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Tuffnut hasn’t given up. His eyes linger on the ocean through the four-by-two inch window from their wooden cell, waiting for anything worth mentioning.
Ruffnut can almost see her brother silently begging. Please, just give me a shadow of a dragon. Or a ripple in the waves. Or just one fire blast. Please . A grin spreads across his face. It’s been forever since I’ve seen a good explosion.
Ruff’s always been able to sense her brother’s thoughts, like he’s a book she can read with ease. One of the perks of being twins, she supposes. Much as she’d hate to admit it, he’s a part of her, and she a part of him.
Maybe it’s a good thing they have each other company in this cell. Just them, wooden floor, a bucket of water so they don’t die of thirst, and a chasm of disagreement bigger than the ship itself.
Tuffnut hasn’t given up hope, hope that someone will come, hope that Astrid will fly in on Stormfly and rescue them in a flurry of magnesium fire.
Hope that she breaks the cell door with her bare hands, looks them dead in the eye, and says “I’m so sorry I doubted you, I was so horrible to you, I feel horrible for what I said, you’re valuable members of the team.”
Ruffnut gave up. Ruffnut gave up since she saw Tuffnut getting dragged in, kicking and screaming like a madman, after the failed line of defence against the Edge. Hiccup, Snotlout and Fishlegs weren’t quick enough to get out, and Heather overpowered Tuffnut with her double-headed axe without trying.
She stares at the bars of the cell, counting the squares in them. Five squares up by four alone. Twenty. The age she’ll be in two years time, and it barely feels it.
“Anything?” She asks her brother.
“Not yet,” he says, and she doesn’t miss it- the not yet , not the no . The words are padded out with optimism, flimsy hope held together more sloppily than Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s horrible attempts at building a ballista once. “But maybe-”
“Save it, Tuff,” Ruffnut snaps, harsher than she meant to. He flinches, staring at her with a look of horror as if she hit him. She regrets it instantly, and scooches closer to her brother, pulling him into her lap and petting his hair in a way she hasn’t done since they were kids.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m...” she trails off, not wanting to give her brother false hope.
He leans closer into her like she’s his mother, a steadiness he never had, and Ruffnut bites her lip and stays strong. She won’t break down, not when her brother desperately needs to believe there is a feasible end in sight.
But there isn’t. The other riders aren’t coming. They’re not coming. They’re not coming. They’re not coming , she thinks to herself until it becomes nothing in her ears. It doesn’t matter.