Vestige - 2

Vestige

Chapter 2 – Berk


Astrid Hofferson took no notice when the rest of the meat from the cellar was loaded into the large saddlebags straddling the three pack-Nadders.  She didn't hear Spitelout hounding everyone to make sure their loads were strapped down good and tight.  And she didn't see the old hunter enter the lodge one last time, sweeping it for anything left behind and extinguishing the fire before grabbing his cloak and fastening the door, shutting everything within up in frozen, slightly cobwebby darkness until the next hunting party arrived.

Astrid sat alone in a field a hundred yards to the south, ten feet up on the broad blue back of her Nadder, absently fingering the blade of her axe as it hung in the saddle's holster.

As soon as Hiccup had taken his sweet, squeaky time to lug Astrid's supply basket out, she had directed her dragon down onto its haunches and hefted the load up over the saddle to tie it down.  Feeling the basket's weight in her arms again, she had regretted a tiny bit having thrown it at Hiccup earlier.  But not enough to apologize.

She had then mounted up without a word, and urged her dragon into the woods, Quill's powerful legs plowing an easy path through the snow, toward the icy field from which the dragons would make their ascent into the sky.

And there she waited, wanting nothing more than to leave as quickly as possible.  For the sooner they left, the sooner they would arrive home, and the sooner she could sequester herself in the woods beside her favorite target-practice tree.  Just her, the bow and a good, deep quiver.  And maybe she would borrow Speck, too.  He seemed to enjoy playing fetch with spent arrows; perhaps he would come in handy.

As Quill took the liberty of flaming himself a warmer patch of ground to stand on, Astrid spent a few determined moments imagining herself training and training, day after day from dawn to dusk, stopping for nothing but meals, sleep and the call of nature.  For a while the thought was encouraging.  But the seed of despair sown in her mind and nurtured throughout the whole miserable hunting trip stirred once again in her thoughts: would all the extra practice in the world really make any difference?

She shook her head.  Of course it would.  She could be a great archer.  She just needed to see her efforts through.  No matter how long it took.

It was tricky keeping this idea centermost in her mind while much of her better judgment buffeted her from all sides with the notion that she was, perhaps, only fooling herself.  After all, everyone else had been steadily improving—even Fishlegs—and that while putting up seemingly half the effort Astrid had been mustering.  All within only three weeks.

It wasn't fair.

Finally taking her restless hand from the axe-blade to rub her furrowed brow, she was only further dismayed to discover the ugly scuff she had inadvertently carved into the buckskin of her mitten.

She groaned sharply through her teeth and turned.  Surely the others had to be on their way by now...?

As a matter of fact they were.  She spotted Hiccup and Fishlegs picking their way through the trees on the backs of their dragons.  As Fishlegs entered the field, Astrid noticed he seemed to steer his Gronckle deliberately out of the way just to trample across a lovely little bed of snowdrops.  How sad, she thought, as Miniboss' enormous paws ground the flowers into a fine mushy pulp in the snow.

Hiccup had removed his snowshoe, which was now fastened under its dedicated strap on the left side of Toothless' saddle, to allow his bare prosthesis to lock into the stirrup.  He probably wouldn't be dismounting again until they got home.  It was a sure sign they were finally getting serious about leaving.

Tuffnut and Ruffnut soon followed on their Zippleback, breaking a path for the heavily-laden pack-Nadders.  Herding from behind came the Jorgensons, Spitelout atop a thickset, rust-yellow Nadder of his own, and Snotlout holding tightly to Fireworm as she tilted and twined her massive body between the pines.  Slowly, the dragons and riders assembled in a large huddle on the field, their sun-pinked breath rising in great billows and steaming away on the light breeze like the flames of a battlefield.  Speck pawed Spitelout's shoulder in anticipation as the latter began to speak.

"Well done everyone!" he began, sounding more chipper than Astrid thought necessary, "Excellent work.  Now, Gnarl, Ack and Killkeg the Drool will be heading another hunt back here in a few weeks' time.  You've all proven yourselves able and I know they'd be happy to have a few extra hands.  Who wants to go?"

There was an immediate, unanimous grumble of dissent.

"Are you kidding?" Tuffnut groaned, "I've wanted to go home ever since I got here.  No way I'm coming back."

