To the readers, I am Nijuuhachi, and, as you probably guessed by then, I have adopted 4ft11's fanfictions. This chapter is built off an unfinished draft by 4ft11, and this will be the ONLY chapter like that. Other chapters from now, including half of this chapter really, will be written by me. And will probably be only around 2000 words because trying to reach over 7000 has taken its toll on me (also why this chapter took so long, plus school). Hope you'll enjoy this, and I thank you for waiting.

Beta'd by Sharnorasian Empire (Thank you for your help in editing and going over the chapter ideas with me)

Chapter posted on: 31/12/2019

Chapter 22

It crept in the shadows, avoiding the condescending morning sun like the plague as the oncoming gallop of enemy advances thundered the compact snow.

They were close.

This wasn't the first time he found himself in this predicament. Instinct and experience had taught him well that darkness and speed were his allies but cursed was the mocking sleet in its cruel game of tracks. To make matters worse his foes had grown in numbers since their last assault and their new method of attack had him on the ropes. Indeed his adversary's had chosen a most wick day for their hunt. They were learning.

Clever.

A shrill cry from above alerted the pack to his location.

He was spotted.

There was no time to linger. Lifting his bulky form from the now compromised refuge of shade to the open light, he had but one hope now: to run.

"CUT HIM OFF!" the pack leader cried. "MAKE SURE HE DOESN'T ESCAPE!"

And like a fox to a rabbit, the hunt was on as mounted soldiers on powerful steeds took to the chase, dividing in ranks and doing whatever it took to corral the beast betwixt narrow confines to no avail as the creature dodged them every which way with the speed and agility of a land-barracuda.

"I didn't think he could move that fast," a young, less experienced scout gasped in amazement before watching the mass of speed tumble over several wooden barrels and frightening the eggs out of civilian fowls just minding its own business.

Nimble, yes. Graceful, not so much.

The isle of Berk had dealt with frightful oppositions in its day from the cycling dragon scourge that once terrorized its denizens for centuries to the very forces of nature itself but no foe was ever greater than the foulness that was the Belch.

"Aarne! He's heading your way!" Gustav called out as he and Fanghook managed to block the beast's last possible escape.

"On it!"

With a clear visual from on high, Aarne allowed several seconds of the creature's futile escape to pass as he preyed upon his every step before finding the precise moment to strike.

"Stormfly, spine shot!"

Quills expanding from her tail, the blue Nadder whipped out a barricade with expert precision around the wild thing.

All exits were blocked off, his chances of escape were dwindling, and the cold sweat running down his neck only reminded him of his predicament.

The jig was up.

"I won't do it, Stoick, and you can't make me!" Gobber the Belch retaliated in defense, axe at the ready as the people he called "friends" drew closer with their own weapons at hand. "NONE OF YOU CAN MAKE ME!"

"KEEP HIM SURROUNDED!" Stoick ordered, the sound of his boots onto the frost covered earth crunching down like a battle drum.

"A Viking is SUPPOSED to smell this way! It's a badge of honor!" the cornered smith cried out with pride, a hooked hand held flush to his heart. It was at that moment a passing violet Terror, taking an oblivious whiff in his general direction, instantly took to dry heaving the lingering taste of the man's pungent bouquet in desperation to the point where it was now setting a crash course towards a sentry post and falling into an unjust comatose. If this was the scent of honor, it was the kind of honor that only the giants of Jötunheimr could appreciate.

On the side lines, Fishlegs and Meatlug rallied water from the village well by the bucket full with him fishing out the liquid and lugging it over to a wooden trough where she slowly brought it to a reasonable heat. It was a grueling process but it would all be so worth it once the thick and near visible cloud that radiated from the forge man cleared away like the terrible plague it was.

A nose can only take so much.

"It's for your own good, Gobber," his chief negotiated.

"Actually, it's for the good of the town," Gustav corrected.

"Get. In. The tub!"

The man stubbornly refused to budge. It was a literal stalemate.

"Hookfang! Toss him in the tub!" Snotlout ordered as he and his Nightmare entered the scene from the rear and this is where the impasse could have ended, with them gaining the upper hand and ending the spate that was Gobber's stench, but that would have been far too easy. Instead, the hot-headed Nightmare took to his own devices and did indeed "toss him in the tub" and by "him", we mean Snotlout and by "toss" we mean fling him into the air like a catapult. The tub part remained the same.

Splash

Thick clouds of steam coated the air surrounding the trough as large blobs of water expelled out, melting away any nearby snow and reducing the once particularly filled tub with barely enough water to be considered a gallon and a half full.

"EVERY! SINGLE! TIME! Doesn't this get old for you?!" Snotlout scorned, his skin tinged pink and prickly from the cold air passing by.

"Not really, no," Hookfang grunted, making no effort to hide the roll in his eyes and the satisfied smog off his breath before tugging the dripping lad out with no sincerity whatsoever.

While Snotlout and Fanghook's kerfuffle may have been a total flop it did however provide the perfect distraction for the A team to follow up with a counter strike; to each a silver lining as they say.

With Gobber distracted, Gustav silently signaled to his allies, each giving a curt nod of understanding before positioning just in time for the smelly brute to redirect his focus on the main threat.

"I won't do it, Stoick," the dull axe in Gobber's hand trembled from the sheer grip the man had on the handle. He may have blindly chosen a blunt defense, but Thor help him if he wouldn't use it as if it were the sharpest of instruments known to man.

"Now, Aarne!" Gustav shouted, his gaze and small hand pointing up towards the blue heavens ahead as the young warrior and his Nadder friend took to the sky in a hovering fashion, their sights set on the mustachioed menace.

