Vestige - 4

Vestige

Chapter 4 – Daybreak


Someone gasped.


When Tuffnut Thorston Jr. awoke, he immediately wished he hadn't, for the dull and rhythmic throbbing in his skull.  Sensing faint light through his still-closed eyelids, he reached lazily up, grabbed one thick hank of his long hair and cast it over his face.

And then he remembered why his head was hurting.  His sister's idiot dragon had blown a gas-cloud right into the middle of—

His eyes opened beneath the screen of his dirty-blonde mop, and he found himself to be lying on a table.

And he remembered the Skrill.  And he remembered the noise, and the running, and the killing...  And he remembered Berk.

And he remembered his home.

One hand slid under his coat to the pocket in his vest.  His ring was still there.


His heart stopped beating and became an icy stone within his chest.


He closed his eyes again and tried to go back to sleep—normally a very easy feat for him.  But more and more of the previous night kept flooding relentlessly into his memory, setting his mind to spinning in circles, faster and faster, barring the way back into the blissful darkness until there was nowhere left for him to retreat to.

He could only lie with his eyes shut, feeling the tickle across his nose of one wisp of hair as it moved with his breath.


He wished he had not woken up.

Ever.


Presently he became aware of a singularly unpleasant squelching sound coming from somewhere far away...

The Skrill?

He sat up—slowly, silently, flicking the curtain of hair from his eyes with a jerk of his head—and was alarmed to discover the table space around him to be quite empty.

A weak shaft of white daylight speared into the Great Hall from the tiny flue in the ceiling, glancing off a decorative bronze dragon figure suspended over the fire pit and throwing its scanty glow into the dimness.

Tuffnut's wide eyes quickly darted around the emptiness of the room, his ears detecting nothing but that wet, sucking sound...

The Skrill had been unable to get in, hadn't they?  He would have known if any of them had found a way inside, or had attacked or devoured anyone, he was sure of it.  They had made enough of a racket last night...  He'd have known about it if they got in...

His gut began to squirm as he squinted into the shadows where he thought the noise was coming from.  Where the plague was everyone?

A soft grunt sounded behind him, and he was instantly turning round, skidding into a crouch, his hand gripping his knife—

He wasn't alone on the tables after all.  Almost right up against the mighty doors, Spitelout sat stiff and bowed, inhaling deeply through his nose in a weary sigh and squeezing his baggy eyes.  Seeming to feel the disturbance in the wooden boards, the old hunter blinked his eyes open for a few bleary seconds to regard the wakeful Tuffnut.

"They've been gone a long time," he murmured, closing his eyes again and drawing his cloak a little tighter about himself.  He yawned hugely and sniffed, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Tuffnut wondered if Spitelout had been awake all night.  He'd always figured the man was part devil, or that he had at least made some kind of unholy pact with Loki or something, for the freakish energy he could sustain throughout a full day of hunting without ever seeming to need to rest.  Upon reflection, Tuffnut could not recall a single instance of ever seeing his mentor asleep.

But apparently even Master Jorgenson had his limits, and it looked like he was pushing them.

The lanky boy slipped from the tabletop and took another look about the Hall.  With the sleep gone from his eyes he could see now—there was Snotlout, snoring away on a table at the far end of the room, in the heat of the charred stone floor beside his Nightmare.  Hiccup and Fishlegs had likewise stolen away from the barricade at some point in the night, to climb up onto the hearth and take advantage of the fire pit's warmth.

Tuffnut shivered.  Blow it, was he the only one to have spent the whole night on the freezing tabletop?  Except for Spitelout, of course.  But then Spitelout was part devil and wouldn't have minded anyway.

Taking a few steps toward the squelching sound, Tuffnut caught sight of his dozing Zippleback; it still hadn't moved from its hiding place behind the pillar.  Curled up in the fork between its necks were his sister and Astrid, snuggled under a red-and-grey blanket—

That was from his house, from the chest beneath the stairs.  His mother had made it.  He had watched her years ago as she worked on it, on the table—

Tuffnut shook the intrusive images of his home from his mind.  Ruffnut must have collected it yesterday when she and Spitelout had gone searching for supplies.

She could have had the decency to bring him something warm in the night too.

He sullenly hoped the stupid girls had slept comfortably.

He gritted his teeth and kept walking.  The dead Skrill from last night still lay strewn here and there about the floor of the Great Hall, some slumped in spiky, rounded heaps, others clawing the air in frozen contortion.  His steps took him right past the first of them, the one he had brought down with his spear.

In the soft daylight, Tuffnut could see for the first time just how big it was.  Its glassy eyes stared, partially covered by the lower lids as if in a wicked grin.  Its huge mouth still gaped in a silent scream.

His head could easily fit inside those jaws.

Tuffnut wondered if, had he been able to see the creature more clearly, he would have attacked it so boldly after all.

His mind went dark with memory.  Yes, he concluded almost immediately.  He would have.

The disgusting slurping noise was just on the other side of the next pillar.  Tuffnut took a few more steps... and there was the dead Gronckle, and—a small movement made the boy start—

But it was only Spitelout's little flying rat, Speck.