"Ah, just wait a few years 'til Hoark takes you whaling," said Spitelout, "You'll be pining for Forget Me."

"Oh hey whaling," Ruffnut mused, "Something else for me to kick your butt at!" she grinned evilly to her brother.

"Don't look so eager, Ruffnut—he doesn't take girls," said Spitelout.

"What?" Ruffnut scoffed.

Tuffnut snickered maliciously before feeling his sister's boot connect with his shin.  Only his saddle-belt kept him from slipping off of Flint's neck as he grabbed his smarting leg.

"All right, listen up," said Spitelout, "We'll head out same as how we came up.  I'll take point.  Astrid, Fishlegs, behind me, and the pack-Nadders behind you.  Hiccup on starboard and Thorstons on port.  Keep the Nadders in tight.  Snotlout, at the rear.  Make sure we don't lose anyone.  Oh, and here," he added, starting his Nadder around the circle and tossing his son a small bundle, "For when you get hungry."

He continued around to each of his trainees, plucking the rations from one of his saddlebags and handing them out.  He had to get creative to get anything edible past Flint and safely into Tuffnut's hands.

Astrid inspected the bundle he gave her.  It was a bit of hareskin bound in leather wrappings.  Inside were several strips of venison jerky.

"Thanks," she said, tucking the snack into the pouch on her belt.

"Thank Ruffnut," said Spitelout, "This is from one of her kills.  Fishlegs trapped the hares.  Good work, you two."

Ruffnut and Fishlegs merely pocketed their food, looking as if they hadn't heard.

Spitelout pointed his Nadder toward the southern end of the field.  "Let's line up."

Astrid took the left side behind Spitelout.  She liked Hiccup, but she didn't need any more of his cheering up during the flight home.  She would distance herself for now.  She needed to stay focused.  Fishlegs seemed intent on the right side anyway.

The pack-Nadders chirruped restlessly behind her.  In front of her, she saw Speck scurry beneath his master's cloak as Spitelout urged his mount into a run with an encouraging "Get up, there, Gravycake!"  Fresh powder flew from under the dragon's claws for a few paces before the beast lifted heavily into the air.

Astrid and Fishlegs followed closely behind, drawing with them the three pack-Nadders as they followed the compelling instinct to flock together.

The wind shot bitingly cold through Astrid's hair and around her ears, whistling in time to the beating of Quill's powerful wings.  The pines and snowy hills dropped lower and lower, giving way to the brilliant dawn over a shimmering horizon of island and distant sea.  Visually striking as it was, however, the rising sun's thin light shed all the warmth of a recently extinguished candle.

As his Nadder began to level out, Spitelout looked back to check on his charges.  Astrid turned too.  Six dragons sailed in steady formation behind her and Fishlegs, the treetops whipping past beneath their talons.  She saw Snotlout give a debonair wave from way at the back.

Riding her dragon always put Astrid in high spirits.  She waved back.

And Hiccup returned her wave, beaming his silly grin.  Behind him, Snotlout doubled over in laughter nobody could hear over the rush of the wind.

Astrid promptly lost the stomach to look at either of them, and turned back around.

The airborne caravan continued south as the frosty woods below became gradually thinner, the landscape passing into bald crags, icy tumbles of rock, twiggy, frozen marshes and finally, the iron-grey of the lapping sea.

Everyone was only too happy to forget Forget Me.

- X - X - X - X - X -

Many had considered venturing to the distant hunting grounds on dragonback to be a gamble.  In the past, the journey had always been made by boat, lasting two full days.  It was an arduous endeavor, even in mild winters when the sea-ice around the islands was sparse and easily broken through.  Furthermore, rough weather could spell serious trouble for a longship in the middle of the sea.

But notwithstanding the occupational hazards, a longship in the middle of the sea was still a great place to take a nap after a long turn at the rudder.  Given one was not prone to seasickness.

A dragon, on the other hand, could travel much faster than any longship.  But there was no rest to be had on the back of a flying animal, and so Spitelout and his trainees had buckled down for a very long and monotonous ride when first they left Berk.

