Disclaimer: How To Train Your Dragon does not, nor will it ever, belong to me.

AN: One thing just ... Stuck to me and wouldn't let go until I wrote this. Enjoy!

He was the first.

He had watched countless generations of his lesser kin hatch, grow old and die. He, like most animals and the Divine, had no sense of time. The cycle of life was but shapeless blur to him. Then Heimdall would blow his horn, Ragnarok would come, and he would, hopefully, be among the few not to fall and be around for the world to start anew.

That all changed with the seventh generation of the war with the Vikings. He, the illegitimate child of Hel and Thor. He, who had for countless generations been un-assaulted by Viking, Dragon and God alike, had been brought down. At some point during the crash, while entangled in the bola, he lost his left tailfin.

Suddenly he wasn't so sure of his immortality. He could be wounded, could he be killed? That night, in his uncomfortable entanglement, he gained a sense of time. He knew that once Sól rose, it would not be long before the path of his crash was found and a Viking would come and kill him. If he could be killed by human means. He wasn't sure, and that scared him. Knowing that he knew the feeling of fear scared him even more.

Sól rose, her gentle rays caressing his form and exposing him, for the first time, to the eyes of all the Æsir. His black scales, meant to conceal him from Thor in the night, made him a spot of death surrounded by green life. Thankfully, he had landed between the trees and their canopies shielded him from the cloudy skies above where the goats drawing Thor's chariot could trod upon. He might yet escape unseen by his father this day.

The sound of something gracelessly stomping through the forest reached his ears. No animal was that loud. It was only a matter of minutes now, before he was found. Groaning, he turned his head away, exposing his throat and hoping for a quick death.