The Terrible Terror paused for only a moment to regard the Viking with wide yellow eyes... and then he plunged his head back into the little hole he had gouged out of the dead dragon's belly.  The sucking, smacking noise continued as the little dragon gorged on the innards within.

The spectacle smelled of nothing beautiful.

Tuffnut's lip curled, his brow depressing in a disgusted grimace as he watched the forms of the Terror's horns and snout moving beneath the warty skin of the Gronckle.  It was... kind of interesting, actually...


Someone gasped again.


Tuffnut rounded the pillar completely and glanced back up the south wall.  Away in the corner, Astrid was stirring.  She cast off her half of the blanket and sat up, rubbing both hands shakily down her face.  It was strange and slightly surprising to see her without her pauldrons on; she seemed somehow smaller without them.

Even more surprising was the realization that she was wearing one of his tunics.

Tuffnut felt his eyes widen in mild outrage... but his anger was short-lived.  It was his own fault for not going into his house with Ruffnut yesterday; he probably could have kept a better eye on which items of his she now felt so free in distributing to her friends.

He'd get his shirt back later.  For now he only watched as Astrid jumped to her socked feet... and promptly stumbled, flailing clumsily for the support of the nearest pillar.  She lowered her head, panting.  It looked like she'd gotten up too fast.

Still leaning against the column with one hand, she reached down with the other to pull her boots onto her feet.  After that it was a soft jump over Flint's outstretched neck before she disappeared to the other side of the line of pillars.

Tuffnut came back round his own pillar, toward the center of the room.  Astrid was already at the barricade, up and kneeling on the table, with one hand on Spitelout's back as he sat facing away from her.  Only the occasional delicate hiss of their whispering made it back to Tuffnut's ears.

He listened to it dumbly for a few moments before he found himself unable to care or even wonder about whatever they were saying anyway.  His eyes and ears gravitated instead back to the object of next-greatest interest in the immediate vicinity: Speck the Terrible Terror was now delving deeply into the Gronckle's belly, though perhaps not quite as voraciously as before.  He paused and emerged now and again to heave a tiny little sigh, look about the room, and lick the extraneous juices from his face and talons.

Lucky little creep, Tuffnut thought.  Not a care in the world except what to eat next.

Why couldn't life be that simple?

Forever?

Tuffnut looked at the Gronckle.  He wondered vaguely if dragon meat would be good to eat.  He took a few steps closer.  Loki's armpits but that thing reeked.  It had probably been dead too long.

He turned away.  He didn't feel hungry anyway.

How could he ever feel like eating again?

He didn't want to do anything.

He only wished he could have just stayed asleep.

His back and shoulders found the pillar, and he slid down its rough-cut surface to the ground.  With the flying rat finally quieting down its gorging behind him, Tuffnut was able to catch a few words from the conversation at the barricade.  Sure.  Chance.  Axe.  House.

The sounds became more and more meaningless, melting into an irritating drone and finally disappearing into his buzzing headache.  As he stared at the cold stone floor between his feet, he thought of his home again.  He didn't mean to, and he didn't want to... but he couldn't help it.

The Great Hall evaporated and all he could see was the dingy interior of his house.  The shields gone.  The fire pit cold.  The table empty.  Almost.

He could see his father's face, hear his father's voice, his laughter like icy gravel.  He could feel the hearty punch to his shoulder and reassuring clap to his helmet before he'd left for Forget Me.  How he'd complained about having to be stuck with Spitelout for three whole weeks—it was a fate worse than death.

And it had been, in all honesty.

"It'll be good for you."

That's what his father had said.

"Make me proud, boy."

Yeah, right.  Tuffnut gave a bitter snort of laughter.  How could he ever hope to live up to anything his father ever did?

Not one Viking on the entire island of Berk, not even Chief Stoick the Vast himself, had killed more dragons than Tuffnut the Elder.  Terrible Tuffnut they called him.  With his halberd in his hands he was a master of speed, brutality, and the administration of general torment.  Rumor had it he had even once made a Gronckle cry.  He could bring down a score of dragons in one night, if the raid were bad enough.  All the boys knew he was the one to see after an attack if they wanted to get their mitts on an armful of still-twitching Terror tails to play with.

Young Tuffnut remembered the game fondly; his dad would always secretly slip him the freshest one, so that when they all dropped them in the middle of the dirt circle... his would usually be the one to wriggle and dance its way out first.  He'd won so many bets that way...

No one ever saw so many dragonhead trophies mounted so consistently in one place than outside the Thorston home.  No one killed more dragons than Terrible Tuffnut.

Tuffnut Jr. had hoped to one day surpass that standing.  He and Ruffnut both.  The Vicious Twins.  That's what people were going to call them.  Together (so long as Ruff could keep from being an idiot) they were going to hunt down and destroy every last dragon that so much as even snorted in the direction of Berk.

And indeed, hunting under Spitelout's tutelage, as horrible as it was, would have made for good practice.  But Tuffnut knew it could never happen now.  Not with the peace they had come to with the dragons.

Then again...