Even soaring at terrific speeds, they had still been unsure as to how long it would take to cover the distance to the other island.  This uncertainty, however, did very little to blunt the raw fortitude of the (mostly) stout-hearted Vikings.  Having set out at first light and doggedly pursued their course across the sky, sure enough, they had only just managed to touch down near the old hunting lodge on Forget Me at the setting of the sun on the same day, their faithful dragons panting and steaming, but otherwise in good health and fair humor.

Now the hunters' journey back home was looking to unfold in much the same fashion.  Spitelout led them once again over the endless grey sea, reckoning his way by the few dank little islands below and dotting the horizons here and there.  The sun crawled slowly up the sky on their left side, growing ever so slightly warmer by the hour.  But fingers and toes still grew numb in strong headwinds.  Arms and legs still grew weary of holding and balancing.  Eyes grew tired of watching the undeviating pack-Nadders, and three-week-old saddle-sores returned with a vengeance.

Just as on the northward trip, a rather essential stop was made around midday on The Perfect Island, a negligible little smear of rock jutting up amid the waves of an otherwise empty expanse of water.  It had previously been named by a very desperate Fishlegs for the remarkable placement of its two very secluded coves at exactly opposite ends from each other.  The girls took the north cove, the boys took the south, and the dragons took the opportunity to cut a few bites to eat from a small pod of seals hanging around a pebbly beach on the east.

When the improvised privies had served their purpose, Spitelout had everyone quickly mounted up again and back in the air for the final leg of their journey.

The afternoon passed just as slowly as the morning had, the sun drifting lazily down into the west at the same snail's pace.  When it was nearer the horizon than it was to its zenith, Astrid finished her second-to-last piece of jerky and stuffed the hareskin bundle into her pouch again.  Her mouth had watered when she saw Fishlegs polish off his entire portion shortly after leaving The Perfect Island.  But she wanted to make her own supply last.  She didn't want to finish it until the following meal was safely in sight.

Unfortunately there was very little to keep her mind otherwise occupied.  It was all she could do to take another sip from her half-empty waterskin to cleanse the delicious smoked-venison taste from her tongue, and hope to forget about it.

This would have been easier to accomplish if they had traveled by boat.  She and the others would have been able to talk more easily, play games, sing songs or indulge in any number of other distractions.

But a boat would not have carried all their dragons, let alone two days' worth of the dragons' food.

And that had been the whole point of the expedition, after all—taking the dragons with them for a hunt.  And, all in all, it had been a wildly successful endeavor.

But this fact did nothing to keep Astrid's mind off that last strip of jerky... she had saved the biggest piece for last...

She could only glean so much diversion from the sparse goings-on around her.  Miniboss threatened to fall asleep at one point—not unheard of for Gronckles on the wing—until Hiccup brought Toothless up from behind to give the drowsy dragon an obliging nip on the tail.  Later in a calm and somewhat quieter wind, Tuffnut tried and failed to start several annoying games of I-Spy.  These didn't really catch on until his ninth attempt, when he spied something huge, ripply and wet.

Before Ruffnut could offer her ninth impertinent response, Spitelout called the obvious answer back over his shoulder: "The sea."

"Ooh, got it in one!" said Tuffnut.

"My turn," said Spitelout, "I spy somewhere I get to sleep tonight."

Astrid's eyes snapped up from the seventeen warts she had counted on the back of Quill's neck.  There, between the long spikes of her Nadder's frill, far away on the horizon, she spotted an island with a pointed peak sitting amid a congregation of smaller islets.

"Berk!" shouted Hiccup.

Fishlegs sighed with relief.  Ruffnut gave a cheer.  Snotlout urged his Nightmare forward, pressing the pack-Nadders to go faster, "Come on, come on, let's go!"

"Ah good.  Your turn, Hiccup!" called Spitelout.

"What?"

"Spy something, stupid!" Tuffnut shouted across the chirruping Nadders.

"Oh..." Hiccup started, "I, uh, wasn't really thinking about it, that's—"

"Right, yeah, way to kill the game, Hiccup," Tuffnut groaned.

"Fine!  Fine, I spy something... blue and yellow... and white... with a lot of—"

"Snotlout's underpants!" yelled Tuffnut.

"What?" said Snotlout.

"—I was going to say with a lot of spikes on it!" Hiccup amended.

"Snotlout wears spiky underpants?" Ruffnut hollered.  The twins cackled as Snotlout ground his teeth behind them.

