Paradigm Shift

Chapter 10: Fire in the Night

Hiccup had lasted one night in that rickety, fallen-apart shed. After he had woken up, shivering from head to tail fin – along with sore wings that groaned every time he so much as twitched and a limp in his front paw that burned – Hiccup had abandoned any thoughts of making that his temporary shelter.

He had wandered the forest for most of the next day, doing his best to avoid the area that the teens had bobby-trapped, but as the day progressed, his limp worsened, and his vision blurred. Coughing had soon followed. His body wasn't just struggling or tired; it was shattering like a thin piece of ice.

Then to top it off, the sky had grayed, and the gods had cried out thick, wet snowflakes. Now, snow wasn't exactly uncommon in Berk – quite the contrary – but for it to start snowing that early in the season was unusual, abet not unheard of. Even though the snow hadn't stuck to the ground, the cold had still seeped into the soil like blood after a battle.

In the end, after failing to find a suitable cave, the fading Night Fury had made the trek to a small cabin not too far from Berk. It was a place nicknamed The Outpost. The same place that he and Snotlout had been heading for when wolves had attacked them.

It had been risky, but Hiccup had felt he had no choice. Having somewhere warm and dry to rest was fantastic beyond the tastiest mead, more fulfilling than the greatest feast. Besides, the chill in his bones was like a hand from the grave pulling him deeper into oblivion. He had needed somewhere to rest or death was imminent.

The next few days had been a blur of delirious hazes. Hiccup had searched through all the crap in The Outpost only to come away mostly empty clawed. But, by the grace of the gods, he'd managed to find a mostly-intact net in a pile just beyond the cottage.

With a small prayer to Njörð, he had used it, along with some rocks to fish the nearby stream. His set up had been simple: using the rocks as weights, the Night Fury had weighed the bottom of the net down, then with leaves and twigs entwined to the top – so that the upper part of the net would float – made a wall across the stream. Hiccup had then been able to drag the net across the river to scoop up any fish. It took a long time with claws and teeth, as he had to be careful not to rip the twines that made up the net, but it worked.

As much as possible, the dragon had spent his time sleeping and every day his limp had improved. He had started going out to misdirect the teens at night; after years of being chased and beaten up by them, Hiccup knew just how unpredictable and crazy they could be, so he usually took extra precautions. He'd cut out pieces of bark then stick them to his claws like makeshift shoes so that his tracks would be entirely different; he'd walk backward instead of forwards; he'd walk on the edges of rivers instead of trails.

It wasn't a spectacular life, but it was working. After a few days of routine, Hiccup had made a discovery.

His fire could get really hot.

Through experimentation, the Night Fury had learned that manipulating the flammable gas was a bit like whistling: the shape of his maw, tongue, and teeth could change the density of the fumes. The thicker the gas, the hotter the fire.

It was also dependent on the little piece of something in the back of his throat. It was a bit like an extra uvula, and by snapped it the gas would alight like hay in the desert: the harder the snap, the hotter the flames.

Hiccup had mostly figured it out – though he found the muscles strange and hard to move – but there was still a missing piece to the puzzle. Once in a while, the fire would, for seemingly no reason, get even hotter: bluish-white hot, so hot that it wouldn't just weaken metal, it'd melt it like it was naught but candle wax. And the little Night Fury had no idea what triggered it.

Late one night, his small shimmering fire had brought Hiccups mind to Snotlout. He had practically promised to make his cousin prosthetics, and Hiccup had no plans to go back on his word. It might have seemed impossible with claws, wings, and teeth, but Hiccup wasn't about to let that stop him. He owed it to his cousin after costing him an arm and a leg, not to mention a house.

But to do that, he needed to cut leather and shape metal.

To work metal, Hiccup needed heat more than anything. Searing, sweltering heat that weakened the metal so much that one could mold and sculpt it like an artist would clay. Sure, hammers and tongs were used instead of brushes and spatulas but it was the same basic principle.

Getting the fire hot enough – so hot that it practically burned the air – was extremely difficult. Only in a forge where the blacksmith would use specialized equipment to tickle and encourage the flames could one hope to reach the temperature needed.

Most blacksmiths weren't dragons.

Even with his poor fire-breathing skills, Hiccup had been able to reach the desired heat without to much trouble. And with some old, rusty iron he had found nearby, Hiccup had, using fire and claws, shaped it to a pointed edge. It had been a frustrating exercise and the spear-like edge contained more flaws than a Viking attempting an apology, but Hiccup had proved it was feasible.

He just needed actual iron – not the rusted, fraying, broken-down crap he had found. Snotlout had to be able to depend on the limbs with his life. There was just one teensy problem: Berk was the only place to find iron like that.

Hiccup vividly remembered the fear that had emanated from Snotlout that dark, terrible night. He'd told Snotlout he would make him artificial limbs, and the dragon was a Viking. Even if it were stupid and risky – he'd do it.

A trip to Berk was inevitable, but Hiccup procrastinated as much as possible, afraid of what would happen should he get caught.

Instead, Hiccup had focused on resting his body, distracting the teens, and working on his metal skills with whatever meager supplies he could gather.