Tuffnut's eyes came back to reality, and he focused once more on the dead Skrill in front of him.

His nose and brow twitched toward each other, slowly simmering into an ugly boil and bubbling over in a heated sneer as his teeth clenched together.  Vicious...

It wasn't so big.  Under all those spikes and teeth and claws... it was wretched and small and empty.  The lowest, meanest dreg of slime that would ever regret crawling out of its dank hole in the earth.

Somehow his hand had found its way back under his coat and into his vest pocket.  The ring's edge cut into his palm as he clenched it tightly in his fist.


He was going to slaughter them all.


His head began to pound once more, throbbing in perfect time... or so he thought, until he looked up and realized the drumbeat was coming from Astrid's boots as she strode across his view toward the back of the Hall.

She stopped at Snotlout's table and shook the burly boy awake.  Tuffnut could hear the words of their whispered exchange... but couldn't bring himself to comprehend them.  What was he doing?

"Tuffnut," said Spitelout for what the young Viking realized was the second time.

He looked to his left, and there stood his mentor.  He hadn't even heard the man's approach.

"The three of us are going out to have a look," the old hunter began.  His voice was hoarse and raw.  "You and the others start hauling these Skrill out of here.  Just lay them out on the stairs to start with; don't throw them over or cause any rock-falls.  Do you understand?"

Tuffnut nodded his head.

"Good."  Spitelout paused and sighed heavily.  "The devils seem to have gone for now, but if they come back, don't wait for us.  Bar the doors."

And with a final stern look he moved off after Astrid.

Tuffnut watched them all as he tried to digest the words.  Astrid and Spitelout talking.  Snotlout getting down from his table.  Looking at his dragon.  Patting and scratching her head.  Astrid coming back across the room.

Ugh, why his shirt?  He couldn't tell if she looked better for wearing it... or it looked worse for being on her.

Looking on in a fury too depressed to be acted upon, he watched as Astrid belted his tunic snugly around her waist, crinkling the material (it really was too big for her), and ran the clasps of her pauldrons through the fabric over her shoulders.

That had better not tear, he thought grudgingly.

She then pulled on her dearest Skirt Of Death over her trousers, finally completing her dangerous, armored silhouette.

Hefting her axe with a fondness Tuffnut always found slightly disturbing, she resigned herself to stand beside the barricade, waiting tensely for the others.  Her efforts to appear patient were certainly heroic... but completely in vain.  For how motionlessly she stood, she seemed to draw every eye in the room with a gravity that could swallow the sun.

She screamed without making a sound.

Momentarily, the Jorgensons started back toward the doors as well, Snotlout lagging slightly behind to glance over his shoulder every few steps.

His Monstrous Nightmare at the back of the Hall returned no such looks.

"Tuffnut," Spitelout beckoned with a wave of his arm, "Come help us with the tables."

It was a few moments before Tuffnut was able to muster enough willpower to respond to this.  But with a very great effort, he managed to slouch his way back up the pillar, and sulk toward the barricade.

With the four of them each taking a corner, they were able to lift the tables clear of the ground and move them out of the way in silence.  The three benches were likewise removed from the door handles with the utmost care, and laid quietly on the floor nearby.

The Vikings exchanged a few hesitant looks before Spitelout took one handle in a sure grip, and very slowly, very gently... pulled.

A blinding crack of daylight split the room in half, stinging Tuffnut's eyes.  Protesting pops and creaks from the massive hinges resounded like mallet-strokes off the stone walls.  The widening glimpse of the outside was almost too bright to look at after the long night in the dark.  Tuffnut hoped no one noticed as his eyes involuntarily began to tear.

Squinting against the glare, Spitelout took one cautious step through the narrow gap, his axe poised, ready for anything.  His trainees stood back with bated breath as he scanned the upper landing, the rocks to either side, the tangled ruin of the village below...  He took another step and turned, craning his neck and holding onto his helmet to glance up the face of the mountain above.

"Wait a moment..." he cautioned quietly, and then moved away into the whiteness.  The others could only listen to the soft crunch of his boots through the thin snow as they stood behind the threshold.

"Hey, Tuff," Snotlout murmured, twiddling the handle of his mace.

Tuffnut turned his head.

"Can you..." Snotlout cleared his throat, "can you look after Fireworm, while we're gone?"

"What do I look like, your freakin' babysitter?" Tuffnut growled.  He didn't feel like being anyone's tool today.

Snotlout's brow furrowed dangerously.  "Come on, can you just do it?" he rasped, grabbing Tuffnut's coat.

Tuffnut looked down at Snotlout's fist, and then back at his face, unmoved.

He twisted away.  "Fine, whatever," he sighed, batting his friend's arm aside and starting toward the back of the room.  "Like it matters anyway," he added under his breath.

A shadow dimmed the room as Spitelout padded back through the doorway.  "It seems clear.  Ready?" he whispered.

The others must have nodded their heads, but Tuffnut didn't look back to see it.  He only heard the old hunter's hushed instruction, "Quickly now..." and the groan and soft bump of the closing door as the room was plunged once again into relative darkness.

