standing against the two-headed, chatty dragon of green scales, namely Hideous Zippleback, Hiccup managed to defeat him, rather handily. The trick, much simply, consisted of the usage of the eel, fatal, deathly, and slippery weapon, that chased the creature away, in a matter of seconds - finally, she'd not gotten much praise, after all, she'd not killed him as reckoned.
Not taking her eyes off the axe, not glancing at him even merely, she replied, "Thanks," and silence shrouded the space, until, after a rather juncture, lengthy and awkward juncture, Snotlout interrupted it, suddenly.
"Honestly, I'm not surprised of why ye're not killin'," he began, to which Hiccup reacted by rolling her eyes, prepared for an upcoming insult, which never came, oddly. "Myself, I was against it, previously."
"Oh, really?" Hiccup snorted, and peeked at Snotlout, who had his eyebrow lifted, his mouth curved into a smirk. "'s hard to believe."
"I may have shown it poorly, by those dense comments of mine, but seriously, I had my doubts," he stated, and soon, altered the tone of his voice, deeper, "That changed, once bein' a witness myself, of what these monsters are capable of, of what they're able to deprive of," whilst his face gained on closed-up expression.
Much aware, of what the man meant, the recollection of the burning ship, with the cold, familiar corpse onboard, replaying itself in her head, she nodded, and asked, "Ye're often missin' him?" pausing her job to gaze at him, although her body not moving an inch.
"Maybe he wasn't the most outstandin' father, but he was my father. I loved him," he confessed, then glanced at the axe in the woman's grasp, ashamed. "It belonged to him, and I smashed it today, destroyed the only thin' that was left after him."
Subsequently, much unintentionally, Hiccup gazed at the cited object, her eyes studying the crack, currently poured with fresh metal, detailed handle, better attached than ever before, and initials, which she'd not noticed formerly, at the very edge - S.S. For whatsoever reason, at that point, she'd beamed, even if not very brightly but honestly, recollecting the man, whose voice taunted her the loudest, whose snicker drove her mad, whose cheerful smile, whilst he'd been with his family, she'd never forgotten.
"He'd been a remarkable man," she admitted, turned around, and walked back to the corner, where she conveyed the axe to him. "He shall rest in Valhalla, alongside the greatest."
"Right," he responded, his eyes locked on the weaponry, for another while, until remarking, "The man such as him, ya'd only try to imitate."
"As for me, ye're doin' great at that," she noted, her smile never fading. "He'd be proud of ya."
"He'd never say it out loud," he snorted, amused by the idea itself, and, out of the blue, gazed at Hiccup intensively, even provoking her to inch rearward. "Come to the arena by the evenin', someday. I'd like, ya'd join us at axe throwin', such a game of ours."
"I-," she stuttered, blinking at him, stunned. "What?"
"If ya'd spent time with us instead of avoidin' us like the plague, ya might have become likable in our eyes, ain't ya think?" he pointed out, his mouth curved into a grin, watching her gape at himself. "Well, I hope that I'll be seein' ya."
Subsequently, he'd directed himself to the entrance, his eyes constantly studying the axe with not such small relief, until when being called, "Hey, Snotlout," he stopped by the very doorway. "If bein' honest, I kind of miss the old Snotlout. He'd been happier."
At the very confession, he'd snorted, narrowed his eyes at her, as if surveying her, and stated, "Ye're the only one," before fading into the darkness of the night.
Thunderbolt - the force capable of turning cottages, buildings, and whole Towns, into mere dust, the fuel of the lethal fire and energy, bright fiends, who don't obscure their presence, outright display it with petrifing din. It's said, that, for their creation, responsible is Thor himself - they're as though the response to the Vikings' praying who suffer from the endless wars, the protection from their flying, everlasting enemies.
In a certain sense, that's accurate, after all, no dragon, for whom the lighting isn't foreign, would be bold enough to face it, not even the creature of the night, who'd been called falsely the very offspring of it - the conqueror of the sky, frightened by it when at its worst state. The one would've laughed, but then, when the notion of being shot down off the sky, in a matter of milliseconds, comes up, the one would've understood, the one would've comprehended why nobody had ever seen the winged beast at the storm.
As described, the thunder entailed much inconvenience for dragons - the crises, the injuries, the collisions, even deaths itself, however, there's one instance, in which it's benefiting, in fact - the hunting. When, on a dark night, loud tempests deafen the animals and deprive them of their common sense, that's model circumstances for such a Night Fury, drained of melee weaponry of claws and fangs, to have its chance.
In this regard, not even bound to camouflage himself behind the thicket, the Night Fury skulked whilst wandering throughout the forest, every blast of the thunderbolt making his skin crawl, although hardly influencing his general focus. Each step made aimed faultlessly, each motion smooth and deft, and at last, he'd seen his prey, just off the front, in the middle of a luminous opening, the reddish brown, potent stag of the vast, curled antlers.