One evening, he had remembered the deer-like sculpture that was Snotlout's last momentum of his mother. Its blood stained body had changed to a dull orange-red like it was rust on iron. Hiccup had tried to repair the thing, but there was only so much he could do: he couldn't just will the head and the body back together.

There had been another option though. Carving was a quite similar to drawing, and Hiccup was good at drawing.

With meticulous care, Hiccup had done his best to recreate the old sculpture: he mirrored the scar on the deer's chest, copied the divot in its ear, and duplicated the chip on the right side. Hardly perfect, but unless one leaned forward and stared with squinted eye, the differences between old and new were indistinguishable.

Another day had passed and the limp abandoned the dragon. Finally, there were no more excuses – other than the fear bouncing around his chest.

He had put it off for long enough. It was time to sneak into Berk.

The island that Berk called home wasn't massive. But due to its jaggy cliffs, steep coves, and narrow bays, the island – shaped a bit like a deformed, mutant, twenty-legged crab – was a labyrinth. Add to that the cascading valleys, towering mountains, and thick forests, and it was shockingly easy to get lost. It was perfect for building tough, precarious Vikings.

Berk, the town itself, rested on one edge of the island: a part of the island that was protected from the worst of the harsh, sea-bound winds.

"This is such a stupid idea," the Night Fury muttered to himself as he crawled over a rock. Because the moon above was only a sliver, there wasn't enough moonlight to cast shadows; instead, the forest was a darkened blob of shifty shapes and nocturnal sounds.

In the distance, just beyond the cover of the darkness lay a village with bright fires twinkling in the night from windows, towers, and torches. It looked a bit like fireflies populated the town rather than people.

Berk was a moderately simple town; the majority of the buildings were whittled and battered as if a good gust would knock them over like a child blowing out candles. Most structures were made from wood with thatch, V-shaped roofs. Other than the numerous sculptures and carvings adorning them, the homes were straightforward and practical, just how Vikings liked them.

What Hiccup liked most about Berk was the verticality of the place. Valleys, gourds, and tunnels split the village like cracks in the mud. Houses hung onto cliff sides, dangled over each other, and cut into the rock itself. For centuries, Vikings had chipped and chiseled hundreds of small trails and grooves into the rugged landscape like ants in an anthill. It would be possible for someone to live an entire lifetime there, and still not walk every path, nor cross every tiny bridge.

And Hiccup knew of one route, one snaking crevice that tunneled in and under Berk that would lead him right to the forge without ever exposing himself. It was a route that Hiccup had never seen anyone else use. Before his transformation into a dragon, he had used it to work on his projects late at night when he was supposed to be stuck in his room, being punished for some asinine reason; it was also a good place to hide when Snotlout was in one of his moods.

Careful as a bird in a dragon's nest, the Night Fury left the cover of trees. He entered a field: an area which instead of grass was dirt, blackened twigs, and scorched rocks. The field was the victim of a dragon attack: almost nothing of the grass and shrubbery lingered – the wind had long claimed the ashy remains as its own.

The Night Fury glanced to his right. There, the forest boarded Berk like a beach surrounding water. The wood's thick branches beckoned to Hiccup as if it were a mother opening her arms to welcome a child.

Hiccup shook his head and glanced forward, doing his best ignoring the impulse that was throbbing in his brain. Just ahead was a knot of rock: the pinks of feldspar, the blacks of mica, and the shine of quartz populated the pile.

Worming his way through the maze of boulders, Hiccup did his best not to wince from the cold that was shooting through his paws; standing on them felt a bit like standing on snow.

His claws slipped and made a long, deep incision on an unusually large rock. Like a cat trying to find purchase, Hiccup rapidly kicked out with his legs and forced himself over the colossal pebble.

Coming to rest on the cold ground, Hiccup perked his ears up. Just beyond the wall of rocks in front of him lay Berk.

Berk was mostly silent – there was the odd Viking arguing, the occasional fire cracking, and the infrequent hoot or bark.

The smells cantering around were even less useful. Berk was a blob of scent: a grayish cloud that contained all: rotten leaves, old cheese, musky smoke, body odor from both humans and animals. Picking anything out of the circus was nearly impossible. If Hiccup strained, he might have been able to detect someone if they reeked.

A deep breath and Hiccup focused on the tunnel in the rocks below him. Vines and moss twisted and squirmed like a horde of snakes as Hiccup forced his way past them and into the darkness beyond.

The trail itself was extremely narrow – most Vikings wouldn't have even fit in-between the stone and dirt walls – but Hiccup just managed, wincing painfully every time his wings decided to grab or drag on anything nearby.

As he slowly passed through the tunnel-like path under Berk, he kept an eye skyward where the stone arched above him like a ceiling but didn't quite touch, leaving a slit of light, usually no thicker than his claws, to bleed onto black scales.

Hiccup stopped, paws resting on a damp piece of moss. The Night Fury raised his ears to listen. Two Vikings crossed overhead, their silhouettes flashing across as they stepped over the crack above Hiccup's head.

Hiccup closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and took another careful step forward. As he did, his left wing decided to yank on a root breaking the old, dry vegetation with a loud snap.

Up above, the Vikings didn't even pause to investigate. They were too caught up in their argument about something involving a sheep and an axe. Soon, their pounding steps blurred into the night.