"IT'S MY DRAGON!" shouted Astrid in exasperation, grinning in spite of herself.

"Yes!  Yes that's it," said Hiccup, relieved, "Ah, your turn?"

Astrid smiled.  She hated this game.

But it was something.

The game continued for a good while, eventually becoming more elaborate as they drew nearer to the island and could discern more of its features.  But as they came alongside the coast that would lead to their village, the tired Vikings fell once again into a subdued silence.  The sun hung low in the sky as they prepared to make their final descent.

Astrid patted Quill's trembling flank and stroked his steaming neck.  They were nearly home.  She would be sure to find him an extra-large chicken before putting him to roost tonight.  Quill loved chicken.

The endless pine-topped cliffs blurred together, their snowy caps glinting in the late afternoon sun, until finally, the first houses of the northern outskirt of Berk began to come into view.

One of them lay in a smoldering heap of ember and ash, dark against the surrounding snow.

This wasn't surprising to anyone.  Though no dragon had directly attacked the village since the defeat of the Death, they were still large and unwieldy animals to keep as house pets.  They still played rough, and they still breathed fire.  Sometimes mishaps happened.

But if there was one thing the people of Berk had become quite expert at, it was rebuilding houses.

"House-raising at the Egilssons'!" Spitelout shouted over his shoulder.  The familiar call to action was met by an exhausted grumbling.  Surely there were plenty of other people that could help with the Egilssons' house; the young travelers just wanted to rest.

Astrid's eyes followed the wreckage as they sailed over it.  No one stood nearby.  They were probably waiting for it to burn completely out before clearing away the rubble.  She craned her neck as it passed behind them, hoping no one had been injured.

"Sir!" cried Fishlegs.

"Astrid!" Snotlout yelled at the same time.

Astrid looked behind.  Snotlout was pointing at something.

"House-raising at... Björn's," said Spitelout.

"No!  Sir!" Fishlegs cried again.

Astrid turned to her right.  Fishlegs' face was completely color-drained, his eyes wild as he pointed a trembling finger farther south.

"House-raising at—oh Thor on high..." Spitelout gasped.

The last cliff rolled away, revealing the village proper.  The peaceful white blanket of snow was pockmarked and broken all over by ugly grey smears—homes that had been reduced to splintered piles and sundry debris, littered and skirted by ash and frozen mud.  Three of the old catapults lay toppled in ruin.  Black scorch-marks seared the mountainside.

"Where is everyone...?" Astrid breathed, "Where is everyone?"

No living thing, human, dragon or otherwise, could be seen.  The still and silent scene merely continued to crawl further into view as they soared above it, revealing ruin after blasted ruin at an agonizingly slow pace.  Their course forgotten, their purpose momentarily lost, the Vikings could only hold on, and watch.

"We need to get down there," said Hiccup.  He and Toothless dropped a few feet.

"Wait," Spitelout cautioned, "There's no room—we'll get to the landing range.  We need to stay together."

Tuffnut exhaled in a strangled huff, and set the Zippleback into a dive.

"Tuffnut!  Ruffnut!" Spitelout called.

"He said to stay together you idiot!" Ruffnut shouted.  She pulled up on Belch's pommel, trying to steer back to the group.

Tuffnut said nothing and pressed down harder on Flint.

The conflicted Zippleback lessened its angle of descent, but still careened crazily ahead.

"Tuffnut!" Spitelout roared, "Tuffnut!  Blast it—everyone stay close!"  He angled his Nadder sharply downward in pursuit, the others following unsteadily in his wake.

The dragons were tired, and the Zippleback was no exception.  It foundered in the air, both heads panting and foaming.  Ruffnut managed to keep it airborne almost long enough to make the open field near the middle of the village.  Voices chittering, jaws snapping, it finally brought in its wings over a narrow bit of slushy ground between two ruined houses, its rivaling intentions felling it to the earth where it stood shaking and confused.

Tuffnut unhooked his saddle-belt and dropped to the ground, hardly stopping before bounding into the open and across the field, toward the coast.

"Tuff, wait!" Ruffnut called from high atop Belch's rearing neck.  She called to Flint, trying to calm the two heads into enough accordance to get themselves out of the cramped alleyway.