With no more watching eyes to prod him into productivity, Tuffnut slowed his pace and came to a stop, standing in the middle of the floor, looking at nothing.

Couldn't Snotlout's dragon take care of itself for just a few measly moments anyway?  It had done just fine without anybody staring at it in the nighttime.  It didn't need him to go and stare at it right now.

A weary sigh escaped Tuffnut's lips.  Why couldn't he have just stayed asleep?

He looked back to the doors and was somehow slightly surprised to see the Jorgensons and Astrid actually gone.  A chilling silence reigned once more in the Great Hall.

And then Tuffnut caught sight of his Zippleback's tail, peeking out from behind the first pillar... and he remembered.

He made a beeline for where his dragon lay sleeping.  There, between its necks, still snuggling under the old blanket, was his sister Ruffnut.

He woke her up with a swift kick in the gut.

Being sure to give her enough time to cough and moan and blink, he refrained from speaking until he was certain she would be conscious enough to understand it.  Once her eyes came into focus, he snarled, "What are you giving away all my shirts for, huh?"

"What?" Ruffnut wheezed, glaring sleepily.

"Why was Astrid wearing my clothes?"

Ruffnut groaned and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.  "Because, in case you didn't notice," she hissed, "all of her clothes flew out the door with her dragon yesterday, moron."

"I knew that," Tuffnut asserted, though in fact he had forgotten.  "But why couldn't you just lend her some of yours?"

"She liked yours better.  You weren't using them."

"You could've asked," he spat, kicking his sister again.

"Don't kick me—" Ruffnut pulled up the blanket and swiped one leg viciously across the floor, knocking Tuffnut's feet out from under him.

He landed on Flint's neck, and the dragon woke up with a shriek.  This woke the other head up, and the startled Zippleback stumbled to its feet.

Ruffnut threw off the blanket and lunged at Tuffnut before he could regain his footing to retaliate.  Barely avoiding the hulking paws of their dragon as it stomped off toward the back of the Hall, the twins rolled across the floor, struggling in a tangle of fists, boots and long blonde hair.

"You—would—have—said—no—anyway!" Ruffnut choked out from Tuffnut's headlock.

"I'm the oldest—" Tuffnut started, and then Ruffnut banged his head against the floor, "that means you should respect—" and elbowed him in the gut, "—my—" and punched him in the face, "—decisions!"  He kicked her in the shin and grabbed her by the hair, which he knew she hated more than anything...

"Where's Astrid?" asked an alarmed voice.

The Thorston twins froze as they were, panting slightly, and turned their heads.  Hiccup stood staring at them with frantic eyes, his hands held open in front of him, at a loss.  Behind him, away on top of the breastwork, Tuffnut could see Fishlegs awake and stirring as well.

Hiccup glanced quickly about the room.  "Where's Spitelout?" he asked again.

"They went out," Tuffnut grunted, shoving his sister off of him.

"Outside?  Well is it safe?  Are the Skrill gone?" Hiccup went on.

"I don't know, I didn't check," Tuffnut retorted, getting to his feet.

"Well did they say anything?  How long have they been gone?"

Would he stop asking questions?  "Yeah, he said you and Fishlegs have to haul all the Skrill out of here and lay them out on the stairs before he gets back."

Hiccup's brow lowered.  He didn't look convinced.  "Uh-huh, and what are you supposed to be doing?"

Tuffnut puffed out his chest importantly.  "I'm looking after Fireworm.  Snotlout asked me to."  That was believable enough.  And true besides.

Hiccup turned dubiously to Ruffnut, fishing for validation.

Ruffnut didn't miss a beat.  "He told me to go get some water."  She folded her arms with perfect confidence.

Hiccup looked from one twin to the other.

The Thorstons didn't flinch.

The Chief's son finally rolled his eyes in acceptance (or accommodation; Tuffnut couldn't tell which) and turned away with a sigh.  "Great," he muttered to himself, walking back to the fire pit.

As Hiccup turned his back, the twins exchanged a look of deepest malevolence.  It was a ritual expression they shared whenever they had to put off killing each other, and an unspoken promise to get back to it as quickly as possible.  Disengaging the death-glare after a moment, Tuffnut moved off toward the back of the room while Ruffnut set about gathering what stray crockery she could find in the disarray of the Hall.

The lanky boy's feet took him deeper into the shadows, up a few stone steps and past another dead Skrill until he stood before the Monstrous Nightmare.  Hiccup's dragon was back here too, curled up under one of the bigger dragon's wings.  Belch and Flint now lay nearby as well.

The immense red dragon breathed evenly where she lay in the center of an enormous scorch-mark on the stone.  She seemed to be asleep.  What was he supposed to do anyway?

Behind him, Tuffnut could hear the muttering voices of Hiccup and Fishlegs, deliberating over where best to grip a spike-studded Skrill carcass.  Punctuating their conversation was the soft clack of the wooden vessels Ruffnut was stacking.

He needed to appear busy.  He stepped a bit closer...