Hiccup let out a vociferous gust of breath.

With tentative steps, the Night Fury began to traverse the tight passageway again.

After a few tense minutes – Hiccup was sure his wings would never feel loose again – he poked his maw out of the itchy bushes and scratchy twigs that marked the end of his crevice and looked around.

There were wooden buildings, bruised and weathered from both the climate and the dragons that stormed the area. As Hiccup was deep in Berk, only a greenish-yellow grass field lay between him and the forge. The area was damp in darkness – it concealed most, but if one stared hard, shapes would start to manifest in the black mass.

Hiccup felt his heart increase from a thumping pendulum to the speed of a hummingbird's wings.

If the Vikings discovered him now, the only place the dragon could turn to would be the tunnel he had taken, but that would be a death trap: the coffin for his tomb.

What would they do if they caught him? Throw him in the Kill Ring? Rip his wings off like they were the skin on potatoes? Death and disembowelment?

Like a cold draft hit him, Hiccup shivered from tail to fang.

Only a few dozen paces ahead, the forge lay quiet and undisturbed.

Nearby, a soaring, wooden tower loomed over him like a parent standing in front a misbehaving child. From his crevice, Hiccup cautiously looked upward at the imposing structure; there were Vikings up there, two of them. If the enraged grunts, voracious roars, and tangled limbs were anything to go by, they were wrestling or fighting.

The waning moon framed the fortification ominously.

Before his courage abandoned him, Hiccup left his crevice and tiptoed through the slightly damp grass until he reached the back of the forge.

With care, Hiccup pushed the thick, iron door with his muzzle. It creaked as it swung open, and Hiccup lunged into the dark building as soon as the crack was large enough to permit passage.

He used his tail to close the door. The room plunged into dreary darkness as if it had just dived into a lake.

Once again, Hiccup took a long, composing breath. He raised a claw to his eyes; the sharp appendages trembled like fledglings caught out of their nest.

The forge was a simple building, but what it contained was not: leather strips, metal, weapons, furniture, tools, and more filled the small space. Though it was jam-packed, the building never felt crowded; there was too much organization for that.

The sight of the leather, arranged by length and thickness, or the anvil, pristine and proud, warmed Hiccup's body better than any afternoon sun. But even so, it was the smell – the scent of smoke, fire and iron that impacted his nose with the force of a hammer swing – that made Hiccup's wings stop shaking, and his heartbeat slow.

Green eyes glowed like a beast in the pitch-black forge.

Hiccup took a step toward the center of the building, his claws tapping the stone floors. To his right lay the hearth, a chipped sword still resting over the edge, forgotten like a lost toy.

Abruptly, a group of voices, talking animatedly about splitting dragon heads and mounting skulls, approached the forge until they came right up to it.

Freezing, Hiccup perked up – his white teeth, sharp as needles, were just barely visible in his marginally gaped maw.

The voices laughed loudly and strolled past the building.

Still tracking the speech through the wall with his head, Hiccup's eyes came to rest on a chipped axe. The Night Fury shuttered like a window in a storm.

Before long Hiccup located a bag – one that he'd be able to drag back with him comfortably. It was a leather bag with only a few small holes along its skin-like surface.

Carefully, Hiccup scrunched up his face and concentrated on pulling his teeth back; something he had discovered in the last few days. Finally, after looking like the dragon had smelt a partially rancid fart, the teeth slide into Hiccup's gums. The sensation was exceedingly bizarre, but once the teeth were sheathed like swords, they were easy to keep that way.

Hiccup leaned over, grabbed the bag in his mouth, and pulled it to the far wall where the leather was hung. The vast amount of lengthened shapes and sizes ranging from grayish-brown to dark brown made it look like the wall itself was built out of leather instead of stone.

Hiccup opened his mouth, and the bag fell to the ground with a light plop.

Like he was a wealthy mainlander inspecting art, Hiccup made sure to be picky in his selection. After he was content with his choices, Hiccup turned to the hammers. A moment, face scrunched in thought, and the dragon finally nodded.

One hammer fell into the bag with a clang.

Just outside, an argument broke into a squabble. Something slammed and Hiccup swore he felt the nearby tower shake.

Hiccup quickly strolled over to the iron. His green eyes shifted through the material like a miner panning for gold.

Eventually, a few sheets and blocks of the slightly bubbly, silver-gray material joined the pile of loot.

Then with his claws and teeth, Hiccup carefully wrapped each piece of iron in leather before placing it in the bag to dull the sound. Wrapping all of the iron was a long, tedious process that had the dragon squirming like a worm out of dirt before it was over.

Finally, sweat dripping off his wings in small drops, Hiccup finished packing the bag and dragged it to the back door with his teeth. Despite his actions, Hiccup's spoils still clanged and clattered lightly.

A growling curse filled the dark forge. Two green eyes, narrowed and piercing, quickly searched for anything that could kill the sound.

After a moment, the dragon sat on his haunches and looked upward, mouth moving as he mumbled to himself.

The dragon's long and sleek wings slumped and his tail fell to the ground. Hiccup, without the bag, slowly turned around and pushed the back door open with his snout. The creak split the night, but the Vikings on the tower, who were shouting instead of brawling didn't notice.