With a tremendous flapping and many relieved grumbles, the other dragons touched down in sloppy formation on the landing range, trotting out their momentum for a few paces before finally dropping their wings to hang exhausted at their sides.  Their hot breath steamed into the air, reddened by the low sun.

Spitelout slid from Gravycake's back, landing in the thin snow with a crunch.  The lump that was Speck beneath his cloak stirred at the jostling movement.  "Snotlout!  With me," he beckoned.

Snotlout ran from where he had dismounted.

"The rest of you stay here," the old hunter instructed, "We'll be back as soon as we can."

"I know where he's going!" said Ruffnut as she steered the Zippleback onto the field.  She slid down Belch's neck and hit the ground running, her plaits bouncing wildly.

"You'll stay here until I get back," Spitelout replied in a low voice, motioning his son into a run beside him.

"No!  You have to take me with you!" Ruffnut shouted, grabbing his arm as she ran alongside.

Spitelout crunched to an immediate halt and took her severely by the shoulder, planting her in place.  "You will stay in this spot—" he growled, his voice steadily rising, "—all of you—and watch yourselves and the dragons until I come back or I promise you will all walk with LIMPS for the rest of your lives," he snarled.  "—On both legs," he added, pointing at Hiccup.

No one disbelieved him.

He ran after Tuffnut, his son trailing pale-faced at his elbow, leaving Ruffnut standing alone.

Astrid knew where Tuffnut was headed, too.  But as she sat rigid in the saddle, her eyes shot back to the north and the east, far away where the village hugged the mountainside, toward her own home.  She could not see it—too many other structures obscured her view—but she could see the black scorch-marks raking the cliffs all around and behind where she knew it was supposed to be.  Her mouth went dry and her heart seemed to jump up and start thundering somewhere between her ears.

She turned back to her fellow hunters.  Hiccup stared open-mouthed at the jumbled avenue where the Jorgensons had disappeared, his shallow breath puffing out in frantic little wisps.  Fishlegs was shivering violently and looked near to weeping.  Ruffnut still stood where Spitelout had left her.  Even beneath several layers of winter furs, Astrid could see her shoulders clenched tighter than a bowstring.

The dragons had become very silent, their eyes wide, their nostrils heaving, their great heads twitching, almost bird-like, trying to sense whatever it was that had disrupted all that should have occurred upon their return to this their roost at Berk.

Astrid looked again at the black-streaked cliff.  Every sinew of her being screamed to just turn her mount, and run.  Go home, go home...

Go home...

- X - X - X - X - X -

The Jorgensons' footfalls hammered through the otherwise silent village.  Spitelout knew the way to the Thorston household, but his hunter's eyes had fallen automatically to the earth, sweeping for indentations, prints, breaks, signs.  He easily traced Tuffnut's pelting tracks past house after house, slowing where they slowed, stopping where they stopped as Tuffnut had taken in the desolation around him.  They were less than a minute behind him.

Snotlout's eyes read a completely different story.  Deserted buildings glowered eerily down at him from all sides as he trailed at the hem of his father's billowing cloak.  Black doorways gaped from beneath cold and tattered rooftops.  He tried to breathe as quietly as possible as they darted between vacant houses and over splintered planks.

The emptiness was utterly unnerving.

Ever cautious, Spitelout paused at every corner, froze at every turn, all senses flared wide for any sign of danger.  In a few moments the two of them came to the teetering remains of Pepperbeard's bakery, and peered around the edge of one blackened wall.

The Thorstons' home was still standing.  The door was open.

The coast was clear.

"Come on," Spitelout murmured.

They ran.

Pausing before the threshold, Spitelout took a sidelong look inside, and then entered, Snotlout close behind him.

Tuffnut stood in the middle of the room, facing away from the door, his hands on the back of a chair.

"Tuffnut!" Spitelout whispered, striding up and grabbing Tuffnut's shoulder.  He spun the young man around to face him.  Tuffnut's eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted.  He said nothing.

"What are you thinking, boy, you can't bolt off like a sheep!  You're liable to—didn't Gobber ever tell you how he lost his hand?" Spitelout hissed.

Tuffnut's brow only twitched in and out of a deeper furrow.

"He knows, Dad," said Snotlout.