At his approach, Fireworm's huge nostrils heaved and she exhaled violently.  One great, fiery eye opened a slit to take in the newcomer.  Then the other eye opened.  Then both eyes widened in a fixed, animal stare—a cat-stare.  Unblinking... and unnerving.  She gazed directly into the Viking's eyes until Tuffnut almost felt as if his soul were being sucked away.

A low groan came from the door and light flooded into the Hall.  Tuffnut pulled his eyes away from the dragon in time to see his sister venturing cautiously outside, a small bucket in one hand and a large bowl in the other.

Idiot, Tuffnut thought, why getting water?  Couldn't she have thought of anything better than that?  He didn't like her going outside.

He turned back to Fireworm.

The Nightmare's scaly nose twitched, and Tuffnut could hear the air rushing up and down her long throat until, with another forced exhale and a decidedly disapproving moan, she turned away.  Shifting all at once, the whole mountain of her body heaving, her claws scuffing the stone, she twined her massive head around to the other side of her body, nestled it under her wing, and slumped heavily back to the floor.  The wind of her sighing blew all the way to the recessed fireplace where it cast a flurry of embers and tattered parchment into the air.

With the dragon facing away from him, Tuffnut could now see the long gashes and puncture-marks along the back of her neck.  He furrowed his brow, intrigued, and moved closer.

The holes were deep, and scabby on the inside, the dried blood a pitted, crispy black.  Across the surface were long lacerations, running jagged lines between some scales and breaking straight through others.  Seeping from beneath the broken edges here and there were yellow dribbles of pus.

Tuffnut wondered whether the damaged scales would eventually fall off and be regrown, or if Fireworm would retain them forever.  Because if the latter were the case... then those were going to be some seriously awesome scars.

He leaned in very close to inspect one particularly oozy wound... and Fireworm burst into flame.

Tuffnut jumped back with a nasty oath, just snuffing out one trailing lock of his hair before too much of it could go up in smoke.

Surprised voices cried out and heads turned at the sudden light and noise.  But when Hiccup and Fishlegs saw it was only Fireworm, they turned their attention back to their Skrill.  They had tied a rope around its neck and were now attempting to drag it out of the Hall.

The fire's heat pressing against his face and arms, Tuffnut put a bit more distance between himself and the combusting dragon.  Across the flames and on the other side he saw Hiccup's Night Fury doing the same, grumpily nosing his way out from under Fireworm's wing and trotting over to the wall, his eyes not quite awake, and his saddle on fire.

The black dragon shook his head and looked listlessly about the room until he spotted his master.  With a plaintive croon he started forward.

"Aoh, Toothless!" Hiccup yelled when he saw him.  He abandoned Fishlegs and the Skrill and hurried toward the back of the room, the tunk-tunk-tunk of his prosthesis against the stone boring into Tuffnut's temples and reawakening his headache.

Tuffnut closed his eyes resignedly; it had almost gone away, too.

He turned around and looked on as Hiccup slipped off his vest and threw it over the Night Fury's back, patting it down and smothering the flames.  Lifting it up again after a moment the younger Viking swept his hands over the saddle, inspecting the leather all over for damage, tugging at the connections and muttering reassurances to himself.

As he shrugged his vest back over his shoulders, Hiccup went suddenly still, his eyes flicking back and forth over his dragon.  "C'mere bud," he finally murmured, leading his Night Fury down the steps.

Tuffnut climbed up onto the table where Snotlout had been sleeping, and had a seat.  There really wasn't much else for him to do.

He only watched as Hiccup and Fishlegs exchanged a few words down by a pillar near the door.  He couldn't hear much over the fizzling of Fireworm's burning skin, but he could see enough to understand what was going on.

They tried to tie one end of the rope onto Toothless' harness, but Toothless didn't seem to like the idea.  He took one sniff of the rope and snarled.  He even tried to move in and blast the Skrill in the face, but Hiccup stopped him before he could let loose.

Just as Toothless finally slunk away to meander back into the shadows, Ruffnut walked back into the Hall.  The two large bowls she carried were heaped with fresh snow from outside.  She strode up to the fire pit and set them on the hearth to melt beside a few more bowls and pails, already full and beginning to glisten.  She must have been out and back a few times already, Tuffnut realized.

She slowed her pace as she passed the boys to go outside again.  They were struggling so arduously with the Skrill carcass that Tuffnut could hear their strained grunting from where he sat, and could almost see the sweat beginning to bead on their foreheads.  Apparently the beast was heavier than it looked.

Tuffnut leaned back on the tabletop.  He was feeling rather pleased with his chore-dodgery.  It was the first good feeling he had had all day.  Maybe if he just lay down on the table, pretending to stare at the Monstrous Nightmare long enough... he'd be able to go back to sleep.

It seemed a long shot.

Actually it seemed impossible.

But if he could only manage it...

He just wanted to be somewhere where he didn't have to think.

Ruffnut still stood by the others.  She gestured her hand in their direction, offering help probably.  Hiccup looked up and responded with something Tuffnut couldn't hear.  And then his metal foot slipped with a ringing scrape, and he hit the floor.  He curled up and grabbed his leg as Ruffnut and Fishlegs converged on him.