Hiccup took one step outside and looked along the side of the forge. Tall grass and shrubs rose and hug onto the edge of the building like a child gripping their mother's skirt. Smirking, the Night Fury bent over and took a bite out of the vegetation. It tasted dry yet pungent like an old, shriveled fruit. It was disgusting.

The Night Fury took the mouthful and spat it into the forge. He repeated the action a few more times before retreating inside. The grass, twigs, and leaves quickly found their new home stuffed into the bag.

Once again, Hiccup tried dragging the bag with his mouth; this time, the loot stayed mostly quiet – he could still hear it a bit, but he was positive that the Vikings would be unable to pick up the minuscule scratching.

The Vikings on the tower were still arguing in boundless, thundering voices.

Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Hiccup quickly took the opportunity to drag his bag out the back door and across the small, grassy field. The only thought coursing through his brain – other than being caught and hung on a wall – was that the sack better not rip.

With more noise than was probably wise, Hiccup managed to get the bag into the crevice and out of sight.

Breathing profusely, Hiccup took a moment to rest on the sack like an overstuffed pillow. Then, after daydreaming about food, the Night Fury got onto his four paws, bent over and grasped the leather in his mouth. It tasted earthy like a bit of bark.

A long tail, with folded fins, wagged lightly behind the dragon. With a soft growl, Hiccup pulled and stepped backward, his prize reluctantly following him like a bratty pet.

It took more effort than Hiccup expected, but he managed to make it halfway through the tunnel before taking a quick break. He listened as a few Vikings loitered and wandered around above. Every once and a while a shadow would pass over the Night Fury as someone stepped over the inch-wide crack.

Unable to take the butterflies in his stomach anymore, the dragon stood and carried on his way.

It was only a few seconds later that the dragon stopped to listen, ears perked tall.

"-believe we had to do that," a rough and somewhat gravelly voice spoke.

Hiccup took a sniff.

Just barely, he could pick up the scent – it was morphed and mutated but it was there, a dim star in the sky. Its presence, along with the voice, confirmed his suspicions.

It was Ruffnut.

Just what was she doing out so late?

Another voice – Hiccup had to strain to hear it – spoke in a bit deeper tone. "I've got sand in places no sand should go," Tuffnut said.

Tuffnut continued before anyone else spoke, his voice containing the unmistakable mask of frustration, "How did he get so darn good at hiding?"

Ruffnut answered in a sarcastic, dry tone that Hiccup barely heard, "Experience?"

Tuffnut's snort, in comparison, was far more audible.

"We haven't even seen him once!" Tuffnut said, "And we've been looking all week!"

A mischievous smirk rose on Hiccup's face as he remembered the time he'd used his wings to wipe his tracks clean. Avoiding the teens was quite easy because like most Vikings, they didn't bother bathing with regularity. It was trivial to pick out Fishlegs and Tuffnut; Astrid and Ruffnut were more difficult.

Hiccup liked to think of scents as colors with each Viking having their own unique hue, but that wasn't quite right. No human had a genuinely unique smell – they were all humans, they all smelt the same, a scent that Hiccup could only describe as, well, human. It was their actions that salted their smells – the spices that made them unique – the colors that painted the canvas. Spend a bunch of time around horses: the result was a blend of human and equine. Spend a bunch of time around fish: a mixture of human and seafood. As humans were creatures of habit, these unique combinations were what could be used to identify distinct people. The more one cleansed themselves, the harder it was to pick up their scent as the odors had less time to accumulate.

It seemed Gobber had forgotten to tell his students that when hunting dragons a Viking must always wash their scent off as much as possible. Or maybe he wanted them to learn it the hard way?

Due to their inexperience or lack of foresight, and because of his nose, Hiccup knew exactly where his peers were searching for him. He made sure to leave a few tracks and rig just enough of their traps to encourage them to explore the area more when, in reality, he spent almost all of his time on the other side of the island at the Outpost.

The only real fear he had was that someone would go to the Outpost and discover him by accident.

When Astrid spoke, Hiccup assumed it was through clenched teeth; the tone was far from friendly. "Stop! Do you want the whole village to know what we've been up too?"

A sputter followed, but Astrid quickly interrupted it, "I'll see you guys in the Kill Ring at first light."

Silence followed, and Hiccup stood tall, ears straining to pick up anything. His tail fins wiggled.

Footsteps broke the silence before quickly disappearing beyond sensory range. But even so, Hiccup wasn't sure if all of them had left or only some of them, so he continued to wait. He tried smelling for them; their scents were still there but the mass of mush was too convoluted to tell if they were still physically around.

Eventually, the Night Fury heard Tuffnut speak, "First light? Is she serious?"

"Probably," Fishlegs answered.

The voices got louder as they approached Hiccup's spot.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you guys," Fishlegs said with excitement riding his words.

"What?" Tuffnut asked.

The voices crossed over his tunnel and Hiccup heard them begin to quiet again. There were only two sets of footsteps, which meant Ruffnut had either followed Astrid or went her own way.

"I got that book – the one with all those legends," Fishlegs said.

"Wait, a book? Why in Hel would you want one of those?"