Spitelout glanced about the room.  There were no signs of any conflict or struggle.  Table and chairs stood as though only recently and calmly vacated.  The fire pit was cold; motes of ash swirled in the minute air-currents wafting through the door.  Everything was still.  Unnatural silence gaped all around them, threatening to swallow them up...

Speck chose this moment to poke his head out from under Spitelout's cloak and shriek like a banshee for something to eat, setting off three screaming heart attacks at once.

Spitelout's broad hand whipped up and clamped the Terrible Terror's head against his shoulder, stifling the cry.  "We need to get back," he breathed.

Tuffnut made no movement.

The old hunter pulled the wriggling dragon out of his cloak and handed him to Snotlout.  "Here, keep him quiet," he said.  "Let's go," he added to Tuffnut, putting an arm around the boy's lanky shoulders and urging him forward.

- X - X - X - X - X -

"Have you all gone deaf?" Ruffnut seethed, "That was them!  We need to find them!"  She threw her arms in the direction of her house.

"We don't know that," said Hiccup shakily.  He had reattached his snowshoe, and now stood beside Toothless' head, attempting to calm the dragon with a good scratch under the chin.  It wasn't working.  "It could've been... a seagull, or—"

"Did you see a single seagull when we came in?  Any?"

"Well I wasn't really looking for seagulls in particular, but—"

"It was them and they were screaming, you beefwit," Ruffnut went on, "Astrid, you heard it didn't you?"

Astrid hardly looked away from the cliff.  "I don't know," she said, which was true.  All her attentions had been directed to the home she could not see, no matter how tall she sat in the saddle.

Ruffnut reluctantly turned to the only other person there.  "Fishlegs...?"

Fishlegs had dismounted and sunk to the ground; he now sat leaning against his Gronckle, one hand over his face.  "He said to stay here..."

Ruffnut fumed, growling hoarsely.  "We can't just sit here while they're—what if they need our help?"  She turned again to Hiccup, the only one returning any eye-contact, her own wide eyes beseeching him for some kind of action...

But all at once it didn't matter.  The soft crunching of boots made everyone look up.  Ruffnut spun around to see the Jorgensons and her brother come tromping through the ashy snow.

She strode toward them, her pace quickening with every step, not stopping until her mittened palm had mashed into Tuffnut's face and thrown him to the ground.  "What is your problem?" she shrieked.

But for once, Tuffnut made no effort to retaliate.

"Keep your voice down!" Spitelout whispered, grabbing Ruffnut again by the shoulder.

"Why didn't you take me with you?" she hissed back.  "What did you see?," she added to Tuffnut as he sat up in the snow.

"There was nothing there," Snotlout murmured.

Ruffnut choked and brought a hand to her mouth.

"No, no, your house is fine," said Spitelout, "there was nothing wrong—"

Ruffnut turned to her brother again.  "Were Mom and Dad there?" she pleaded.

Tuffnut only shook his head, his eyes fixated on the snow between his feet.

"Sir," said Astrid, thinking hard, trying to get into her mentor's head, "maybe we should get closer to the cliff...  It's more—sheltered there."  She motioned almost directly toward her home...

"My dad's the Chief," said Hiccup, "Shouldn't we try and find him?"

"Dad, what about Mom?" Snotlout whispered, Speck still squirming in his arms.

Spitelout drew a hand across his brow and down his face.  Astrid saw his eyes flick to the north as he took a deep breath.  His own home was out there too.

"Everybody back up," he finally said, stepping toward his dragon, "Astrid's right—we'll need a protected foothold here first.  We'll go to the Great Hall."

Astrid's heart sank.  Indeed, the Great Hall, built into the very mountainside, was the most sheltered place they could hope to be, but that wasn't what she meant...

A fiercely whispered clamor arose from the others.

"Dad..." Snotlout whispered urgently.

"Sir, what about my house?" Fishlegs whimpered.

"I want to see my house!"  Ruffnut hissed.

"There was nothing to see," said Spitelout, "Now mount up—we'll let the dragons walk.  Everyone, let's go."