Real smooth, Tuffnut thought, rolling his eyes.  There were better ways to get attention.  But he didn't suppose he could blame the little gimp for playing to his strengths.

How ironic.

The others helped Hiccup back to his feet, Ruffnut putting on her most nauseating simper, and Tuffnut could watch no more.  He brought his legs up onto the table, faced the Nightmare, and stretched out.  Resting his head on one arm, he closed his eyes.  Fireworm's heat really was kind of soothing...  Maybe he wouldn't have trouble getting back to sleep after all...

"Hey Tuff!" called his sister.

Curse it.  "What do you want?"

"Come help us get these Skrill out."

"I'm watching Fireworm."  Only the top of his head would be visible to them.  They wouldn't be able to catch him napping.

"She can watch herself."  Ruffnut's voice seemed a little closer.

"She likes having me here," Tuffnut argued.

"I can tell when you're lying."

"When I'm horizontal, yeah, I know."

"It'll be faster with all of us, dimwit," Ruffnut snarled, her voice now very close.

Tuffnut opened his eyes.  "Yeah well I'm busy," he growled.

Ruffnut stormed into his view and took a handful of his tunic.  Her voice lowered to a dangerous pitch.  "If you don't get off your backside and just get over there and make yourself useful then I swear when we find Mom and Dad I will—"

"SHUT UP!"  Tuffnut shoved her away so violently that she fell over backward and skidded across the stone.

Ruffnut propped herself up on one elbow, a look of astonishment on her face.  She met Tuffnut's angry gaze with a fury no tongue could utter.

If anything had passed between their eyes at that moment, it would surely have burst into flame.

"Fine!" Tuffnut roared, lunging down from the table and striding hotly toward the blasted carcass.

His sister followed him.


When the four of them combined still could not budge the dead Skrill, Fishlegs went back to have a look at it, and found that, hidden under its wing, one of its heel-spurs had caught in a crack in the stone.

Tuffnut slapped his forehead and dragged his hand down his face.  He was surrounded by idiots.

Once the spur was dislodged, the Vikings found the body to be quite manageable, and were able to pull it out of the Hall with relative ease.  One by one the Skrill were noosed, dragged out the door and lined up on a landing halfway down the stairs outside.

They had a bit of trouble with the one Spitelout had decapitated, having to run the rope instead around its muscular forelegs, puncturing its wing membranes.  But in due course the final Skrill was laid out beside its fellows, and the Vikings wiped their hands and turned to go back inside.

Shivering, Fishlegs was the first one back up the steps.  Ruffnut and Hiccup took a bit more time, pausing every so often to scan the village all around, scrutinizing every building, searching for movement.  For the Jorgensons and Astrid still had not returned.

Having volunteered to untie and collect the rope, Tuffnut remained by the Skrill.  As he coiled loops around his arm, his eyes swept over the ruins below as well... but it was only for show.  He wanted the others to leave.  He wanted to be alone.  Or alone enough.

He couldn't help it.  After puffing it up and down the stairs and moving all those bodies... he really did feel hungry.

He winced as he twiddled with the knife at his belt.  How infuriating...  That his stomach could command such attention at a time like this.  That he actually considered catering to it.

Well, there was plenty of meat right here, and fresher than that Gronckle in the Hall, that was for sure.  He found his eyes perusing the nearest carcass, searching out a tender cut beneath the black scales.

But hadn't Fishlegs said they were poisonous?  Or was that only if they bit you?

But would it really matter either way?

What if he died from this?

That gave him pause.

He looked again toward the rubble near the coast.  He could almost see his house from here.

A slight wind moaned mournfully over the rocks.

Well, at least he wouldn't die hungry.

He sliced open a haunch, and was somewhat surprised to find the meat within as white as the skin over it was dark.  Its texture was not unlike that of a chicken-leg.  A very, very large chicken-leg...

Getting his hands only slightly greasy, he cut a generous chunk from the largest muscle, concealed it in the coils of rope, and made his way back up the stairs and into the Hall, closing the doors behind him.

Ruffnut and Hiccup had joined Fishlegs at the back of the room as the stouter boy had begun his own inspection of Fireworm's wounds.  The Monstrous Nightmare's skin had finally burned out, giving the Vikings a clear and apparently very engrossing view of her scratches.

Thankfully this left the fire pit completely abandoned.  However, the glow of its flames could no longer be seen.

Tuffnut climbed up onto the hearth, carefully depositing the rope on the boards beside him so as to keep his snack safely hidden, and had a look.  Sure enough, the embers left over from last night were all but dead.  He tried to blow them into life again but only succeeded in throwing up a fine cloud of ash.  The gangly boy finally reached his long arm down, grabbed an unburned portion of bench, and climbed back to the floor to seek out his dragon.

His steps took him past the Gronckle again.  Speck appeared to have finally had his fill, and now lay dozing a short distance away from the dead dragon's tail.

Toothless, however, looked like he was just getting started on one of the hind legs.  The black dragon turned his great head as Tuffnut passed and rumbled, glaring like he knew something.

"What?" Tuffnut snapped, and continued toward the back of the Hall.

