not two nights ago. A cold wind swept through the campsite and the low fire crackled. He rose quietly as possible, sheathing his greatsword against his back, and went to the pile of sticks beside the tents. Standing beside the pile tied to a tree, his horse Juniper nickered softly to him.

He fed the fire, the bite of cold leaving his face, though still hearing the beats of wings in his head. It never did get easier as time passed - he missed his best friend. An intrusive image flashed in his mind of the Monstrous Nightmare reeling back with a pained roar, blood splattering from the deep wound on his long neck. Snotlout clenched his jaw tight at the thought. "Stupid dragon," he whispered under his breath.But he knew that it was his own fault Hookfang was killed. It was almost ironic in a terrible way. Hookfang was always so proud and defiant, but his last moments were trying to save his rider.

He thought to Berk. The only thing that he was certain of was that he would not be staying long. Just pay respects to his father and leave. It would be more than likely that his visit would not be welcome at all. Before being taken away, he was only barely tolerated to begin with. But it was no wonder. Snotlout cringed to himself, remembering himself as a teenager… boisterous, obnoxious, and a bully. And the one who he was the worst to is now the Chief. Still, he told himself, he