Tuffnut stood up with a glaze in his eyes and walked impassively toward his Zippleback.  Hiccup once again detached his snowshoe and climbed onto Toothless' back.  Easy enough for those two, thought Astrid as she pointed Quill toward the cliff, waiting for Spitelout's orders.  Hiccup's house was a stone's cast from the Great Hall; of course they would stop there on the way.  And Tuffnut had already seen his home; he would have no qualms about going to the Hall—

But as Astrid watched Tuffnut beckon blankly to his dragon, his eyes glassy, his movements half-dead... she wondered how envious she really ought to be.

Ruffnut, however, gave no time to wondering about it.  "What—well you were just there!" she whispered to Spitelout, "You said nothing was wrong.  It's not that far—why can't I just look?"

Spitelout turned to speak directly into Ruffnut's face, "Look around you now," he hissed, "Have a care, will you?  Whatever did this could still be nearby."

"There is nothing out there," Ruffnut snapped back, "I don't see anything—"

"Have I taught you nothing?" Spitelout rasped, "Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it isn't there!"

"Sir..." Astrid piped up, "did you see anything out there?"

"No recent tracks," said Spitelout, "though there's been too much snowfall to be certain."

Astrid's heart raced.  Too much snowfall to be certain?  But Spitelout the Master Tracker was always certain... wasn't he?  And if the village really was empty, perhaps she could get him to change his mind...  But how to suggest it without contradicting herself...?

Before Astrid could formulate what to say next, Spitelout's eyes fell on the waiting Gronckle and the shivering figure next to it.  "Come on, Fishlegs, on your feet," he said, walking over.

"To the Hall?" Fishlegs whispered, taking his hand from his face.

Spitelout nodded and held out a hand.

Fishlegs shivered.  "But, sir, what about my mom and dad?  Can't we—can't we—"

"Yeah what about Fishlegs' house?" said Ruffnut, "We haven't seen that yet—we should check on it."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with your house being on the way there," said Spitelout.

"Absolutely nothing," Ruffnut asserted, her intentions as transparent as the air.

To blazes with it, thought Astrid.  She had already talked herself into a corner.  "Sir, I only wanted to get closer to the cliff because my house is over there."

Spitelout looked at her, sighing tensely, "Astrid, I have six charges to see to here, and by anything holy you can think of, we'll shelter if I say we shelter.  We can't help anything if we can't help ourselves first."

"Uh, hello, we have dragons with us," Ruffnut butted in, "What bigger help could we get?"

Astrid continued, "But if you didn't see any recent tracks... we could search the village..."  Her thoughts began to quail under Spitelout's steely gaze.  But she had to be diplomatic.  If she wanted to see her home as quickly as possible, it would have to be on a level playing field for everyone.  "Right now we're closer to the Ingermans' than we are to the Great Hall anyway."  Fishlegs perked up at this.  "If we move fast we can make it there in—"

"Dragons did this," said Spitelout, pointing out the burned houses and scorch-marks, "And dragons can sniff you out no matter how fast you move.  Speaking of which, we need to get going.  We'll be safer in the Hall."

"But if any dragons were going to come after us, don't you think they would have done it by now?"  That was too brash, thought Astrid.  She held her breath as Spitelout looked back down to Fishlegs and around to Ruffnut.  Their expressions were the same: tense, waiting, pleading.

"It would be easier if we search right now while the sun's still up," suggested Snotlout, "We won't get another chance like this until morning."  He held his father's eyes for a moment.

Astrid gave Snotlout a deeply grateful look.  She hoped he could see it in his periphery, as he did not break eye-contact with his father.  But after a second she wondered if he even noticed it at all, with how intent his gaze was.  Something unspoken seemed to move behind his pupils.

Spitelout returned the look just as forcefully.  "All right," he finally said, "We'll search—together."

The Vikings exhaled as Spitelout offered his hand once more to Fishlegs, who took it this time.

"But we'll be quiet about it," Spitelout continued, pulling Fishlegs sniffling to his feet, "Nothing above a whisper, and I want to move fast.  Ingermans' first, and... Thorstons' on the way," he added with a flat-browed glance at Ruffnut, "After that we'll turn to the mountain and follow it to the Haddocks', and the Hall.  I want you four—" he pointed to Hiccup, Fishlegs and the twins, "—to stay there.  Snotlout, Astrid and I will go on to the Hoffersons', and our house—if you're willing, Astrid?"

Her answer was immediate.  "Of course," she said.  She was going to see her house.  She would follow him anywhere.