"Don't you remember?"

Hiccup heard the slap as Tuffnut punched his own palm. "I'm sure if I hit your face, it'll clear things right up."

"We wanted to know if any of the old stories said anything about Vikings turning into dragons," the large Viking said, and then continued in a mere whisper that Hiccup could only pick up parts of, "And…were…turn…back.

"Right, well you do that." Thankfully, Tuffnut's voice was far from whispered.

It was silent for a few brief moments before Fishlegs asked, "Snotlout's staying at your place, right?"

Two large, black ears angled themselves to try and pick up more sound. It was difficult when there was only a small crack to let it in. Thank Odin for dragon hearing.

"Yeah," Tuffnut answered.

Hiccup moved to where the crack was wider so he could hear better.

"Cool, how's he doing?" Fishlegs asked.

"I flipped his bed over for snoring last night. He punched me in the face."

A different voice, belonging to a Viking that Hiccup didn't particularly care for drowned the two teens out.

Hiccup sighed.

The Night Fury backed up in the crevice to retrieve his bag, as it was impossible to turn around with his elongated body.

It took Hiccup a few hours to get the sack all the way back to The Outpost.

The Outpost wasn't anything special – it was a well built cabin-like structure in the woods. It was seldom used by younger Vikings to show that they could 'tough-it-out' by themselves in the woods overnight. Of course, since it was only an hour-walk away from Berk, such statements were more bark than bite.

The four-walled wooden structure, like most in the area, had a V-shaped roof. It only had one window – a window that had a long, deep scratch on its wooden covering like something had tried getting in. There was a front door and a back door. And that was it.

Hiccup kicked open the back door and dragged the bag inside. The accommodations were simple enough. A small makeshift fire pit was off to one side with some rickety cabinets, stools, and a table. Above that was a loft where two bunk beds rested on either side; a hole in the loft's floor allowed for the smoke to escape.

Opposite of the dining area, the rest of the main floor was mostly open. In the center of the floor was a large, aged bearskin. On a wall hung an assortment of trophies. Snotlout had once told Hiccup that one of the leathery things in the left-hand corner was the remains of a Timberjack's wing. Hiccup hadn't believed him.

As he was unable to climb the ladder up to the loft, Hiccup used the bearskin as his bed.

On his journey back, Hiccup – using the stars – had determined that it was a couple of hours past midnight. A time when any reasonable person would be dead-tired, stumbling to and fro as they tried to meander to their bed.

Well, Snotlout had been right after all: Night Furies were nocturnal.

So when the dragon plopped down on the soft brown-colored fur on the floor, it wasn't to sleep the night away but rather to chase away the ache in his limbs.

The last week had been a massive help for his muscles. Sure, while he wasn't about to win any marathons on his claws, he could walk around for long periods without feeling the acid of exhaustion fill his veins.

He was even able to run for short periods without panting like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. Of course, he usually tripped over his wings and tail when he tried, but it was a start.

After a few revitalizing minutes, the dragon stood, stretched, and quickly left the cabin. The back door rattled as Hiccup passed through.

The clearing behind the outpost was mostly dirt, party due to Vikings and partly due to Hiccup's attempts at metallurgy. There was a row of trees behind that, and then, just beyond, a stream meandered randomly like a drunk Viking trying to draw a line. While the creek wasn't massive, there were still fish – long slender fish that Hiccup didn't remember the name of.

The steam itself moved quite rapidly; it made a loud sputtering sound as the water fought its way downhill. The intensity of the flow was what had prevented the stream from freezing in the cold of the earlier snowstorm; if the water had frozen, Hiccup was certain he'd be dead by now.

Fate, as they say, walked a razor edge.

A numb chill climbed up Hiccup's legs as he took a step into the murky water. The dirt and debris of the stream twisted and twirled around his legs like a drop of paint in a puddle. Taking a deep breath, the Night Fury closed his eyes. Then, he dunked his head into the cold water and used his mouth to feel for the rock weighing the net down. Eventually, his jaws closed upon the weight and Hiccup tasted the slippery, stringy moss that lived there.

He pulled upward until his head breached the water. Carefully, he dragged the net onto dry land.

In the net's cold embrace lay two fish, wriggling and squirming as they tried to avoid their grisly fate. Two fish and Hiccup hadn't even needed to drag the net for them – they had invited themselves to the party. Today was a lucky day.

One large, red tongue licked Hiccup's lips. Then, like he was making faces for a kid, the dragon scrunched and twisted his muzzle to and fro, before his teeth snapped out of his gums.

Carefully, Hiccup used his claws to extract his meal from its prison. Once the scrumptious piece of seafood was pinned under his paw and away from the net, Hiccup leaned over and bit down, slicing it clean in half.

Throwing his head back, Hiccup let the morsel slide down his throat. Eating the critters no longer felt like he was choking on a snake, but the dragon would hardly call the experience fun.

Sputtering lightly, Hiccup quickly finished the rest of his meal in peace.

As one last scaly tail vanished into a black maw, two green eyes came to rest on a piece of wood.

The wood was carved in the shape of a stag: it stood proud and noble as if it were willing to take on the world. Then again, with the army of scratches, dents, and cuts on its rough, wooden surface, perhaps the deer had already taken on the world and won.

As Hiccup hadn't known where Snotlout was – only that Gobber had moved him from Ormr's – the dragon had elected to leave the new momentum behind when he had snuck into Berk. But now, thanks to Fishlegs, and a bit of luck – the dragon knew where his cousin was staying.

Snotlout's panic-stricken face and his pleading voice burrowed into Hiccup's mind like a termite. He could still see that night vividly: Snotlout falling as the wolves closed in. The blood….

Rolling over, and groaning, Hiccup blinked rapidly.

The twin's house was on the edge of Berk, so getting there would be far easier than the trip to forge had been. And it was an auspicious night – two fish with no effort? That had never happened before. Besides, it was better to get it done before Gobber potentially recognized any thievery at the forge.

An extensive grunt and Hiccup stood.

Carefully, Hiccup retracted his teeth and picked up the sculpture in his mouth; it tasted like a twist of oak and smoke – a pleasant tickle to the tongue.

The dragon began the trek back toward Berk.

Through the canopy above, stars twinkled like eyes watching in the night, as the dragon glided through the green leaves, brown trunks, and gray rocks of the forest.

Hiccup let out a cry as his paw collided with an overturned log; he fell forward and landed on his wing awkwardly. Glancing around, the dragon took note of the triangle-shaped bundle of trees next to him. Something had charred one of the trees: it was black from its trunk all the way to its leafless tops.

A grumble filled the air as Hiccup carefully flapped his wing. A smile, boisterous and scintillating erupted on his face as the dragon felt no pain.

Something suddenly tickled his brain; it was a strange sensation like something was only just touching the body – a wispy feeling that left a sense of emptiness. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished and Hiccup was sure he had imagined it.

He shook his head and took off. Berk soon approached.

With no reason to head into the town proper, Hiccup swung out far right as if he were a wolf preparing to ambush its prey. After weaseling his way between some trees just outside of town, Hiccup came up behind his destination.

All he needed to do was go between the two buildings, drop the deer – which was dripping saliva – and flee. Simple.

"Found you!" a voice yelled. One that Hiccup knew: its egotistical, haughty, high-pitched screech imprinted on his brain like an embarrassing memory.

A glance to his left and there she was: Brynhilda in all her abominable glory.

Hiccup kept his breathing steady and his wings still as he glanced wearily in her direction. His legs tensed.

The women started to walk directly toward him with both hands on her hips while wearing razor-thin pursed lips. She made the sloppy sounds of her boots hitting mud sound like impending doom.

Unsure what to do, Hiccup took a sniff, making sure to keep his snout stationary. Brynhilda's smell was scarcely evident in the blob that was Berk: an offbeat, wispy white laced with green and black streaks. It was quite calming to the nose, for a Viking, but that didn't mean the dragon had to like it.

There was also another scent, a strange one that flirted with and ticked the nose.

Brynhilda stopped only a dozen paces away. She stared at something just around the corner of a nearby building and out of Hiccup's sight. It was where the odd splinter of a smell was originating. It had to have been a Viking of some kind, but getting a grip on their scent was like trying to pick up water.

The Night Fury made sure to look away – he was close enough to the old hag that the last thing he wanted was for her to see his effervescent eyes twinkling in the dark.

"Huh?" a quiet and sweet voice said. A loud yawn filled the ambiance as Hiccup heard something small stir.

"And just what do you think you're doing out here?" Brynhilda asked. Her voice was haughty and creaking but there was a tint to it: a calmness that made shoulders relax and heads sag.

"I was look…" once again the young child yawned loudly, "…ing for dragons."

Brynhilda smirked and said, "Oh? And when a big, scary dragon swoops down," the large women leaned over and plucked the child off the ground and into her arms, "picks you up, and carries you off, what are you gonna do?"

For a second, the scowl on the child's droopy, tired face made it seem like she might protest Brynhilda carrying her, but in the end, all the child did was say, "I'd hit it till it dropped me."

A laugh, loud and clear, sounding far too pleased for such a sour women cut into the air. The creatures in the woods behind Hiccup hushed.

The child smiled and leaned into the women's caring embrace.

Viking children were difficult to raise. In a society where adults valued foolish bravery beyond wit and cleverness, it was no surprise when children impersonated their reckless parents and went on dangerous adventures. Sneaking out late at night was a favorite pastime. Hiccup had done it, Snotlout had done it, and every generation there after would too.

Brynhilda loved to prowl the streets late at night looking for wayward children. She'd even saved Hiccup from a Terrible Terror when he had been younger – although Hiccup blamed that one more on Snotlout then himself. He hadn't been the one to hit the tiny dragon with a shovel after all.

"I have no doubt you'd beat up any dragon. They'd be fools to mess with you," Brynhilda said with a smile.

The young child nodded enthusiastically.

"But what about your baby brother?"

A frown replaced the smile on the young girls face.

"Huh?" Another yawn.

"What if the beast swooped down and took him away from you?"

"I'd stop it!" Like the rising sun blasting away the dark, the tired look on the girl's face melted away.

"Which is why you need to stay home and protect him until he can rip dragon heads off himself."

A frown stayed on the girls face as she lifted one small arm to her mouth. Then she nodded once.

Brynhilda grunted and readjusted the girl in her grip before strolling off between the houses and out of Hiccup's sight.

"Would they really do that? Go after him?" Hiccup heard the young girl ask.

"Yes, they would. The Gods do their best to protect us but even they have trouble with those nasty beasts. That's why we must stay strong and be ready for attack at any moment."

The strange sensation that Hiccup had felt earlier in the woods like something was tickling his brain reared again. It wasn't unpleasant or harmful. It was merely a peculiar presence like a disease that his body was merely playing host for rather than being devoured by.

Hiccup waited until the sounds of Brynhilda's boots merged into nothingness.

Mouth sore from holding onto the little deer for so long, Hiccup quickly left his cover and drifted between the houses. He carefully looked around, but all was still in the dark, chilling, night air.

With a deep breath, the dragon quickly slid from the alleyway to the front of the twin's house. Then, he dropped the figurine – stretching his jaws in great, exaggerated circles – and propped it on the side of the house with his claws.

A snap cut the tense atmosphere like an axe through timber.

Hiccup's tail froze and the dragon took a cautious look around. He started to slink along the wall back toward the alley. No new sounds followed, but Hiccups stomach squirmed as if he'd just swallowed a still-breathing octopus.

Eventually, the dragon made it out of the – thankfully dark – street and slipped back into the alley. As the dragon turned, his wings stiffened and his eye's grew to the size of dinner plates.

There, between the two buildings, right in front of him, was another pair of green eyes. They watched him with slightly narrowed slits.

Somehow this Night Fury was able to sneak up on him. Hiccup wasn't sure if it was because the dragon was the master of keeping itself downwind from him or if there was different trickery at play, but the dragon loved to randomly pop up, watch him for a bit, snarl, and then leave.

It was disturbing.

Hiccup shivered, shaking even his little tail fins. He watched the other dragon with shifty eyes. It just stared back.

Suddenly, the other dragon lunged forward faster than Hiccup could blink.

Hiccup let out a terrified bark and started to fall backward. The larger dragon zipped behind him and bit down on the area right behind his neck.

Like someone had removed his ability to move, Hiccup felt his body fall limp. Try as he might, the most the dragon could do was lightly struggle as if he were stuck in thick mud.

The large Night Fury jumped from the alley and into the street – its prize still dangling in its jaws.

Hiccup's four long legs tried to reach the ground under him, but the other dragon was large enough that Hiccup's claws couldn't even taste the dirt.

All of a sudden, the ground rushed up to greet him. Hiccup collapsed, and a small cloud of dust waffled into the air.

Nearby, in Ruffnut's and Tuffnut's house, furious voices started to speak. They sounded frustrated and annoyed. Hiccup heard a roar that most definitely belonged to Snotlout. Tuffnut's rough guffaws soon followed.

Hiccup began to stand, only for the other dragon to pounce. Hiccup winced as the larger creature collided with him, but he didn't feel claws puncture nor teeth penetrate. Hiccup made to turn around so that he could defend himself, but the other dragon grasped him around the chest and spread its large, majestic wings.

Before Hiccup could even process what that meant, the dragon leaped up and gave his wings a mighty flap, sending both of them airborne.

The sound that came out of Hiccup's mouth was more squeal than anything – a high-pitch ear-grating blast that made the dragon holding him wince.

It was remarkable how fast the Night Fury rose; in seconds, Berk quickly went from towering structures to small child-like models. Hiccup watched as Vikings – no doubt from his loud and dignified roar – poured into the street and rapidly looked around, but the two Night Furies had already vanished into the blackened sky. If the Vikings looked up, they might have caught their silhouettes against the stars.

The large Night Fury adjusted its grip on Hiccup as it glided through the air. What felt like a dog's tongue licked and teased the inside of Hiccup stomach and the little dragon thought he was going to be sick.

For a second, mostly due to terror, Hiccup tried to open his wings to see if he could escape from his captor. Sure he'd probably fall and die, but Hiccup figured that was preferable to being dragged off and eaten or whatever else the dragon had planned for him. Unfortunately for Hiccup, the Night Fury's grip pinned his wings tightly to his sides.

So Hiccup did the next best thing.

"What are you doing!" he said, voice squealing and cracking, "Put me down!"

The Night Fury only growled, low and menacing.

Hiccup struggled as best he could. The other dragon had to readjust him a few times, its growls all the while becoming more and more agitated like a tired parent dealing with an unruly child.

The other dragon's hold slipped and Hiccup felt the sensation of weightlessness. He screamed and tried to open his wings, but the other Night Fury quickly seized him again.

Hiccup, heart racing, fell limp in the other dragon's embrace. "Odin, I'm going to die."

In all Hiccup's life, Berk had only been attacked by a Night Fury a few dozen times. Everyone assumed that it was the same beast – Night Furies were too rare for it to be anything but – which meant that the creature carrying him was the same one that he had shot down a few weeks ago before the whole turning-into-a-dragon fiasco had started.

Maybe the dragon had broken out of his bola in midair, or maybe it had crashed into the ground and got lucky enough to avoid serious injury. Hiccup wasn't sure, but he was sure the dragon was unmarred.