He found Flint and held the piece of wood in front of the dragon's nose.  "Strike," he commanded.

But Flint took one whiff of Tuffnut's outstretched hand and recoiled, chittering nervously.

"Come on, strike, you big slug!"  Tuffnut walked toward his dragon as it backed into a corner.  "Strike, Flint."

"Give me that," Ruffnut hissed, coming from behind and swiping the wood from Tuffnut's grasp.  She approached the Zippleback daintily.  "Come here Flinty baby..." she crooned, "Can you light this on fire for me?  Strike it?  Striiiike it?"

Her sugary inflections nearly made Tuffnut vomit.

At length Flint opened wide his jaws and spat out a small shower of sparks.  It took a few tries, but eventually a small flame took to one corner of the piece of bench in Ruffnut's hand.

"Oh good boyyyyy," she purred, scratching the dragon vigorously under the chin.

She turned to hand the firebrand back to Tuffnut, her mien shifting instantly back to that of a hydrophobic troll.  "Maybe if you'd bathe once in a while they wouldn't be so offended by you," she suggested, all the honey gone from her voice and only the bee stings left over.

"Pity it's only working on them and not you," Tuffnut glared, taking back the wood.

Ruffnut wrinkled her nose at his touch.  "What's that slime on your hands?"

"Sorry," said Tuffnut nastily, "I sneezed."

His sister scoffed in disgust and walked hurriedly away.

After rekindling the fire and adding a bit more wood to the pit, Tuffnut had no trouble locating a decent spit among the debris in the Hall.  He settled himself on the hearth, his back to the others, and let his legs dangle over the edge and down into the middle, warming his toes.  No one paid him any attention as he cut up and skewered his meat and set it to roast over the low flames.  They were too occupied with Snotlout's dragon, and that was fine with him.  He could tell Snotlout later that yes, Fireworm was looked after while he was away.  Maybe not by him...  But Snotlout didn't need to know everything.

Sitting still again with nothing to do but occasionally inspect his meat, Tuffnut found himself again and again bursting into his home, feeling the darkness around him, and confronting the deserted table... only to return to his senses every few moments and catch himself staring into the flames.

By and by he set the spit with its meat down inside the fire pit, leaning it against the stones to cook and freeing his restless hands to reach under his coat and inside his vest.  He drew out his ring and held it before him, giving it a long and pensive look.

It sat cold and heavy in his palm.  The weightiness of it always surprised him, no matter how many times he held it.  Light from the ceiling and the fire glinted off the small hammer design and warrior motif.  The eyes of the bearded figure looked almost alive.

He rushed through his doorway and into his house again.  There was the table.  But everything was so dark.  His every footfall sending a creak through the floorboards, he had started forward so slowly, so convinced that he would not find himself alone after all.

The shadowy interior had been hesitant to reveal itself as his eyes had adjusted.  He hadn't been able to make it past the first chair.  But he didn't need to.

Toothless snorted angrily.

Tuffnut looked down and sniffed.  His Skrill meat was burning.

Back went his ring into his vest as he grabbed up the spit to have a look at his lunch.  The color had not improved much; the flesh had gone from a pearly, creamy white to a rather off-putting light grey.  The greasy smell likewise left something to be desired.  But Tuffnut's mouth watered as he pinched and prodded the meat, checking whether it had cooked quite all the way through.

He pulled off a little piece, the grain of the muscle separating smoothly and evenly.  The same grey color ran throughout the whole of it, streaked here and there with lighter and darker shades.

It didn't look dangerous...

He smelled it once, and popped it into his mouth.

The initial taste was sharp, and oily.  Tuffnut's cheeks burned and prickled with the sudden activity of chewing after having gone for so long without food.  He sucked on the mass in his mouth for a bit, rolling it over his tongue, and then swallowed it.

Aside from a slightly slicker texture and a salty aftertaste... it tasted just like chicken.

Tuffnut popped another piece into his mouth.  If he'd known it would be this bearable—this good—he would have cut off the whole leg.

The pieces went all too quickly, and he soon found himself fingering the last hunk of it, when Fishlegs' voice sounded suddenly behind him.

"What's that?" the portly Viking whispered in shock and longing.

Tuffnut looked over his shoulder.  His sister and Hiccup were still sitting back by Fireworm, out of earshot.  But Fishlegs was walking round the fire pit, slowly coming to a stop where Tuffnut would more easily be able to see him.

Tuffnut was too tired to conjure up any clever lies just now; the truth could do here.  Besides, Fishlegs was harmless.  What that kid knew wouldn't hurt anybody.  "Skrill," he grunted.

Fishlegs' eyes widened even further.  "Tuffnut are you crazy?" he squeaked under his breath, "Skrill have a toxicity level of thirteen.  What if you get sick?"

"Okay, I don't even understand what you just said," Tuffnut grumbled, "But I'm not sick.  See?"  He turned his torso toward the other boy, holding wide his arms.  Surely he looked just fine.  "They're only poisonous if they bite you, right?"

Fishlegs looked uncertain, though his brow still contracted with concern.  "Well, I—"

The doors burst open with a bang and a groan.  Tuffnut threw the last piece of Skrill into his mouth and quickly swallowed it whole.