"We may need to go single file," said Spitelout, seeming to enter a brief debate with himself as he scanned his surroundings, "Ruffnut, Hiccup, can you take the rear?"

"Yeah," said Ruffnut, and Hiccup nodded along.

"Over here," Spitelout motioned them toward him.  "The rest of you line up," he called to the others, pointing out an order on the field, "Snotlout, Fishlegs, Tuffnut, Astrid.  If you brought anything sharp and pointy with you I want to see it at the ready in your hands.  No, leave the pack-Nadders back here.  Now, you two," he turned back to Ruffnut and Hiccup, his voice softening.

Astrid could barely hear what was said as three other dragons and their riders filed past her.

"Ruffnut, get your bow and quiver and bring them back here," said Spitelout, "I want you to ride with Hiccup.  Go."

Ruffnut ran to where her brother had steered the Zippleback and started digging into her basket.

"Hiccup," Spitelout went on, nearly eye-level with the boy as he sat on his Night Fury, "Walk your dragon in front of the pack-Nadders."  His voice grew even quieter.  "Lead them behind you.  If anything's trailing us I don't want it to go for you first."

Hiccup stole a furtive glance at the Nadders, as though afraid they might overhear.

"Did you bring a weapon with you?" asked Spitelout.

"Just my old axe," said Hiccup uncertainly, "But—I'm not really—"

"It's all right," said Spitelout.  It was no secret that Hiccup had never been very good with axes or swords.  Even so, Spitelout directed him, "Just get it out, and keep it ready.  More importantly, keep your dragon ready.  I've never known your Night Fury to miss a target.  Stay alert, and make sure he does the same."  He laid a hand on Toothless' neck in gesture.

"Spitelout, is something out there?" whispered Hiccup, his eyes wide under his furrowed brow as he dismounted and unclasped the lid of his basket.

"Maybe not," Spitelout grinned unconvincingly, "But we'll be prepared in any case."

Ruffnut returned, bow in hand, with a quiver full of arrows slung over her shoulder just as Hiccup wrested his axe from its tangled nest in the middle of a rolled-up blanket.  He fastened his basket again, and both of them climbed up onto Toothless' back.

"Turn around, Ruffnut," said Spitelout.

"What?"  Ruffnut looked confused.

"Back-to-back.  You keep an eye on the Nadders and on our rear.  Keep an arrow loaded at all times."

Ruffnut adjusted her position so she was looking straight down Toothless' tail, her knees against Hiccup's basket.  From the quiver now mashed between her shoulder blades and Hiccup's, she drew an arrow and nocked it to the string.

Spitelout meanwhile busied himself with attaching leads to the pack-Nadders' harnesses, tethering them together in a line.  He handed the leading end to Hiccup, who tied it fast around one of Toothless' saddle-straps.

From the front of the formation, Speck's soft chittering could still be heard as he tried to wriggle free of Snotlout's grasp.

Spitelout sighed.  He took his knife over to one of the pack-Nadders, briefly unfastened one of the saddlebags and sliced off a small hunk of deer-shoulder for his Terrible Terror.  Tidbit in hand, he added a final, "Keep your eyes open," to Hiccup and Ruffnut as he passed them again on the way to his Nadder.

Gravycake rumbled as Spitelout directed him into a crouch.  When the old hunter had swung himself over the saddle, urged his Nadder back to its feet and walked to the front of the line beside his son, he held out his arm like a perch and motioned for Snotlout to let Speck go, waving the venison for the Terrible Terror to see.

Snotlout was only too happy to oblige, and Speck darted hungrily to Spitelout's forearm, snatching up the meat in a trice.  Sated at last by the morsel in his talons, the little dragon easily allowed himself to be shunted back under his master's cloak as he nibbled away on the treat.

That being done, Spitelout hefted his old battle-axe from its holster in the saddle, its leather wrappings creaking beneath the fingers of one hand.  The other hand he put up in the air for attention.

His hunters recognized the signal.  They had seen it a hundred times on Forget Me.  The rest of their communications from their mentor would likely come in similar fashion.

Astrid gritted her teeth and swallowed hard as, with a wave of his arm, Spitelout started the line of riders and dragons out of the landing range and into the shambles of the village of Berk.