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The dragon was old.
He was old beyond his reckoning, and while he could count the years back to his youth, he did not wish
to relive the memories.
However, history has a nasty habit of repeating itself, dear reader. Over and over again. But sometimes
something happens. A tiny twitch in the story, and things are forever changed, yet not entirely. One
might even call it a--
“Hiccup!”
The dragon shifted in surprise. His green scales caught the dim light of the cave. His eyes snapped open.
A small boy, about twelve or thirteen years old, ran into the cave. He did not see the dragon, but
the dragon saw him.
And the dragon had never been so surprised in its life.
The boy was wearing a green shirt under his fur waistcoat. His bright red hair stuck up and out all over
the place, framing his freckled face. Green eyes swiveled, searching for a hiding place.
The boy ducked behind what he thought was a wall, but the reality, that he did not know, was the
dragon’s leg.
The dragon froze. He kept his eyes dim, not wishing to alert the boy of his presence yet. He took in the
sight before him as memories of a time long past flashed through his mind. Present and past mingled, as they are wont to do in the mind of a Sea Dragon.
The boy heaved a sigh of relief as he saw his pursuers run past the cave entrance. He stood up and
looked about him, placing a scraped and bleeding hand on the presumed wall and taking another deep
breath.
The dragon took a breath.
The boy scrambled backwards; eyes wide in fear. His breaths shuddered, racking his small frame.
The dragon turned his head towards him, looking at him curiously.
Green eyes met green eyes, locking in a steady gaze.
“W-what--” The boy stuttered, terrified.
“Hello.” said the dragon calmly, and since he had had years to remember, he spoke in the human
tongue.
“I- what- w-who are you?”
“The visitor should declare himself first.”
“I- my name is Hiccup. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock. T-the Fourth.”
The dragon, for the first time, showed emotion, and it was pure shock. “Hiccup you say?”
“Y-yes.”
“Well.” the dragon regained his composure. “In that case, I am willing to tell you my name, small one.”
The boy was now less terrified and more curious, but he still appeared wary.
“I-” The dragon opened his jaws wide, revealing not glistening fangs as the boy had imagined, but gums.
“I . . . am called Toothless.”
Isn’t fate artistic?