The animal hadn't even noticed him, for even if being only underneath the obscureness of shadows, they'd been enough to ensure the dragon with quite an invisibility, and even if standing face to face, the deer was unaware of his presence. At that point, it'd be incorrect to even deduce the slim chances for the creature, yet Toothless moved slowly and gradually, mindful that the mistake could've cost him the stag's escape or even the stabbed antler.
Ultimately, he'd halted the steps, once stopping just by the border, which divided the light and the dark, readying himself for the eventual attack, for the seizure of the animal's neck in between his fangs, until being disoriented by thunder. Equally, the deer had been unnerved by the lighting, its head, rather rapidly, rotating toward the direction of the racket, its chest shifting, up and down unevenly, while it prepared itself for the possible getaway.
The Night Fury hadn't reacted much to that, only remained still, waiting for the stag to settle down, in the meantime, prepared himself for the possible chase, for whatever matter, staring into the black orbs of the animal, in which reflected was the dark forest itself. At last, before he'd learned that after as if hypnotized by the color, the deer loosened, eased, allowed its guard down, and for that itself, the Night Fury hadn't granted any, even mere, pity - killed, instantly.
Rarely, Toothless could be ambushed, as if he'd been unable to be, as if he'd not possessed such capacity in nature, rather always he'd slept with his one eye open, aware whenever he'd been approached, even if unconscious of actuality. Yet, today's morning, when the fog and dew hazed the greenish grass, whilst the sun enlightened the cove, when being in deep slumber upon the tough night, he'd not even detected it, once the young woman took a stance ahead of him.
Not until she'd grunted did he notice her presence, and only then, after he'd opened his eyes, he observed her hair, knotted into two, long braids, her grin, bright and cynical, her eyes, sparkling with satisfaction, and, foremostly, the metal bucket, filled with water in her grasp. Before he could anyhow react, the content was poured at him - merely did he shut his eyes and tensed his muscles, however, apart from that not moving an inch, allowed Hiccup to coat himself in liquid, entirely.
Hence, narrowing his eyes at her, much mindful of drops leaking through his scales, he'd watched how she'd beamed, further drawn the books out of her bag, and read their headings, "The shortcut of all the legends about dragons, known to humankind; the overview of Gods, who had anything to do with dragons, and the very journal of my grandfather, his personal research," whereas dropping them in front of his eyes.
"Good morning to you, too," he replied, and whilst Hiccup rolled her eyes at him, he changed, seized the book at the top, and scanned the cover, the smirk, just as the wet strands of hair, evident on his face. "What have I done to earn such an offering?"
"If ya'll ever earn anythin' by yerself, I'll let ya know," she responded, her legs crossed within seating herself down. "As for now, just read."
Afterward, having kept his eyes at her, as well as the lifted eyebrow, he'd unfurled the book, only after the lapse of a minute gazed down at the letters of it, and as she'd ordered, read the further words of further sentences. Only later, when in the middle of learning about Freya, the goddess of fire, he'd suddenly heard the gasp from the Hiccup's side, and at once curious, he glanced at her, puzzled when noticing her fearful eyes and breathless body.
Rather immediately had he looked at wherever she'd stared at, and viewed the stag's corpse, circled by the red-stained grass, having the ribcage shown, partly shattered, and skin mauled, scratched by his very own talons. Not even a word left his mouth, as the woman jumped to her feet and hurried to the deer, soon, when being just beside, kneeled with her trembling eyes studying the animal, her hand relied on the snapped antler.
It'd not been a second when he'd read her -her emotions, her pure dread, terror - then, approaching her, rather gradually, illustrated, "I'd hunted it down, tonight. If I knew it would've put you in such discomfort, I wouldn't fetch it here," and added, whilst the anxiety clouded her features, continually.
"He'd died quickly?" she queried, her voice devoid of nervousness, crammed with calmness and firmness.
"Yes, he had," he answered and crouched, just so as to level her shimmering eyes. "He'd not even felt it."
"Where?" she inquired, the frown being the only one, that betrayed her gloom, at that point.
"To the north from here," he replied, pointing the path with his chin. "At the opening, by the narrow river, if that's any help."
"Such a mindless creature," she snorted, in response, shook her head as if amused, then described, "On this isle, where not only the Vikings are, but also dragons at times, animals stay together, in the hordes, even varied, for sake of the better defense itself, have their stance at the south, in the deeps of the wood, mostly," she explained, straightened her back, at last. "That male, if ya'd really found him at the north, the nearest to the Village, must've been alone, left the flock, for whatsoever reason. If had to guess, I'd say he'd come here, 'cause of the cluelessness itself, maybe the lack of food in the south, but I doubt."
"As for someone, who gazes at the lifeless deer with dismay, you know much about tracking itself," he stated, and when she'd not even glanced at him, even so barely, asked, not masking his concern. "Are you mad, that I'd killed him?"
"No," she pressed, gazing at him, rather confidently. "If ya'd haven't killed him, he'd be killed by Vikings, wolves maybe. He'd be dead either way, so I'm even glad, ya'd done it, ya'd given him the fastest death," she clarified, decreasing her hands to her knees, where they'd knotted on each other, and where her stare stayed at. "'s just that-, 's difficult for me to watch death, no matter the circumstances."