But there was no danger of being spotted by Spitelout.  Spitelout was otherwise occupied.  He was carrying Astrid bodily into the room.  Trailing frantically at his elbow was Snotlout, burdened by the weapons of all three of them.

Pull and scratch as she might, Astrid could not displace the meaty hand clamped over her mouth.  Nor for all the furious kicking of her legs could she jar the hold of the powerful arm around her waist.  Her feet swung and flailed, straining to reach the ground.

"Close the doors," Spitelout growled, and Snotlout ran back and complied at once.

All other noise in the Hall had ceased.  Even the dragons seemed to pause and turn their heads.  All eyes were fixed upon the struggling, twisting girl held tightly to Spitelout's chest as he strode briskly deeper into the room.

Astrid's muffled cries were broken only by the odd, jagged intake of breath through her nose.  Dark mud covered her shins and dotted her bracers.  Her dirty hair clung to the wetness of her face as hot tears streamed down both her cheeks.

"What's going on?" Ruffnut demanded.

Spitelout didn't answer.  He didn't even slow down.

Tuffnut exchanged an unsettled look with Fishlegs, and then hopped down from the hearth.  Both boys followed their mentor (from a safe distance) as he made for the back of the room.

The old hunter didn't stop until he reached the recessed fireplace, the deepest point in the Hall, whereupon he set Astrid down on her feet and turned her to face him, her back against the wall.

"Let me go!"  Her hoarse and shuddering voice exploded through the Hall like a forge-hammer through ice, causing Fireworm to jump and burst into a weak flame.

And then she sank to the floor with a moan.

Spitelout sank with her, his hands still tight about her shoulders.  "Astrid," he steadily raised his voice, "Astrid listen to me—"

"No—" she grabbed at his tunic, his cloak, his bracers, fighting to get away.

"Astrid!"  Spitelout shook her harshly, and her head banged against the stone behind her.

Tuffnut and Fishlegs slowed their approach and fell in, deathly silent, beside Ruffnut and Hiccup, forming a pallid semicircle.

"Oh Odin... Oh Odin..."  Astrid covered her face with her hands.

Spitelout turned to face the spectators.

His eyes could have destroyed them all.

"HAVEN'T YOU LOT GOT ANYTHING BETTER TO DO?" he roared, and the onlookers fled.

"Let me go—" Astrid's sobbing moan echoed through the room again as the four young hunters retreated down the steps and toward the door.

None of them spoke.  Their eyes only flicked here and there among themselves, sharing precarious glances as they grouped near a distant pillar, all of them eventually fastening their gazes once again upon the scene at the back of the Hall.

"Astrid, if you want to go back there—Astrid—if you want to go back you need to stop this..." Spitelout was saying.

Fireworm's skin began to gutter out, slowly sinking the deep corner and its two striving figures into shadow.

"Tuff," said Snotlout quietly.

Tuffnut turned around.  So in turn did everyone else after a moment.

Snotlout still stood by the table near the doors where he had deposited his mace and the two axes.  "How's Fireworm doing?" he asked.  Only his mouth seemed to pose the question; his hardened eyes seemed preoccupied with darker things.  Inquiring after Fireworm's health had been reduced to a requisite pleasantry.

But Tuffnut could tell his friend was still concerned for his mount, on some level.

Fishlegs beat him to the answer.  "Her wounds aren't bleeding anymore, but they look infected," peeped the large boy, "I think that's why she keeps flaming herself... to burn it out, you know?  Like she would for dragon-lice?"

"Is she all right, Tuff?" Snotlout asked again.

"I DON'T CARE!" Astrid screamed.

"ASTRID LOOK AT ME!" Spitelout bellowed.

The young Vikings trembled, slowly prying their eyes away from the sucking darkness of the back of the Hall and turning to face each other again.

"Yeah," said Tuffnut stiffly, "Yeah, she's all right."  He numbly voiced the required response.  But his eyes aligned with Snotlout's in a separate and completely silent dialogue wherein, in all honesty, not much information was able to be exchanged.

"Snotlout, what's going on?" Ruffnut whispered, "What happened?"

Snotlout's lips parted and he drew a breath as if to speak... only to slowly release it again.

"What did you see?" Hiccup murmured.

Snotlout swallowed.  He looked from one person to the next, attempting at every breath to say something, but only ever following through with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

Fishlegs was quietly hyperventilating.  Hiccup's metal foot tunked uneasily against the stone.  Ruffnut slipped her hand up onto Tuffnut's shoulder.

His sister only ever did that when she was afraid.  But she didn't know he knew that.

"Snotlout?" Hiccup prodded.

Snotlout visibly steeled himself to speak, and Tuffnut turned away.  He didn't need to hear the answer.  He already knew it.

He had known it from the first sounding of Astrid's voice.

"It's... it's her parents," Snotlout finally croaked.

Ruffnut gasped and covered her mouth.

"There were pyres," said Snotlout, "Lots of pyres."

Tuffnut closed his eyes as Astrid's sobbing shuddered through the Hall once more.