All that pain and effort to make that bola launcher and it hadn't even worked right. It was so unfair.

Fuming, Hiccup watched as the dragon approached a ledge on a mountain. The mountain itself was pretty standard for Berk: a giant spiky spire that shot straight up like it was trying to snatch the sun out of the sky.

Near the top was a small clearing with two gaunt trees on the northern side. To the west, the mountain continued upward like the tip of a spear. A few plants and rocks also populated the serene zone.

Berk, a sparkle of lights and small box-like shapes, was still visible in the distance.

With a plop, the larger dragon dropped its captive into the grass. Hiccup felt the thin blades tease his belly.

He quickly got to his paws and turned toward the much-larger Night Fury just as the creature landed nearby and folded its wings in one silk-smooth motion.

Hiccup puffed himself up like a rooster and did his best to glare. He prepared to call upon his fire.

The other dragon stopped in front of him, lifted a wing, and quickly popped Hiccup on the nose.

An involuntary yelp poured from Hiccup's mouth as he sputtered and reached up with a paw to rub the wound.

The hit, while not vicious, hurt a lot; his nose stung as if a hundred bees had attacked. His green eye's watered involuntarily. Thankfully, as quickly as the pain came, it started to ebb away.

The large Night Fury towered over its smaller guest.

Then pain, this time far sharper and more intrusive broke into Hiccup's mind. His vision twisted, the blacks of night and the dragon in front of him morphed into some weird coalition of swirling colors. Hiccup buckled and collapsed to his stomach, clenching his teeth to prevent himself from howling in agony. As soon as the pain started to recede, Hiccup forced himself to stand on shaky legs.

Once again, the dragon screeched loudly and hit Hiccup on the nose with his wing.

With a yelp and a wince, Hiccup fell back on his haunches. He rubbed his nose, tears dotting his eyes as he looked up at the dragon.

Its shoulders rose and fell as the beast took long, deep breaths. It closed its eyes and lightly shook its head back and forth. The beat of its heart, which Hiccup could hear as a light thumping slowed until it became inaudible once more.

Hiccup sniffled, and rubbed a tear out of his eye – why, oh why did getting hit on the nose hurt so bad? If he were to compare it to anything while he was human, it would have been like getting it in the funny bone twenty times over.

Thankfully, as it had happened last time, the pain in his nose quickly evaporated.

The crunch of gravel under claw made Hiccup look up at the dragon as it took one step forward. Hiccup stared right into the green eyes in front of him. This time, when the strange feeling invaded his brain, the pain was far duller as if someone had wrapped it in a blanket. The green eyes in front of him morphed into something recognizable. While still blurred like he was trying to look through a lens of water, the shapes of flying dragons were unmistakeable. But as quickly as the shapes took form, they disappeared, morphing back into the scene in front of him.

Blinking, Hiccup watched the other dragon.

The larger Night Fury sighed loudly and took another step forward.

Hiccup tried to wiggle out of its way, but the dragon was too quick. Again, Hiccup felt his body fall limp as the dragon held him by the scruff of his neck.

Unable to resist, Hiccup watched as the larger dragon carried him next to the spire of the mountain. There was a small spot of dirt there – no rocks, pebbles, or leaves stained the smooth, slightly dusty space. Rocks jutted out above them as if the mountain were a jailor passing sentence.

With a plop, the dragon deposited Hiccup on the ground.

The large Night Fury glared, growled, and pointed forcefully at the dirt with a sharp claw.

Hiccup blinked and stared at the indicated spot.

Then, the creature turned and leaped off the mountain. Hiccup had seen it before, but only then did Hiccup realize just how smooth this creature was. No action looked wasted and everything looked effortless. Its wings and tail-fins worked in perfect harmony as the creature sped away. Its flight was extremely mesmerizing, containing a beauty that hid the immensely dangerous dragon behind it like a veil.

Dread filled Hiccups mind as his eyes grew in size. The dragon was heading for Berk.

Screams, roars, and bellows filled the night. From his distance, Hiccup could barely hear them echoing across the vast void of space between them; it sounded like a hum.

Dragons of all colors and sizes swooped into Berk with the power of a hurricane. They swerved, dived and bombarded the wooden buildings under them. At Hiccup's distance, the horde looked more like a school of fish than a rampage of flying dragons.

Hiccup had been part of many dragon raids in the past – it was a part of being a Viking – but being above it, able to see the tiny shapes of dragons as they flew through the night like sharks after blood made Hiccup shiver as if he were naught but a sapling in the wind.

A screech, high-pitched and crescendoing made Hiccup's wings tremble. He watched as a bolt of blue plasma smashed into a tower. The structure exploded, small pieces of wood and debris falling to the ground like leaves from a tree.

The dragons continued their assault with renewed vigor.

And Berk burned.

Authors Notes:

I edit all my own chapters. This one is rough, but if I baby the chapters too much I tend to sit on them forever, so I figured I'd get this one out there.

I'm not a huge fan of the large section of past perfect tense at the start but decided to try it anyway. I might do a full edit of the all the chapters soon to try and clean up the rough edges so if you notice any spelling errors, grammatical mistakes, or such, let me know.