Afterward, neither spoke - Toothless goggled at her, his eyebrows knotted, yet not with bitterness, rather with a question, whilst Hiccup, having her seat on her feet, remained static, her eyes, every so often, peeking at the man, as if checking. That while, he'd spent on surveying her - her verdant shirt, which emphasized the dark green shade of her eyes, that were obscured by the auburn bangs, and above all, her hands, squeezed on one another.
At some point, when tensed by the thought, the woman's nails clasped her one hand, stabbing them into her skin firmly if one would've asked him, and glimpsing so, unable to ignore, neither withstand the picture, the man grounded his jaw. Instantly, he grasped her wrist, outright pressuring Hiccup to loosen her hold, what she'd done, even released her palm, whilst she'd bestowed rather gape at him, which he'd dismissed, then asked, out of a sudden.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Wha-," she stuttered, her blinking eyes betraying her surprise, "What ye're mean?"
"This," he pointed out, raising her bruised, scarred hand to her eye level. "Why are you, willingly, harmin' yourself?"
She hadn't replied, or rather hadn't made it before he'd slid his fingers to her hand, again and again brushing them along the lines of her scars, provoking the tremble down her spine, all the more, when he nudged his thumb into the interior palm. Hence, a slight blush debuted on her face, and she spread her arm, straightened it in the elbow, although didn't even think of taking it away - allowed Toothless to do as he pleased, who accepted the approval gladly, gazed at her expectantly.
"Oh, well, I'm not certain myself, 'though I have speculations," she began, as if, out of the blue, reminded of the previously made question. "Ya know, Vikings if they're intimidated by anythin', 's not even death, but losin' limbs. If one had lost his ability to work, to hunt, to run and fight, 's like they'd lost their life purpose - that's how hands are for me," she elucidated, stared at his hands, holding her one. "If I'm proud of anythin', then of my ability of creation, no matter if that's a weapon, or anythin' else, but the creation of my hands. In a certain sense, hands are for me, as wings are for ya - I'd not do what I dear, without them."
"I see," he mumbled, halting his fingers from further move. "If so, then I shouldn't actually-,"
"I ain't mind yer touch, no," she interrupted and gazed at him, capturing his fingers in an instant. "'s even quite comfortin', actually."
"I'm glad, in that case," he admitted, smiling, whereas his thumb stroked the side of her hand, and, when staring at the scars, asked, "If you value them so much, why damage them?"
"I ain't see it as damagin', rather a reminder, verification that I have them, still," she clarified, glancing at him, the grin illuminating her face. "True, I do twist, tangle, puncture them often, 'though never on purpose, never to actually wound myself. That's just, when stressed, my way of calmin' myself down, of controlin' my anxiety, of feelin', at least merely, at ease."
Afterward, he fixed his eyes on hers, his frown betraying his worry as he submitted, "Isn't there any other way to attain that?" then received her smile, whereas she reduced her eyes to their entangled hands.
"Ye've got rough hands," she pointed out, not detaching by an inch, tightening her hand around his, "but warm, also."
"And you've got them awfully cold," he remarked, rubbing her hand, evoking the giggle to escape her mouth. "As if I'd hold the piece of freezing ice, literally."
The statement, somewhat, finalized the conversation, whilst Hiccup giggled more, her grin bright, and Toothless smirked, slightly chuckling, both forgotten of the corpse, having its station just off their feet. In the meantime, at some sudden point, the man gazed into the woman's eyes - joyful, smiling, dark, green eyes - intensively enough, that baffled Hiccup tilted her head in question, and only then did he recover from the thoughts.
"Right-, anyway," he grunted and released her hand whilst standing up, the woman following him, shortly. "Thank you for the books, then. I'll clean the mess up, in the meantime, you should go back home, do that stuff you always do, training and whatever you do in that forge."
Subsequently, she'd not done much, other than cross her arms, and narrow her eyes, although the smirk plastered to her face. "Ye're castin' me out?" she questioned, to which he reacted by practically replicating her stance.
"Oh, absolutely," he stated, his grin as if extended. "That's enough of the Vikings' moaning for one morning."
Consequently, the mere gasp escaped the Hiccup's mouth, whereas he'd not bothered much, strode back to where the books were leaven, and she exclaimed, "Moanin'?!" coming after him.
"You know, about how poor you are, at the risk of losing the tiny toe," he teased, the irony, how she'd hoped, painted on his face. "As if you'd been doing so much, as if you really needed it."
"As if?" she repeated, glaring his eyes at him, while he settled down on the ground. "Ye're such an ignorant, like a deer, but worse."
"Yeah, yeah," he ironized, seizing the book, in the meantime. "You'll complain after you return, by the night."
"Fine," She grumbled, rolling her eyes at him, although before bolting away, grinned mysteriously. "Just so ya know, I will have my revenge, so ya'd better sleep well."
"Okay, see you," he muttered and hid his face behind the cover, however, his eyes were fixed on her distancing figure constantly, whilst sighing, even relieved, even untensed.