for graphic violence, depictions of rape, death.

Prologue.

Snotlout jerked awake with a sharp gasp, hand instinctively moving to the greatsword laid across his lap.

The night was dark around him, the fire low and crackling. A light snow lazily blew in the wind. It was the early weeks of spring and the air still carried a sharp bite. He paused, relaxing his hand against the sword hilt. The dream that had snapped him awake didn't have any sense of danger to it, and was far from it in fact, but his reflex did not know the difference. Eventually he settled back onto the tree trunk that he had been lying against - and apparently fell asleep on - during his watch. It wasn't the first time that he had dreamtabout flying again.

The wind rustled his hair, and the steady beats of Hookfang's wings were the only sounds in the sky. Tall clouds reflected the sunset in tones of pink and soft oranges, and the Earth below seemed so far away. He had reached forward and given Hookfang a soft pat on the side of his head and was answered with a content rumble. In his dream, he could feel the swell of easy happiness as teenager and dragon wheeled gently above Berk. But now, Snotlout was met with a dark night and a fire that needed to be tended to. A few feet away in a tent, Adelaide slept silently. He looked on her briefly, mentally berating himself for falling asleep. They had just heard wolf howls