Changing his focus to Hofferson and whatever diabolical plan he had in store for him, it came to an obvious shock to him when the ground beneath his foot and wooden leg vanished as a strong tug to his vest hurled him upward like a limp pancake with butterfingers seeing how his axe slipped from his sweaty palm within seconds of gravity pulling back down towards the frying pan that was the tub.

His life flashed before his eyes… So many missing left socks.

Cru-splish

Whatever liquid that was within the timber trough was now scattered about in puddles onto the absorbent ground from the sheer force of Gobber's impact with barely enough water remaining to rinse off a small pile of dishes, let alone a pungent one-armed Viking wedged between the vat's oak frames by his hindquarters.

There was no stopping now, not when they had come so far.

"Fishlegs! Soap and water!" Stoick commanded as he marched over to a squirming Gobber and shoved him down further into the still damp tub, his muffled mumbles of objection thwarted by his chief large palm and unyielding strength.

Wasting no time Fishlegs and Meatlug fluttered over quickly with bucket in hand and once over Gobber's restrained form unleashed the powerful waterfall of transparency upon him like a spiritual cleansing.

What did trickle down the bucket would better be described as a rivulet of a one second lifespan onto Gobber's braided facial hair and chin which eagerly soaked it up like a yellow sponge. It was quite refreshing really.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, son," Stoick twitched in irritation.

"I-I can't, sir!" Fishlegs stammered. "The well…its run dry."

Everyone stared at Fishlegs in silence. He couldn't have possibly meant that. Could he?

All eyes fell to the stone well and without further hesitation made their way over to investigate.

With bucket and rope in hand, Stoick slowly lowered the pail fully expecting the familiar bounce of still water to stop somewhere along the way but when no such sensation came even when the line was drawn out to its fullest. Real concern set in. The well was empty.

"We just dug that well two summers ago," Stoick said to Gustav by his side as he reeled in the bucket from the dark abyss.

"Water doesn't just…disappear. There has to be a reason," Gustav chimed with curiosity. Sure it had taken a good amount of water to fill up the tub but there was no way they used THAT much. Something wasn't right.

Stoick let out a frustrated grunt as he tossed aside the pail. He really didn't have time for this of all things. "We'll have to dig a new well. And until it's done, we'll have to ration water, with means-"

"NO MORE BATHS! Always a silver-lining." Gobber cheered with a firm pat onto his apprentice shoulder, the rank odor of wet dog mixed with spoiled asparagus sitting in a week old jug of yak milk coming off of his personal bubble caused poor Gustav to quiver and retch in pain.

How could the day possibly get any worse?

Down below, whispers sung silently.

"Okay, we need to figure out a way to keep Berk supplied with water until a new well can be dug," Gustav pondered out loud to his fellow riders at the Dragon Academy, his pacing back and forth had become a trance to them as they finished their morning duties around the stables.

Over the past week the former killing arena had been converted into a makeshift kindergarten for many of the hatchlings while the village underwent necessary renovations to houses and businesses as well as adding several new lofted perches and feeding stations for the new little additions to Berk since they came to realize just how active and voracious baby dragons can be; and judging by the results from how singed and ruffled the nanny sheep were during the endeavor, it was an investment worth undergoing. The younglings were relatively tame for the most part and only nipped the villagers' ankles when provoked or fussy, but overall they were gentle little lambs - although the sheep would tell you otherwise.

Now with the arena bare once more, it was up to the Academy to spring into action.

"Ruff, Tuff, strap on some wash tubs and head to Lars' Lake to fill them," Gustav instructed after careful thought.

"Okay, but those things are pretty big. I mean, they're bigger than Ruff's butt! It could take a while, like a week or two." Tuffnut chortled while Ruffnut turned over to see her fair-sized rear in offense before giving a strong right hook to her insensitive brother's face.

She hoped it stung.

"Well, I was assuming you would use your dragon," Gustav said in an obvious tone.

"Why would you think that?" Tuffnut asked once on his feet, his left cheek flushing a bright swollen crimson between his muffled words.

"Because uh-" he couldn't finish, instead resorting to palming his face as a mild migraine pinched the bridge of his brow. It was far too early for this. "Okay, moving on. Aarne, Snotlout, head to the mountain streams and fill as many canteens as you can."

"Mountain streams… Romantic~" Snotlout joked reaching out to wrap his arm around Aarne's shoulder, only to be greeted with the flaxen-haired Viking's twisting grip before being shoved onto the ground face first. He could have sworn he heard something break.

As for Aarne, he was not in the mood.

"Fishlegs, Meatlug, you're going to help me figure out what happened inside that well."

"Um, you may not know this, but Meatlug and I don't do well in tight spaces," Fishlegs confessed with an anxious grin, Meatlug chiming in with a loud yawn of her own.

Gustav hanged his shoulders low and looked at his team: two injured, two irritated, one shaking, and the other looking more eager in the prospect of a meal and nag.

The "golden team" if he ever saw one.

He had his work cut out for him.

"You know, Aarne, I've been thinking."

"We talked about you thinking, Snotlout, it's not good. For anyone," Aarne said as he capped the final canteen with fresh, cool water. His blue eyes looked over the frost world around him as he breathed in the sharp scent of pine and ice.

The winter mountains were usually silent during this time of year. Seasonal birds had flown south and small furred creatures laid hidden in rest while the tall evergreens creaked every so often to cut through the haunting silence with sounds of snapping branches under the heavy weight of slush and decay.

He had to admit, the mountain streams were romantic.

"Who says we have to GIVE this water away?" