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Chapter Text

Twelve days north of hopeless...

A few degrees south of freezing to death…

Located solidly on the meridian of misery…

There is an island. The majority of it is grey, the flanks of it are craggy, spires of rock jut out at odd angles - overall, the whole thing gives off the impression that some god had a bit too much time on his hands and scooped up a big pile of rocks, only to immediately lost interest and drop the whole lot back into the sea again. The climate is cold and the wind is harsh, and occasionally mist moves in to further add to the bleakness.

No matter what name a starry-eyed settler gave it, people would inevitably start calling such a place Berk, because you'd have to be one to even think about living there.

And yet, atop a section where the coastline juts out in a collection of cliffs and arches and overhangs and sea stacks piled one on top of the other in truly haphazard fashion, where only the majority of flat surfaces have a sparse coating of grass and a few trees, there are signs of habitation: a crude stone wall here and there, rocks piled up to provide paths from one step to another. Herds of sheep graze on some of the grassy slopes. Around the middle of the gigantic outcrop, small pits start appearing covered by collections of large boulders, the stink of fish coming from them. The scorch marks left by previous fires become more frequent the further up and in one goes; by the time one reaches a collection of cave entrances at the back of the region just under a gigantic spire of eroded rock, a fine coating of ash lies on most surfaces, and the fact that soft snoring can be heard from all but the largest cave entrance seals the deal.

Occasionally, a winged shadow passes over the cliffs, or a spiky shape settles on a slope overlooking the sprawling region. Claws leave grooves in soft earth and windworn granite, and every so often a blast of fire adds another scorch mark to the collection.

This is the Nest, home of dragons for seven generations.

On most nights, it is peaceful.

This is not one of those nights.

* * *

The black sky was clear and the horizon cloudy, the stars were out in their thousands and the wind from the west had dwindled to a breeze.

On the flat stretch of grassland at the bottommost cliff-edge, the only sound was the sheep munching.

One lifted up its head from its meal. A sudden whoosh interrupted it mid-baa.

Nearby, another sheep looked up at the noise, and vacantly noted that its neighbour had vanished. It then noted that the patch of grass it had occupied was now available, and after glancing around shuffled over to claim it. The amount of alarm felt during this period could probably be measured in single digits.

It did feel slightly more alarmed when a burly hand picked it up and carried it off as well, though.

* * *

The roars in the distance were only enough to wake Tooth-trick when the whistle and crash of pulter fire joined them.

By the time he'd shaken the sleep from his head and scampered down the tunnel, orange light was pouring in through the cave mouth and the air was heavy with the scents of fire both dragon and otherwise. Without thinking he stuck his head out into the open, getting a brief glimpse of orange-grey smoke and winged shapes and a distant tree exploding into flame, and hastily yanked it back in before a fireball hit the ground right in front of him.

Vikings.

The inner sanctum was in chaos when the young dragon ran out into it. Quills and Montsons and Chokesparks were pouring out of the cave entrances and taking to the heavens from the boulders and mounds that lay scattered around the place, screeching and roaring to each other and to the world in general as they flew off over the inner wall to take part in the fray beyond. Pult fire was scattered around the place, greasy orange flames being hastily extinguished by little squeaking teams of Harkens. He barely got enough time to absorb all the chaos before a rust-red giant hurtled straight into him, knocking Tooth-trick onto his back with only his four short legs to defend himself.

{Morning!} roared the Smiteskin, already thundering on past to join in the conflict nearby.

Righting himself quickly before someone heavy trod on him, Tooth-trick leapt onto the nearest blackened tree trunk and took off into the maelstrom of multicoloured bodies overhead. Almost immediately he joined a seething river directed at several locations at once, and had to duck and weave to avoid crashing into either dragon or passing fireball, drawing a string of snarls and glares as he navigated his way through the confusion.

(What-you-doing out-here?)

<Out of the way!>

<Get back inside!>

Ah, the ever-adoring public.

From out of nowhere a steel Viking-web spun towards Tooth-trick. He only had time to register the gleam of metal before a white-speckled blueness slammed into him, knocking the dragon out of the way and back onto the solid ground nearby.

It met him with about as much affection as the populace. A now thoroughly-battered Tooth-trick was flipping himself over yet again when Steadfast Stormlaud landed atop the inner wall right beside him, all toothy maw and flat disk-shaped bulk and sea-blue wings, half focused on the battle and half glancing at Tooth-trick with a mixture of exasperation and anger. [Idiot! What are you doing out here? Get to shelter, right now!]

The black youngster didn't need telling twice. As soon as he darted away the nest-leader launched himself back up into the sky, the steps and layers of the middle ring stretching out before him. Everywhere he looked dragons were alighting on rock stacks and trees or skimming over the flat plains, sending blast after blast at the first few bands of metal-wielding horned figures that had managed to breach the central wall. A pult shot came careening through the air towards him, and without even thinking Steadfast shot a sonic blast that bounced the projectile back down towards the nearest invaders; the resultant explosion sent the Vikings flying, but as soon as they landed they were back on their feet again.

A fellow Stormlaud appeared next to him. [Situation?] rumbled Steadfast, eyeing the struggle between Nest defence and shaggy metal-wielding monsters.

The other dragon started glancing at the different sections of the Viking force, snarls and growls complex with description. [A dozen Wood Beasts by the eastern edge, pulters and Viking web-launchers on them with a +5 Defence, main attack force is a horde of Chargers and Big'uns with +8 Noise, +7 Hack 'n' Slash and +5 Frenzy] he glanced up at his nest-leader [almost certainly a Thundering Fireface leading]

The pack leader glanced up at the night sky, already half-hidden behind smoke and flyers. [Any sign of the Metal Wings?]

[None so far]

Below them a Smiteskin blazing with wrath threw herself across the middle ring at the nearest group of Viking raiders. Almost immediately they split up and surrounded her, fur- and ironscale-covered figures looking tiny compared to her fiery bulk, and yet within several minutes a Viking-web had been thrown over her and metal blows were raining down on her as she struggled.

With a flick of his wings, Steadfast angled himself and flew straight down towards the conflict. [Good]

* * *

Tooth-trick, meanwhile, had managed to clear the middle ring in one full-speed sprint, weaving around obstacles both inanimate and living and occasionally jumping out of the way as a fireball landed, adding to the already-considerable blaze that was lighting up the whole area. All around him landslides of Montsons were keeping to the lower airspace and changing into any Vikings they could find, whilst overhead iridescent vanities of Quills leapt from pine tree to pine tree, squawking like seagulls and flinging their spines every which way. Once or twice he even heard the whoomph as a Chokespark nearby detonated its gas cloud. Sightings of Vikings on the other hand were infrequent, but he could hear their bellowing battle-cries and the banging of hackers on wood-scales, and by the time he reached Chomper's station over by the black cliffs in the western Nest, Tooth-trick had spied at least a dozen shaggy figures running past, either chasing or being chased by dragons or on at least two occasions clinging onto and attacking them at the same time.

*Ah, Tooth-trick m'boy, how kind of you to join us!* Chomper came skidding down his scree pile towards him, a yellow-green shape nimbly leaping from one chunk of rock to another and looking for all the world like an acrobatic gecko. Tooth-trick in turn jumped up onto the gravel, and by the time the wingless Harken reached him he'd already started fishing good-sized rocks out of the pile and stacking them up by his tail. *Thought for sure some Viking had finally managed to split your skull open*

Tooth-trick tossed his fifth rock on the collection beside him. =No such luck, I'm afraid=

*Eh, the day is still young* Chomper jumped onto the rock nearest him, and started flinging pebbles gathered there into the mouths of passing Montsons. *And with all these Vikings around, the chances of you suffering a grievous injury in the next five minutes are appreciably high*

=Your compassion is touching. Truly, I am touched= Tooth-trick scooped up a stone as big as his head was and held it aloft for a Quill to snatch up. =But it'd take more than a few Vikings to take me out=

*Oh aye?*

=Oh aye indeed, heck you'd probably need at least five times as many Vikings to lock horns with this here force of nature= Tooth-trick paused to pass two rocks to a waiting Chokespark, =I mean we're talking a proper bloodthirsty army here, no punches pulled, at least a dozen Chargers and Big'uns for every pulter, all armed to the teeth of course, plus fifteen or more Thundering Firefaces-=

*Aye, or alternatively, a Pipsqueak with a stabber and the sniffles*

* * *

The main defence flock had started dropping stones on the invaders by the time Steadfast reached the central wall. He climbed up to the top of a nearby rock stack just in time to see a particularly large boulder crash into at least seven chopper-wielding Chargers, and watched with appreciation as Montsons swooped in to further pummel them. The satisfaction shrunk a bit when some of those same Chargers grabbed ahold of their assailants and clung on like grim death.

The nest-leader opened his mouth to bellow. [All able, to the central wall! I want Montsons at the base and Quills and Chokesparks providing cover!]

Two of his kindred Stormlauds flew past carrying his orders to the far reaches. When Steadfast turned his attention to the outer ring of the Nest, a sight of pandemonium was waiting for him: dragons running around scorched grass trying to herd sheep away to safety, Vikings either running after them or running away with livestock tucked under their arms whilst other dragons chased after them. Red and orange flames flickered everywhere, both Viking-made and dragon-ignited. Hackers and choppers clashed against sharp teeth and claws, metal singing amidst shouts and roars.

A lump of foreign stone struck the central wall, showering nearby Montsons with debris, and left a gaping crack in its flanks. Vikings were already pouring through it before a vanity of Quills arrived to try and stem the sudden leak; spines and streams of sparks rained down on wood-scales, and a Chokespark detonation helped halt the influx even further.

[Stormlauds, with me!] Steadfast roared, already airborne once more. [We'll lead the Smiteskins in a counter-attack!]

* * *

Tooth-trick and Chomper were just getting ready for the defence flock's third round when the inner wall exploded behind them. Instinctively Tooth-trick spun around to face the brand new dust-cloud, gas already in his gullet, Chomper squawking right above him.

(Inner-wall breached!) a Montson wailed.

<Someone get that hole patched up!>

On cue a mismatched band of dragons poured out of one of the caves into the inner sanctum, and Tooth-trick felt his heartbeat accelerate by a few seconds. A knobbly soil-brown Montson - Mothersweight - was first to the breach to coat everything in front of her with lava, before a furnace-red Smiteskin shoved her out of the way and dropped his load of boulders on top - Horrific Maw the Fourth. Next came a Chokespark, both green heads snapping at each other in argument as more stones were deposited in the shrinking hole (Bane and Kinder), and finally a blue-and-gold Quill alighted on the top and fired off a round with a delicate twirl, adding a coat of sharp spines to the repairs.

Ceilray…

She finished off her manoeuvre with a triumphant shriek, before leading the others over the wall and down the layers of the middle ring to the conflict. Tooth-trick realised only after they'd finished their patchwork that his wings had dropped limply to his sides; he wouldn't have been at all surprised if his pupils had gone wide as well (they tended to do that - most of the other dragons thought it was adorable).

When the wall-patch gang flew past he couldn't help but take a few steps down the scree pile.

*Oh no you don't* A tiny but nonetheless sharp Harken mouth clamped down and tugged on his tail. *You get back here this instant*

Failing to suppress a groan, Tooth-trick slumped down on the rocks and glanced back at Chomper. =Come onnnn, I can help!=

*Yes, well, call me silly if you want, but I can't help but think that with our current efforts to keep our Nest intact and the walls still standing against invaders, some young Scapegrace whizzing around blowing things into the third heaven might not be entirely appropriate for this particular situation*

=I wasn't even going to do that!= Not after the last time he'd tried it and ended up bringing a pine tree down on one of the larder-pits. =I was going to stay low, fly around, provide cover for other dragons-=

Chomper chirped his amusement. *You? Provide cover? That's like asking a Smiteskin to warm up your cave for you!* He flicked a couple of pebbles into the maw of a waiting Montson.

=No, listen, I've been practising! I can do different strengths now - just watch!= Tooth-trick quickly aimed away from the rock pile and spat a tiny 2-strength globule of white-hot plasma - it screamed like a shooting star through the air, hit a Montson nearby with a flash and sent the stubby dragon careening into the nearest menhir.

Tooth-trick winced.

*See now, this is what I'm talking about!* squawked Chomper.

=I just need to work on my aiming...=

*It's not just that, ya prat, you'd get in the way! You'd be a loose cannon! We've already got enough problems as it is. And you don't know how to fight properly, though that doesn't really matter as you're not built for combat in the first place! Not so much as a single horn on ya. You've got scales like a hatchling. I mean, look at this-* Chomper tapped the section of Tooth-trick's tail he'd bit on. *I barely touched ya and I can already see scar tissue forming! You want to be of any aid to us, you need to stop being...* He faltered and started vaguely waving his front limbs at Tooth-trick, *...this.*

Tooth-trick's eyes narrowed. =This=

*Yep*

=So, to put it another way, every single individual aspect of me is fundamentally wrong and I should endeavour to change all of it=

Chomper nodded cheerfully. *You got it in one*

=You might want to sleep with one eye open tonight, Chomper=

A Quill tumbled past with two Vikings hanging from her, sparks streaming from her mouth. Nearby a Big'un reached one of the cave entrances and was promptly brought down by a swarm of Harkens.

The wingless Harken turned back to his pebble-flinging. *Enough talking. We're in the middle of a battlefield, the defence flock are going to be coming back any second and we're running out of big heavy rocks to drop on big heavy Viking heads. You want to use that Scapegrace lightning-breath of yours, get up to the tops of those cliffs and start a few small landslides*

=But-=

A tiny burst of Harken fire hit him on the nose.

*Rocks. Landslide. Now*

* * *

The clifftops provided a good view of the battlefield, so Tooth-trick at least had something to brood on while he started work on the granite.

Okay, let's see...first a 3-strength continuous scorch to soften everything up (wonder where the patch-gang got to), then a constant pelting of 5-strength short blasts (that them working on that brand new gap over there?), check to see if cracks have started appearing yet, and then all of a sudden a familiar sonic boom shook the Nest just as the rocks tumbled away before his feet.

Tooth-trick looked up. Just beyond the central wall, four Stormlauds were soaring into the outer ring with an inferno of three Smiteskins right behind them; Steadfast was at the front. The Vikings hadn't even paused in their surge forward, nor had their battle-cries decreased so much as a decibel (even from a distance they still made Tooth-trick's ears ache slightly), but the combined efforts of thunder and fire would at least be keeping them busy for a while.

That was only the main bulk of the raiders, though; the battle had already spilled over into the middle ring, and everywhere Tooth-trick glanced he could see the inhabitants of the Nest struggling against either small groups or lone Chargers and Big'uns (the numbers didn't really matter - even a single Viking was capable of causing a lot of damage). Dragon fire flashed and spread every which way, but the pult fire raining down made them look like a hatchling's first sparks, and quite a number of Vikings had turned out to be surprisingly proof against scorching. Even the showers of rocks only served to slow them down - occasionally a lucky Montson or Quill managed to crush one, but generally the thickset creature promptly shoved the rock off and got straight back up again.

It was a battle that had played itself out countless times before. Ever since a cluster of dragon clans had settled on this bleak shoreline and somehow got it into their heads to stay there no matter what (stubbornness issues were apparently part of the package of living here), Vikings had been raiding the Nest practically every second week. No one knew where they came from, no one knew why they still continued to steal food when they should by now have had enough to last a few lifetimes, all anyone knew was what they looked like (big, hairy and horned, like a yak), what they smelled like (slightly worse than a yak) and most importantly how to fight them.

Or, to be more exact, how to survive them.

It had to be said, this had to be the one situation that made Tooth-trick feel the most useless.

A sudden surge of sheer frustration resulted in a single 7-strength short blast and a resulting violet-tinged explosion that left a steaming crater the same size as Tooth-trick in the granite. The thought of what one of those would do to a Viking pulter (scorched wood and molten metal raining down on Viking heads, see how they like it) was enough to make Tooth-trick fire a second and then third time, and before he knew it a cloud of dust and hot gravel was raining down on him.

He shook his head, displacing some of the debris. It wasn't just the firepower alone, though, was it? He'd always had that, even his first sparks had given some dragons a nasty shock. No, no what mattered was how he used it; the Scapegrace already had any number of black marks on his record in that respect, but if he could prove to the other dragons...to Chomper...to Steadfast...that he could actually help them in battle…

If he could just bring down a Viking…

Tooth-trick turned his gaze back to the battlefield. The first Vikings he laid eyes on were of course Chargers, the ever-present battle-frenzied majority of the marauders, armed with steel hackers and choppers and wood-scales in a variety of designs; a few of those blasted to smithereens would at least turn a few heads. Nearby, a Big'un fought an elder Montson singlehandedly, even larger than the Chargers, with arms and legs that could leave cracks in a boulder; he took out one of those, even Steadfast would start to pay attention (not to mention a number of young female dragons, but that was beside the point).

Wooden thwacks and whooshes as more fireballs and blocks of rubble were sent up from the Nest's outskirts; eliminating a pulter would mean at least three extra fish with every meal, and no more exasperated hisses at his mere presence. The only problem would be the Pulterlings, quick and crafty Vikings with a variety of shapes and sizes but generally a lot of muscle, typically armed with web-launchers and sky-stabbers and fiercely determined to protect their charges. Pipsqueaks would also be a hazard, since they tended to be stationed with the pulters to help out; most dragons felt guilty about killing the little creatures after it was discovered that they were the Vikings' version of hatchlings.

A desperate roar suddenly went up from the middle ring; a Quill clambered up onto a hilltop. <They found the larders!>

Steadfast paused mid-swoop; the hacker-wielding Charger nearest to him tried to seize the opportunity and got a full-on sonic blast for their efforts. [Ardent, take one of the Smiteskins and see to it!] the nest-leader roared. [The rest of you, drive these monsters back to the waters!]

There was a faint whistle of parting air, and then a chopper the size of a tree-trunk was suddenly buried in the grass in front of him. Steadfast stared at it for a full minute before slowly moving his gaze up to the figure behind it, and moments later narrow yellow eyes met narrow green.

Up on the cliff's edge, Tooth-trick felt his breath catch.

And then there was the Thundering Fireface.

Even from a distance, Tooth-trick could see the beast clear as day: same size and build as a Big'un; long brown fur down his back and sides with grey ironscale and dark-green leather hide underneath; steel horns wide enough to gorge a Montson; arms strong enough to tear a Chokespark in half; a tousled mane of orange-red hair that covered most of its face and chest, the sight of which alone was often enough for most dragons (even the two remaining Smiteskins behind Steadfast were cringing); and if that didn't do it, those cold green eyes that lay just above…

...the same eyes that had watched over one hundred dragons die before them....

Steadfast lowered his maw, and started slowly lifting himself up until he was about as high and half again as the Fireface. He didn't take his eyes off the Viking leader the whole time, and the Fireface below him vice versa; the latter just continued pacing slowly forward, already drawing a notched blade that Steadfast had seen slice through a Smiteskin's neck like a claw through sheep fat.

[Keep fighting the others] the nest-leader growled. [I'll take care of this...]

* * *

Tooth-trick couldn't help but shake his head as he watched Steadfast engage the monster. Within seconds the two of them were practically dancing around each other, Steadfast swooping and biting and lashing out with his tail, the Fireface countering every blow and replying in kind with slashes of its blade and occasionally a tree-toppling punch from its free arm. The other Stormlauds and even the Smiteskins steered clear of the battle, focusing instead on keeping as many Vikings as they could from the gap in the wall right behind them - only the greatest of dragons fought Thundering Firefaces.

But the ultimate threat had still to arrive.

Steadfast had managed to push the Fireface back away from the wall when Tooth-trick saw it: a shadow, small and slender, winged but not in the least bit draconian, flitting across the grass beside them for a split-second. Seeing it as well, Steadfast fired a short sonic blast that knocked the Viking leader back a few steps, then spun round to roar at the dragons nearest him.

[METAL WINGS!]

The first detonation struck just as he finished. The earth buckled underneath him as fire and smoke blossomed by his tail, and the Stormlaud barely had time to take off before the shockwave sent him crashing into a pine tree; the Thundering Fireface had already thrown himself to one side, disappearing into the chaos once more. The two Smiteskins nearby didn't even have a chance to react before another explosion sent them flying; one smashed into the wall behind, taking a couple of shrieking Quills down with him, and yet another hole was added to the barricade.

[Metal Wings!]

<Get down!>

A brief flash of brown-black and grey above the flames, and then the Metal Wings was gone again - the one Viking that no one had ever fully glimpsed, a creature too close to a dragon for comfort. The only indication of its presence was the next explosion minutes later, obliterating the cover of a larder pit in the middle ring and knocking the Quills guarding it off their feet. Chargers surged forward to take advantage of the confusion; valuable food reserves were gathered up in thick arms in an instant and carried away, the one Quill still conscious chasing after them.

How the Metal Wings was capable of such destructive feats, no one had a clue; the fact that its bombardments had the unmistakeable scent of dragon fire only added to the confusion. Even the nature of its wings had taken a full year to ascertain; originally it had just been the Dragon Viking (still was, to some) before at least a dozen Nestlings who'd caught a glimpse of the creature had combined their impressions and realised that the glint they'd seen on its wings had been the same seen on metal.

It never stole food, never let itself be seen for more than a few seconds-

Another explosion, a tree came crashing down on four Montsons…

-never missed.

A shadow passed over the central wall, and a couple of Montsons and a Quill panicked, took off and started firing every which way. None of them hit anything, of course, and by the time the dragons remembered they were in the middle of a warzone they'd already used up all their ammo; all three of them had to flee. Even if they'd had the sense to try and chase the Metal Wings instead, it would undoubtedly have led them straight into the flight trajectory of a pult shot.

Up on the granite cliffs high above, Tooth-trick took in every detail with wide eyes. When yet another cloud sprang up on the lower levels of the outer ring, those same eyes narrowed and the young dragon's head slightly lowered.

All three of the craters he'd made were still glowing like hot embers. A quiet voice at the back of his head told him that he still had more than enough left for a 7-strength short blast.

Tooth-trick started descending the cliff-face.

No one had ever come even close to bringing the Metal Wings down.

That's why he was going to be the first.

* * *

Chomper had just finished sharpening his teeth when Tooth-trick came back down onto the scree pile. The little Harken gave a cackle, and spat a small glob of fire that shattered the pebble it collided with. *Right, I'm off. 'Bout time someone showed these yahoos how to fight. Keep things running here, Tooth-trick, this tiny terror's got some Viking guts to see to*

He darted forward down the rocks, then spun around to face Tooth-trick once he reached the ground below. *Move an inch, and I'll bite your snout off and feed it to you - got it?*

=Got it=

As soon as the Harken was gone, Tooth-trick jumped off the pile and started running.

Dragons hissed and squawked as the little Scapegrace ran past them, a lithe black shape darting around legs and ducking under bodies and on one memorable occasion even leaping over assorted backs (five Montsons in a row, that had to be a new record). With the Viking presence now thick in the central ring the battles had spread, mixed and fused into sprawling anarchy; it took all of Tooth-trick's concentration just to avoid being crushed underfoot as dragons fought all around him.

A Smiteskin staggered past, out of flame, struggling to shake off a pair of Chargers. {Out of the way!}

A Montson glanced over when he sprinted past; he recognised her from her bumps and skin colour as one of his closer neighbours. (Tooth-trick! Where you-going?)

Next a vanity of Quills, trying to save one of their own from both a Viking-web and the three hacker-armed Vikings attached to it - a flurry of blues and purples and golds with wings shimmering like oily water in the firelight.

< Get me out of here! >

< Hang on, almost got you! >

Up this hill, through a crackling blaze. A Big'un suddenly came running out of nowhere towards him, weird flat pinkish face twisted and mouth open making a kind of shriek (only deeper and guttural) and one musclebound arm raised with a chopper in it, and just before it reached Tooth-trick a Montson slammed into it and both tumbled down the hillside.

Next a sudden need to duck as a Stormlaud swooped over his head, and when the sonic blast was fired just behind him Tooth-trick flattened his ear fins and the sheer volume of it still hurt.

The young Scapegrace didn't stop running.

Not when poison-green Chokespark gas suddenly whoomphed into white-hot flames right in front of him.

Not when a swarm of Harkens bringing a group of Vikings to their knees suddenly occupied the land before him (he just leapt, glided and landed on grass and ignored the surprised chirrups and shrieks behind him).

Not even when a boulder smashed into the ground just a leg stretch away from him, that's what left and right were for after all.

The central wall suddenly occupied his field of vision. He leapt over rocks and scree piled up and cemented with Montson slag and discovered a little too late that there was a small cliff right beyond it, the grassy slope at the bottom not too far below but still enough to surprise him; before he could react his snout, neck and then shoulders hit the grass, sending the main bulk of his body rising up and over, and now he was on his back once again.

Smooth. Scapegrace-scale smooth.

He was in the outer ring, near to the western edge. The dark sea and the black starry sky lay spread out before him, and to his not-so-distant right fires were eating up the grass. A few stray sheep were still running around, and beyond them dragons were struggling against Chargers and Big'uns. Beyond the outer wall and the edges of the great outcrop he could just make out the faint orange-yellow light from the Vikings' Wood Beasts; pult shot sailed up every now and then but not as frequently as before - they must've been running out of ammo down there. Occasionally a Viking ran off through through one of the new gaps in the outer barrier, either clutching a sheep or a few fish, and Tooth-trick would've gone after them except he knew there'd be Pulterlings waiting for him.

Besides, he had a job to do.

* * *

Near the middle of the outer ring, just in front of the central wall, Steadfast slammed into a Big'un with its brown hair woven into cord and sent it tumbling back into several Chargers. A Smiteskin pounced on them the next second, fangs and claws slashing at ironscale and horned heads.

They were losing the battle. Steadfast had seen too many Vikings run back down the slopes carrying hard-earned food supplies, and although Harkens would by now have emptied the remaining larders (and a number of same Vikings had been brought down by dragons and their ill-gotten gains stolen back), the nest-leader could still tell that a considerable dent had been made in their winter reservoir.

In front of him the Smiteskin spat fire, a measly arc of orange-hot splatter; she was running low. A white-maned Charger jumped onto her side and she writhed and shook him off.

[Mind yourself!] warned Steadfast, joining in the struggle. A chopper swung past mere inches from his snout. [The beasts still have their weapons!]

* * *

In the central ring the noise had been deafening (every time he was surrounded by such uproar Tooth-trick understood a little bit better how Steadfast must feel when he fired off a sonic blast - no wonder Stormlauds were naturally a little hard of hearing) but out here, even with the conflict just behind him and to his side, Tooth-trick was in the middle of a calm spot; the only noise was a background rumble, caused by the crashing of the waves and the distant battle-din mixing together.

He'd hopped back onto the wall, and now his black body was stretched out, his wings open and raised slightly, his head was pointed in the direction of the fighting and his eyes were fixed on the air just above it. All he could see was stars, and right at the bottom of his vision the battlefield.

Gas had already filled up his gullet. He couldn't help but softly growl.

=Come on, come on=

Where was it? Where was it hiding?

=Give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at=

Had those stars just disappeared for a bit?

A grassy slope on the far side of the outer ring suddenly exploded; a Chokespark screamed in the distance. For a split second the area was lit up by the light of the blast and in that moment Tooth-trick saw it. The winged figure disappeared just as quickly, but Tooth-trick was already tracking its flight path, numbers dancing in his head (it had been ascending, its speed was such that in a few moments it would be high up over the Nest) and the gas was ready and he had a clear estimate and the Scapegrace aimed and fired.

Full 7-strength short blast, travelling at roughly 30 wingspans per second. High above the central ring of the Nest indigo light briefly flared.

The merest hint of a wail, and then a flicker of yellow flame began a downward descent.

Tooth-trick's wings dropped to his sides. He was so shocked that for a minute he forgot even to breathe.

=I...I did it=

=I actually did it!=

Letting rip a sheer roar of delight, the Scapegrace launched himself off the wall and straight back amidst the fire and fighting.

=Did anyone see that? Step right up, folks, please tell me someone saw that!=

Burnt grass crunched right behind him. When the black dragon looked around he met cold green eyes as bright as flames.

=Vikings don't count=

* * *

Steadfast was in the process of snatching a sheep back from Viking hands when he heard a familiar holler nearby. Woolly creature clasped between his teeth, the Stormlaud took to the air and glanced around him; he soon located Tooth-trick near the central wall, just as a Big'un-sized Viking charged into the young Scapegrace and sent them both rolling across the middle ring.

The nest-leader squinted. Brown fur, green pelt...fire-red hair. He couldn't keep himself from softly groaning and rolling his eyes as he darted back down to nearby Ardent.

Why did the youngster never listen?

[Sir, the Vikings are fleeing!]

Steadfast tossed the bleating sheep to his second-in-command. [Get as many dragons as you can to intercept them! I don't want so much as another crumb leaving this island!]

* * *

In the course of a few minutes, Tooth-trick had learned two interesting things: one was that Thundering Firefaces lived up to their reputation, and the other was that, if after being hurled screaming into the air by an irate Viking leader you crashed into a Smiteskin and sent her tumbling back into a group of Montsons, when you eventually landed you'd hit the ground so hard that one whole side of you would feel like a single giant bruise afterwards.

Tooth-trick didn't even finish getting back to his feet before the Thundering Fireface slammed into him again; a hot sweaty arm with muscles that felt more like chunks of wood wrapped around his neck, not enough to cut off his oxygen supply but sufficient enough to keep the Fireface attached to him. Second heaven, the beast stank…

=Aaargh, no, no, get off!=

A fist like a stone crusher smacked into his snout, his teeth clacked together and thank second heaven his tongue wasn't in the way. Another blow to the side of his head left stars dancing in the Scapegrace's head but he still bucked and writhed and tried to throw the Viking off him.

=Get off, get off, GET OFF-=

The Fireface's grip loosened for just a second, that was all that was needed, Tooth-trick threw his whole front half to one side and the Viking leader tumbled back onto the ground. Instinctively the black dragon leapt forward to try and take a bite out of his assailant, but a toeless leather foot kicked straight up into his jaw and sent him flying across the field. Yet again he landed on his back, and his sides were battered and his ears were ringing and he heard the shing of drawn metal and saw the Fireface thundering towards him again, hacker drawn and murder in its eyes.

=Nonononono-=

How he managed to get upright again, how he still had the strength to stand, Tooth-trick had no idea. Every single part of him creaked and ached, but he still turned towards the incoming Viking and tried to back away at the same time-

<Watch out!>

A Quill swooped down, white-hot sparks already streaming from his gullet. The Fireface ducked and rolled forward out of the way of the blast, then spun around the same instant and grabbed the Quill when he came close enough. With a shriek the Quill was tossed like a caught fish, colliding with an incoming Montson and Chokespark and carrying all three of them across the middle ring.

Tooth-trick hissed in alarm. The Fireface turned back towards him, and instinctively the young black dragon started trying to gather gas - something he knew other dragons so soon after using up all their previous ammo would find impossible, but-

=Come on, come on, I could always recharge faster than the others and it's been at least five minutes, there's gotta be something in here=

He felt something acrid brush against his tonsils.

=Yes!=

Barely enough left for a 4-strength by the feel of it, maybe a 5-strength if he put all he could into it, but that was all that was needed. Tooth-trick gathered himself, crouched down as the Fireface started running towards him again, tensed his gullet and aimed and fired.

A white-hot globe with an indigo corona shot from his mouth towards the Viking leader, tiny but powerful, not even making a sound as it tore through the air. Before it even came close to him the Thundering Fireface dodged to one side, and the shot went harmlessly past and hit the trunk of a nearby pine tree, blowing scorched bark onto the grass around it.

The young Scapegrace couldn't even bring himself to groan. =Okay...can we both just pretend that never happened?=

[Out of the way!]

Steadfast was suddenly between Tooth-trick and the Thundering Fireface, wings flapping and jaws snapping at the Viking. The latter for its part ducked and slashed at the familiar foe, teeth bared and eyes narrow; the scuffle lasted but a mere minute, and then Steadfast ducked back and landed only a leg's stretch away from Tooth-trick, little spindly limbs digging into the grass and dirt.

The nest-leader breathed in. His flanks bulged. His yellow eyes fixed on the Fireface. His mouth opened-

Nothing came out.

A twinge within informed Steadfast that he'd used up all his energy. The Viking leader had stopped when it saw him breathe in, had crouched in anticipation; now it stood up again, not all the way up, and made an odd little collection of soft grunts and hisses - the Vikings' way of communicating. There was grim triumph in its expression.

Steadfast snarled, dropped down and spread out his wings, braced himself for the impending fight. The Thundering Fireface raised its hacker and started running forward-

-and a beefy hand landed on its shoulder, a black-haired Charger appeared behind the Fireface and hooted at him urgently. The Fireface didn't even look back, just bellowed a response, but the Charger kept hooting and pulling, until eventually the Fireface gave in with a growl and turned to follow it back down the middle ring.

Just before it left, one final look was shared with Steadfast. The nest-leader didn't move, just made a snarl that shook the earth beneath his feet.

Only when the Viking leader was long gone did he relax, and begin to slowly turn around to face the dragon behind him. Toothless was sitting on the grass with his head up, his eyes wide and his wings limp by his sides.

Right on cue, the pine tree that Tooth-trick's blast had hit gave a single splintering crack and fell slowly over, burning branches and all, bringing down another four shrieking dragons along with it, and landed across the central wall.

Tooth-trick glanced back at the carnage, and winced. It took only a few seconds for the Vikings to figure out that they had a makeshift bridge available, and the next minute they were pouring over the tree even more thickly than when they'd come through the gaps in the wall. The nearest dragons rushed to try and cut them off, but jagged burning branches turned out to be a good defence against an aerial assault, and the distracting wails of the dragons trapped underneath didn't exactly help matters.

The young Scapegrace could feel Steadfast's eyes burning into him.

His foster-parent didn't say a word, though.

=Um...sorry...sir=

* * *

Chapter Text

With a thump, the last pair of Viking feet landed on the flat inner back of a Wood Beast; the inanimate steeds' square wings had already unfolded, each one displaying its own multicoloured design that quite a few of the Nestlings would have thought beautiful, were it not for the fact that nearly all of the designs depicted the violent death of a dragon. Commands were shouted, long straight limbs with flat ends extended, and one by one the Wood Beasts began quickly journeying back out into the darkness once more.

A few brave dragons saw them off with a smattering of fire (most shots went wide, but one or two singed the sides of the nearest), but didn't go any further than the cliffedge for fear of Pulterling retribution. The remainder stayed inland, some even keeping their gaze averted from the sea and the shrinking lights of the departing raiders.

Fires still crackled all around. Rubble lay scattered every which way. Bruised and battered dragons were ministering to each other and heading back to the inner sanctum to rest.

No one questioned the gloomy atmosphere. Everyone could tell that the Vikings had won this fight.

* * *

A crowd had by now gathered around Tooth-trick.

Steadfast still stood just in front of him, winged folded and jaws clenched tight, eyes fixed on the young Scapegrace. Tooth-trick for his part sat on his haunches with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed low, alternating between staring at the grass and watching his foster-parent nervously; it was at times like these that he became aware of just how much bigger than him the elder Stormlaud was, a good two times his size if not more so.

The nest-leader was being unnaturally quiet. When Tooth-trick had looked up at him the first time, all he'd seen in Steadfast's eyes was an all-too-familiar disappointment.

He looked up again for the thirteenth time.

Yup. Still there.

The silence was so great now that a Harken's cough would have been deafening. They still hadn't managed to get the tree off the wall, but efforts were a little less hectic now that the Vikings were gone; by Tooth-trick's estimation, over a quarter of the raiders had made use of the crude bridge, and quite a few of them had been carrying away food supplies.

Eventually, Tooth-trick found it in him to try talking.  =Okay, but in my defence I brought down the Metal Wings=

Several of the onlookers murmured. The little black dragon ignored them. Steadfast still didn't make a sound.

=I'm not lying, Steadfast, I honestly did, I swear. I even think I know where it landed, if I can just calculate its descent right-=

A soft rumble. [Enough]

Tooth-trick immediately fell silent. A group of shadows passed over the crowd and then all four of Steadfast's kinsmen - Tooth-trick's foster-family - landed gently behind their clan-leader and nest-leader with all eyes upon the Scapegrace. Cousin Ardent as usual looked only passive and weary, whilst turquoise Patience watched her foster-brother with concern; dark-blue Clout and violet Dire just looked nervous.

Chomper had appeared amidst the onlookers; the little wingless Harken didn't have so much as a scratch on him. He'd glanced over at the fallen tree, made a little noiseless sigh and sat down to watch his young charge and nest-leader.

Tooth-trick swallowed, tried again. =I didn't mean to-=

[Enough]

Steadfast moved forward, and in response Tooth-trick leaned back until he was in danger of falling over. [Every day, I tell you to stay out of trouble] the nest-leader hissed [and every day, without fail, you not only get into trouble, but you then decide to share it with everyone else . It's bad enough during the summer! Now winter is approaching, and our stocks are getting smaller by the day and I have to worry about keeping the entire Nest from starving, and the last thing I need is you running around causing problems!]

=I just want to help-=

[Then don't leave the cave!] the Stormlaud snapped, his jaws suddenly apart and only inches from Tooth-trick. A minute later the nest-leader settled back down with a deep sigh. [Why can't you just leave well enough alone?]

Why couldn't he just...?

=Because I can do things!= Tooth-trick burst out. =I can help you catch fish, I can be a night watcher, I can vaporise Vikings! If you'd just let me show you-=

His foster-parent turned away. [Enough]

Tooth-trick's voice faltered and died.

[Your clan can do many things, son...but aiding others isn't one of them]

Slowly, the sea dragon started flapping both pairs of cerulean wings. Once he was a good few legs' lengths above the ground he glanced over at Chomper. [Get him home safely - I've got his mess to clean up]

* * *

And that was that.

*Alright, lad, come on* Chomper walked up to Tooth-trick's side once the crowd had mostly dispersed, and softly pushed against the Scapegrace's front right leg with his head. *Let's get moving*

The black-scaled youngster didn't move at first, but eventually Tooth-trick got up off his haunches and followed Chomper up the slopes and hills to the inner sanctum, trying to ignore the looks that other dragons kept giving him along the way (some pitying, perhaps even sympathetic, but most either a tired anger similar to Steadfast's or the kind of look you gave a fly that had landed on your fish). He almost preferred it when they pointedly ignored him instead; on the other paw, at least the Nest's unified disapproval was relatively quiet, restricted to a Harken hissing at him whenever they crossed paths, or a bigger dragon nearby grumbling when they thought he couldn't hear them.

There was, of course, a couple of exceptions.

(*Quite the performance*) was the first thing he heard when he and Chomper passed by the patch-gang. Mothersweight at least looked sympathetic, but the Chokespark twins were snickering to each other whilst watching him, and Horrific Maw the Fourth looked like Tooth-trick was something unpleasant that he'd stepped in. Same old same old.

*)Wonder if there's going to be an encore(*

{I've never seen someone screw up so badly} Horrific rumbled. {I mean, seriously, did someone drop you on your head when you were a hatchling or something? }

Automatically Tooth-trick lifted up his head and struck a pose. =What can I say, I just naturally exceed at everything I do=

(*Heh, yeah, guess that's one way to put it*) Bane snickered. (*If by 'exceed' you mean 'fail'*)

*)And by 'everything' you mean ' anything'(*

(*Ooohhh, burn*)

Tooth-trick rolled his eyes. =Wow. Just...wow. You know what, I think my brain just stopped from sheer zinger overload. Excuse me whilst I go bang my head against rocks until it starts up again=

He didn't look at Ceilray when he walked past her. The young Quill for her part just glared at him coldly.

Chomper had waited for him patiently during the little exchange, and resumed walking as soon as the Scapegrace was beside him again. The two of them stayed silent for the most part, until Tooth-trick got fed up with the awkwardness and started talking whilst they climbed over the inner wall.

=I really did hit the Metal Wings, you know=

*Whatever you say, Tooth-trick*

They landed on the grass on the other side (at least here it was still green and unburnt) and walked over it onto the worn soil that lay between the cave entrances. Directly overhead loomed the towering spike of rock that was far too long and pointy to be considered a mountain (some of the older dragons called it the Tooth), which served as a nice border between the craggy solitude of the Nest and the forests and valleys where the remainder of the island's population lived.

=I just wish he would listen=

Chomper chuckled. *Speaking as his friend, I can tell you that'd be asking a lot of him*

=And maybe not look at me like I'm a sheep that he's trying to herd but it keeps wandering away and falling off cliff edges=

*Now you're just being unrealistic*

Tooth-trick wasn't really listening. =I mean, every time he talks to me, I can just tell that he's mentally composing the reply he thinks he should've given those two Scapegraces who brought me here= The youngster stopped and hunched down low to the ground, baring his teeth and narrowing his eyes and trying to make himself look as big as possible. ='Excuse me, the pair of you, I'd like to have a word about this little black bundle you've dropped in front of us, see I've been thinking over your proposition and I think I've come across a small flaw in it, which is that rather than take in this hatchling out of the goodness of my heart, I could save myself about fifteen years of hardship and regret by just telling you to take him and shack off back where you came from'=

The little wingless Harken couldn't help but snigger. *I'll tell you one thing, lad, you need to work on your impressions*

They'd reached the entrance to the Stormlauds' private residence by then, a rather sizeable cave mouth and one of the few in the collection that didn't have any soot or scorch marks rimming its edge. Nearby, a stream of Nestlings were pouring through the largest entrance in the area, a gaping fissure at the very back of the inner sanctum that made even the greatest dragons in front of it look about as big as squirrels in comparison; beyond lay the Great Cavern, where no doubt all the fighters and leaders would be gathering to discuss the attack and what followed.

A gathering that as usual Tooth-trick would be allowed nowhere near to.

=What's it going to take for him to accept me?=

*He already does, lad* Chomper sat down and started scratching himself with one hind leg. *He just can't stand the fact that you're disaster incarnate*

=Have I ever told you what a wonderful person you are, Chomper?=

His pint-sized green-and-yellow warden sighed. *Look, lad, you don't need to get involved. This Nest survived the last few hundred years without a Scapegrace defending it, I'm sure we'll manage for a little longer*

Tooth-trick stared at him, every aspect of his form visibly drooping, then turned away slowly and started walking forwards through the entrance. =I just want to help= Chomper heard him mumble, and then the last of the black dragon disappeared into the shadows beyond the cave mouth.

*I know, lad* The little Harken sighed again and got to his feet. *I know*

He headed off to join the gathering.

* * *

Five minutes later, Tooth-trick appeared at the cave entrance, glanced around to make sure no one was near, then stretched his wings open and took off into the night sky...

* * *

To say the Great Cavern was immense would be an understatement. Every which way you glanced, the gloom and shadows stretched into the distance - the ceiling above was just as invisible, the only evidence of it the thick stalactites that stretched down and here and there connected with the stalagmites rising up, forming pillars of basalt and limestone thick enough for an adult Smiteskin to hide behind. Every sound had an echo, even the lightest Harken footstep produced a minute's long chorus. Every smell was lost amidst the heady scent of overwhelming age. Light was shed by a dozen fires dotted throughout the cave, each one burning within a deep pit carved into the rock by dragon claws - most of them only succeeded in lighting up the immediate area, but the fire that lay in the very centre of the Great Cavern was big enough and strong enough to illuminate a whole third of the ancient stone chamber.

 Steadfast stood closest to the fire, aware of the multitude of dragons that were crowded all around him: landslides of Montsons gathered around the stalagmites and occasionally taking small bites out of the limestone; vanities of Quills perched high above, chirping assortments fussing over their spiky tails and preening their wings; Chokesparks dotted around the place, only a few sticking together to form a single maleficence, the rest wandering around through the shadows and firelight; the one inferno of Smiteskins close by and looking intimidating as usual; and of course his own clan right behind him, his little typhoon of Stormlauds. Even the Harkens had decided to join in - everywhere Steadfast looked he'd see a tiny brightly-coloured shape either sitting on a stalagmite, running or flying around the cavern or most commonly getting up to mischief. Little Chomper beside him looked positively tame in comparison.

[Alright] he piped up, once it seemed that everyone had arrived - at the sound of his voice, the entire chamber went quiet. [Let's get on with this then]

First up was damages, relayed by an elder Montson: most of it was superficial (grass could grow back, rubble could be lunch for the stone-eaters) and of the holes left in the walls by the assault the majority had been taken care of by the patch-gang (a fine group of youngsters, that bunch - the twins Bane and Kinder on their own were an absolute menace, of course, and Horrific Maw the Fourth made most of the Smiteskins Steadfast knew look smart in comparison, but together they definitely had potential - particularly that young Quill, Ceilray). However, there were a number of larger breaches, most in the outer wall, that would require the immediate attention of several adults - and as for the, ahem, tree that now lay over the central wall (Steadfast groaned inwardly) that would require at least half a dozen dragons to rectify.

Next up was the larder management, and the Quill that delivered the news certainly did a good job of conveying the grimness of their situation: at least two larders' worth of food had been stolen, and although the shepherds were still counting it was quickly apparent that a number of the flocks had been decimated. The only way Steadfast could keep himself calm as he listened was by fantasising about sonic blasting a Viking until its flesh turned to jelly.

After larder management came injuries (no fatalities, thank the heavens, but a few broken limbs and one Montson that needed to get a sheep removed - don't ask) and then finally observations on the Viking assault delivered by Ardent Stormlaud: most of it was simply repeating the same old story, Charger numbers were still sizeable and Big'uns regularly appearing (must be all that food they were stealing, why else would they need it), same Thundering Fireface as before, pulters still destructive and terrifying, and of course as everyone was no doubt aware yet another attack by the Metal Wings (still no indication of what it actually was - two years that thing had been showing up with the regular Vikings, and about the only snippet of information they had on it was the fact that gave it its name).

By the time Ardent had finished and the reports in general had concluded, the Great Cavern was in uproar. Even when Steadfast spoke up again, all the shouts and oaths and bickering and demands only died to an angry rumble around him.

[This cannot continue!] the nest-leader roared, glancing around with narrow yellow eyes at all the dragons before him. [Every day that those damnable beasts come, they push us closer to extinction! If we want to not end up as dinner for the carrion birds, we've got to finish this! Once and for all!]

A near-deafening howl rose up in approval.

Steadfast slammed a slim foot down on the edge of the fire-pit; before him, the horns, choppers, hackers and wood-scales of Vikings crackled and smouldered. [It's time for us to take the fight to them. We know that their base is in the Thornmist - if we can find it and destroy it, they'll have no choice but to leave here]

He looked at his kindred Stormlauds, at his fellow clan leaders, at the gathered Nestlings in general. [One more search, before the air becomes too cold to fly through]

A Quill chittered. <Dangerous . Foolish. Such journeys, many go, few come back>

[We're dragons] replied Steadfast. [We face danger the second we're hatched. Now, who's with me?]

The rumble died down to an embarrassed murmur. Most of the dragons present were suddenly finding the floor to be utterly riveting. Even Ardent was trying to avoid making eye-contact with his clan-leader.

Steadfast sighed. [Alright. All those who stay...will get to look after Tooth-trick]

He was rather surprised that the sudden clamor didn't bring the whole cavern down.

{Death to all Vikings!}

(In nest-leader's-course always!)

<Let our wrath be magnificent!>

(*Gas!*)

*)Burn!(*

*)(*ANNIHILATE!*)(*

[Onward!]

Led by Steadfast's kin, nearly every dragon in the cavern surged forward as one towards the exit. He almost felt like applauding at the sudden apparent spike in battle-fervour (even the Harkens and the older Montsons were making a spirited attempt to keep up); within a few heartbeats he and Chomper were all by themselves in the Great Cavern, with the dying echoes of battle-cries all around them.

Unhurriedly Chomper got to his feet, scratched at the two stumps where his wings used to be and started walking. *Well, I'm off. Need to make some arrangements so I don't have to rush everything at the last minute. Been a while since I last hitched a ride, I wonder if Ardent's still as comfortable-*   

[You're staying here] Steadfast appeared next to the yellow-green Harken. [I need you to train the new recruits]

*Oh terrific* Chomper sat back down on his haunches again. *And what about Tooth-trick, might I ask? Him with the whole Nest at his disposal and no adult supervision, all those strange little numbers and ideas in his head, still a few places he hasn't blown up yet...I daresay you'd find the Nest in a very different shape when you get back again...*  

There was a soft sigh, and then the nest-leader slumped down next to Chomper. [What am I going to do with him, Chomper?]

The little Harken thought about it. *Put him in training with the others*

Steadfast snorted. [I'm serious, Chomper]

*So am I*

A single yellow eye swivelled round to glare at him. [I want these recruits to survive training, Chomper. That won't happen if Tooth-trick's there]

*Ah, you don't know that*

[As a matter of fact, yes I do]

*Well, pardon me if I'm a bit dubious*

[The facts speak for themselves, Chomper]

*I just feel we shouldn't rush to conclusions-*

[Look] snapped Steadfast, getting irritated, [this is Tooth-trick we're talking about here. From the moment he crawled out of his nest he's been a Scapegrace: never listens, always wandering off, always causing problems, has the attention span of a gecko - I tell him to go fetch something for me and he ends up on the other side of the island!]

*Alright, alright, no need to tell me this, I know what the young one's like. I'm the one he works for, remember - I learned my lesson after I told him to go hunt some rabbits for lunchtime* Chomper scratched under his chin, and added thoughtfully *I'm still trying to figure out how he managed to collapse an entire cave system*

Beside him the elder sea dragon stared into the flames of the fire-pit, his breathing like the wind in a sea cave. [When I was but a hatchling-]

*Eugh, here we go...*

[-my clan-leader brought me to the nursery. The nurses weren't there, the place was in chaos - first sparks flying all over the place, little dragons all fighting and chasing. He set me down in the entranceway and he told me to make them stop ] Steadfast snorted. [ I thought he was crazy, I could barely hear myself think over the racket, but he'd given me an order, so I took a deep breath and roared as loud as I could. And you know what happened?]

Chomper had started idly assembling a small tower of pebbles. *Someone told you to keep your voice down?*

[Every single one of those hatchling dragons just froze - I'd stopped them all dead in their tracks. Even the Smiteskins paid attention] Steadfast moved to look fully at Chomper; the green-and-yellow mite had managed to stack five by now, but Steadfast could tell that he was listening. [I learned that day what it meant to be a Stormlaud, Chomper - it meant that you had the strength to protect and the power to lead. And I also learned what it meant to be a part of this Nest: it meant that you had a place . Quills hunt from above, Montsons work close to earth, Smiteskins fight with fire and wrath, Chokesparks trick with gas and explosions, Harkens guard with speed and with tooth, Stormlauds rule with the thunder in their bellies. Every dragon that lives here, every one of them has a place]

[Every one of them...] the nest-leader's head lowered [... except Tooth-trick]

The little tower collapsed. Abandoning it with a huff, Chomper turned to eye his friend critically. *He's not going to stop, you know, Steadfast. No matter how many walls you put in front of him*

The nest-leader didn't answer.

*Look* sighed Chomper, *I know you're worried about him, but which would you rather Tooth-trick be: an inexperienced young dragon who's always getting into trouble, or someone who at least knows what he's doing, who knows how to fight and follow orders? Because you're gonna have to choose sooner or later, Steadfast - he's gonna get out there again*

The little Harken glanced at the cave mouth. *He's probably out there right now*

* * *

First, there was the Nest, spread across a multi-layered outcrop of sparse grasslands, patches of trees and windswept granite cliffs, waves seething and crashing all around it. Then came the Tooth, a gigantic spike of rock adorned with its own thin strips of green and brown, buffeted constantly by chill winds. After that, alongside the titanic field-topped stacks and layers upon layers of mountain that had come to be known as the Sky Pillars...

...forest, spread as far as the average eye could see: nothing but acres of pine trees with moss-covered rocks and bushes packed tightly between them. Little mushrooms in every shadow, a babbling brook here and there, an occasional gorge to liven up the geography. Any patch of bare ground was covered by a carpet of pine needles, still firm enough to whisper underfoot, still wet enough to leave that foot moist. Birds twittered from the branches, foxes shrieked in the distance, stoats and wild boar and whatnot scuffled around through the undergrowth.

And, close to the western shore of the island, a single black dragon stood poised on a hilltop.

For the fifteenth time that day, Tooth-trick closed his eyes and consulted the image in his head. Ever since he was a hatchling he'd been exploring this island; he'd seen it stretched out from on high in first heaven, he'd navigated its coastlines, he'd roamed its dark forests and snowy mountaintops, he'd even ventured into its cave systems - and all the while as he wandered he'd amassed a sizeable archive of information. Heights and distances, lists of landmarks, miscellaneous features and obstacles - reefs of data which now coalesced into a simplistic three-dimensional map of the island's geography.

Directly above the map, there was a crude image of an arc, with a few mathematical calculations littered around it. The arc started at a point some distance over the outskirts of the Nest, and for the first quarter of its journey was relatively solid and clear; once past the border marked by the Tooth, however, the original confident orange of the arc faded to an uncertain greyish-yellow, and it occasionally flickered as if undecided on where exactly it should be headed.

At the point where it currently connected with the landscape, a little red Tooth-trick was sitting on his haunches looking hopeful. A number of other Tooth-tricks lay scattered in the wide area around him, each of them deceased in some hilariously gruesome fashion.

Tooth-trick took a deep breath, counted to ten in his head, and opened his eyes.

A small hollow lay before him, filled with curling ferns and dew-speckled grass, one or two pine tree saplings that hadn't even grown their first branches yet, and a notable absence of Metal Wings. Tooth-trick just stared at the place for a few minutes before throwing himself onto his back with a quiet yowl of frustration.

Nothing! Absolutely nothing, for the twenty-fifth time that day! Zilch! Zero! Every calculation in his head told him that this was where it should be - he'd known its speed, its direction, he'd estimated the weight and acceleration, he'd accounted for wind and the fact that the creature would still be able to steer even whilst it was falling - and yet here he lay with an empty hollow right in front of him!

Inside his head, the twenty-fifth little red Tooth-trick went cross-eyed and exploded, followed shortly after by the map in its entirety. The young dragon turned himself over, ignoring the wet grass now pressed against his belly, and for a while just lay there, content to feel fed up and miserable.

Then he got back to his feet, and started walking back down the hill.

* * *

It was nearly midday, and in the hours that had gone past whilst Tooth-trick conducted his search, mist had poured into the lower regions of the forest to turn every space a whitish-grey, and every pine tree a shadow. Even the birdsong felt muted, not that the young Scapegrace wandering around was paying much attention.

=I can't believe this...=

His search abandoned, Tooth-trick had been roaming the forest for the past ten minutes, sauntering down overgrown forest paths and halfheartedly leaping from boulder to boulder. He didn't even feel up to flying; his wings were folded up on his back and would probably stay there for some time.

=I mean, this has to be a new low for me=

He kicked at a pebble and sent it flying away into the bushes. =First, I do something right for once, and no one's even there to see it. Next, I screw up big time on the battlefield. And now I can't even find a single Viking?=

A branch made the mistake of getting in his way, and Tooth-trick snapped it in half with his jaws and tossed one portion into the nearby bushes.

His foot came down on something metal.

In an instant the young dragon completely froze, neck straight and eyes wide, right leg still outstretched. A dozen suddenly very speedy heartbeats passed before he dared to look down at the forest floor (it had gone back to a soft orange-brown carpet of pine needles) and slowly move away his right foot.

A tiny arch-shaped piece of metal soon caught the light, attached to a thin strip of cracked brown leather that was almost hidden amongst the needles. At first he was unable to move, every scale on his body tingling, but eventually Tooth-trick managed to bend down his neck and get a good sniff of the object.

He was no Montson - he didn't have a nose that could sniff out food from half a mile away - but he knew a Viking scent when he smelled it.

When Tooth-trick looked back up again his gaze was focused and attentive, details that had been disregarded a moment ago now jumping out every which way, so it didn't take him long to see a little ragged shape dangling from a tree branch, his height and half again above the forest floor. In an instant, the young dragon was up in the tree tops and clambering through the branches to the object, twigs and needles rustling around him; on closer examination it turned out to be a scrap of smooth brown leather, the same sort of material that Vikings used for their bizarre outer skins. The tattered edges made it clear that the fingers of the branch had torn it off something.

Something which, now that Tooth-trick knew what he was looking for, had clearly come crashing down through the canopies. When he glanced beyond the shred of leather, a distinct trail of broken branches and bark torn off of the tree trunks greeted him; freshly displaced pine needles covered the ground below. Nimbly he followed it, displaced pine needles raining down on his wings as he moved, and when he reached the end and jumped back down from the treetops, another scrap of leather appeared right in front of him.

This time, the little fragment was scorched in one area - the whiff coming off it was sharp and heady amidst the familiar scents of the forest.  

Tooth-trick looked up from his latest find. Following the trail had led him down a steep rock-littered slope to the smooth curve of a dried-up river bed. There was no birdsong, no rustling in the bushes, just an eery silence uncommon to this forest. In front of him, the ground rose up sharply and was lined with more rocks and pine trees, a nice little barrier hiding what lay beyond.

There was a gap right in front of him; whatever had come crashing down had sheared straight through the earth without stopping.

Slowly...

...ever so slowly...

...Tooth-trick crept up the slope, needles crunching beneath his feet...

...peered through the gap-

-and promptly ducked his head back down with a barely-suppressed hiss.

There was a shape lying on the ground only a single wingspan away from him.

* * *

It took another three minutes and a lot of mental gearing before Tooth-trick raised his head up to look through the gap again. Once again the bulky brown shape greeted him, and once again there was no movement. Tooth-trick raised his head a little more, and when no sudden death was forthcoming he climbed up the slope as quietly as he could manage, started steadily creeping towards the creature. At first every footstep was done as slowly as possibly -  and even then enough of a rustle was made to make Tooth-trick wince - but when the form in front of him didn't react he relaxed just a little and quickened his pace.

There was a clear indent leading to where the thing lay; a short path had been scooped out of the forest floor, revealing moist brown earth beneath. Tooth-trick didn't need to examine the scene in detail to know that the initial impact would have been bone-jarring, followed by a painful skid that soon slowed down to a final halt. He'd had landings like that himself a few times before.

Suddenly he was up close to the flanks of the fallen creature.

Directly before his snout was a stretch of red-brown leather, stretched over what looked like some form of framework; the whole thing was uncanny in its resemblance to a dragon's wing. Realising that it was curled around something, no doubt the main body, Tooth-trick slowly padded around to examine his find from the opposite side; he was soon greeted by the sight of the first wing's interior, caved over a small form that had a second wing wrapped around it. On one side a long spindly leg stuck out, wrapped up in a darker shade of leather, whilst another shorter limb lay curled up within the shadow made by the first wing, a patch of grey ironscale visible near its base.

Gently, Tooth-trick moved in closer to examine the inside of the first wing.

The framework - shaped like a dragon's bones, albeit cruder and straight-edged - had the unmistakable gleam of Viking steel.

=I...I did it=

=I actually did it! Oh, this changes everything!=

Tooth-trick couldn’t help jumping back and forth a few times out of sheer excitement - he felt like dancing around the prone Metal Wings, felt like issuing a roar of triumph that would shake the needles off the pine trees. He could already see the stunned faces of everyone in the Nest when he came back with this prize, eyes wide and jaws dropping to the ground all around him; even Chomper would have to think for a moment before he came up with a witty remark. Horrific Maw the Fourth and the twins Bane and Kinder would look like a sea monster had risen from the depths and then slapped them in the face with a pilchard. And Steadfast...

...Steadfast would actually be proud of him for once.

=Heh= chuckled Tooth-trick, placing a foot on the prone Viking, =I'd like to see Horrific Maw call the slayer of the Metal Wings a useless brain-dead-=

The Metal Wings stirred.

Tooth-trick was crouched down on the other side of the clearing in an instant.

Slowly, the curled-up wing unfurled, squeaking and rustling as a slim form within sluggishly pushed it up and off itself. As soon as he saw what lay inside Tooth-trick realised that he should have taken the branch-thin limbs as an indication; the form that they were attached to, covered primarily in ironscale, was so spindly it looked like someone had taken a Viking Pipsqueak and had stretched it to twice the normal length. A chest about as thick as one of Tooth-trick's legs was visibly heaving under the armour, whilst all four limbs lay haphazardly spread-eagled around it; the head was lolled to one side, pale and half-hidden under a shaggy clump of red-brown fur.

Before Tooth-trick could think to react, that same head turned towards him, and the eyelids peeled open.

Round green eyes stared at the young Scapegrace.

...

A whole five seconds of silence passed between dragon and Viking.

...

Then the Metal Wing flinched, and the next instant Tooth-trick had lunged forward and pinned the creature down to the forest floor with both his front legs. Unconsciously his teeth slid out, and after inhaling sharply the Scapegrace let all his breath out in one ear-splitting roar that hit the Viking full-force in the face; the Metal Wings' response was to let out a high-pitched yelp and start desperately struggling in his grasp, wings rustling and clattering around it.

Second heaven, and I thought I was small , thought Tooth-trick.

He snapped his jaws shut only half a leg away from the Viking's shaggy head, drawing a sound from the beast like a cross between a yelp and a small groan. Beneath the main bulk of his body, one leg started furiously kicking his chest - it had about as much strength as a baby Montson bumping into him.

I could bite off this mite's head in one chomp! How in the name of the deep does something this scrawny terrorise an entire dragons' nest for two years straight?

He snarled at the Viking, and got more struggling and squeaky panting in response.  

It can't even fight back properly! I could kill it in a split-second and it wouldn't be able to stop me.

Wait, why am I complaining? That's a good thing.

Gas surged up at the back of Tooth-trick's throat, more than enough for a full 5-strength blast that would vaporise this Viking's head. When he opened his mouth to reveal the crackling flames forming, the Metal Wings gasped and went deathly still, green eyes wide and staring straight at Tooth-trick's maw.

Yeah, that’s right , you menace , thought Tooth-trick. Your reign of terror ends here.

... Oh great, I'm going to get Viking noggin all over my snout , aren't I?

Deciding that he didn’t particularly want liquified beastie in his face, Tooth-trick adjusted his position and moved his head back a bit in preparation. He was about to re-aim when he suddenly noticed that the Viking was shaking.

Wait, what?

The dragon sniffed. Two scents met his nostrils: one oddly enough a faint scent of something burnt, strangely familiar, and the other...

It's afraid.

No wait, it can't be afraid - Vikings aren't afraid of anything!

He strengthened the blast, producing a hiss from the flames already present, and the Metal Wings screwed its eyes shut and turned its head away.

It really is afraid...

Does that mean...can all Vikings feel fear then, or is it just this one?

Oh second heaven, what am I doing, just kill it already!

Kill it!

KILL IT!

Why am I not killing it?!

The Viking's shaggy head remained conspicuously un-vaporised.

Come on!

Just one quick blast and then my life will be infinitely better!

Come ON!

Slowly, one of the Metal Wings' eyes began to open again.

No, no, no, NO!

This can't be happening!

The flames died away.

ARGH!

With a shriek of frustration, Tooth-trick abandoned the Viking and stomped off a short distance away, excess gas burning in his throat. When he glanced back the Metal Wings was still lying sprawling on the ground, staring at him with those big green eyes, still shaking like earlier - Tooth-trick snarled at it, and got a little bitter satisfaction when the scrawny thing twitched and made another bleating sound.

That satisfaction disappeared in an instant, though, as soon as he realised he could see the Viking’s legs clearly.

Only one of them had a hide-covered foot attached to it. The other just ended in blackened leather.

Oh second heaven… Tooth-trick grimaced . I guess that explains the smell of burning…

It could only have been his fire that had done that. He hadn’t just brought the Metal Wings down, he’d blasted off its foot like a leaf off a branch. The pain must’ve been so mind-consuming that the Viking had lost control of its flying, causing it to tumble down screaming towards the waiting ground far below...

...Aaaaand now I’m feeling sympathy for this thing. Terrific. Just...terrific…

This had just officially gone back to being the worst day ever for him.

So what do I do now?

Minutes passed. The dragon glared at the Metal Wings, and the Metal Wings stared back at him with those big green eyes and that ridiculously pathetic posture. Wind passed through rustling tree branches - somewhere a songbird started trilling.

Finally, Tooth-trick reached a decision.

He turned around, back now facing the Metal Wings, curtly swished his tail, and sat down on the ground with as put-upon a thump as he could manage.

I cannot believe I am doing this...

He raised his snout up high, and focused the entirety of his attention on the canopies of a nearby tree.

Have I actually gone insane…?

Some of the clouds had moved away, and light was starting to stream through the branches in thin rays. The dragon watched idly as golden radiance lit up the forest floor, and didn’t feel in the slightest bit uplifted by the pretty.

I had the Metal Wings at my mercy - the single greatest threat to the Nest we’ve ever encountered - and I’m just going to let it go because it looked at me with baby eyes...

Oh, and let’s not forget of course that I’m also giving up my one shot at proving I can actually help...

Good grief, what if Horrific Maw’s right? Maybe I did get dropped on the head as a kid-

He heard the leaves rustle right behind him.

In the time it took Tooth-trick to turn his head, the Metal Wings lunged forward the last couple of feet and collided with his flanks. One spindly appendage grabbed ahold of his front right leg, and then there was the touch of something unmistakably metal - and unmistakably sharp - against Tooth-trick’s exposed throat. The dragon went still as stone in an instant.

The little…

The Viking was panting heavily, its whole body shaking, wide green eyes locked with Tooth-trick’s and full of both terror and determination. Metal pricked his neck ( Ack! ), and unconsciously the dragon leaned back a bit, trying his best not to breathe too deeply; he could feel his ear-fins flattening against the sides of his head, his legs going stiff with sudden tension: itching to attack and try to flee simultaneously.

What possessed me to think this was a good idea?!

He could hear the creak and rustle of the Viking’s wings, hanging limply at its sides - how had it even been able to move with those?!

Oh howls of the deep, I’m going to die...

The Viking’s breathing was coming out in ragged pants, gaining in speed, becoming almost as rapid as Tooth-trick’s heartbeat. So much fear...

I’m going to die at the hands of a critter that looks like a strong wind could snap it in half…

The presence of that blade against his neck was becoming increasingly noticeable …

And then the Metal Wings suddenly screwed up its face and howled in frustration.  

Before Tooth-trick even had time to react, the Viking threw itself back until it was at least a full leg’s length away from him. One limb swung forward, hurled something at the ground (made a metallic clink sound?) and then both arms reached up to grab at protrusions on the artificial wings and hoist both of them wide open - just in time to catch the blast when whatever had been thrown at Tooth-trick’s feet suddenly turned into a medium-sized explosion of fire and smoke.

It made quite an impressive whoomph sound.

Also smelled uncannily for dragon fire, for some reason.

Tooth-trick wasn’t really paying that much attention, though, as he’d just received a generous faceful of explosion.

Aaah! Aaauuugghhh!

Flames! Hot flames! Hot stinging flames!

Can’t see, can’t see! Too much white...need to blink away the white away...owww-ow-ow, my eyes...

Gah, ringing in my ears, can’t hear anything else...

Owowowowowow-owwwww...

It took Tooth-trick ten seconds in total to clear away the worst of the sensations and shake some sense back into his head ( Eugh...ground, stop spinning... ). By the time he could see properly again, the Metal Wings was airborne and already through the trees on the other side of the other side of the clearing, a sleep brown and grey form disappearing into the mist and the trees.

As he watched, the shape wobbled and started falling. There was the beginnings of a howl, some desperate flapping as the shape carried on tumbling downwards…

And then the Metal Wings was gone.

…

A breeze picked up and started rustling the trees nearby.

=...Huh…=

The Scapegrace gently sat down on the forest floor again. Smoke was still rising up from the small crater in front of him.

=...that was unexpected...=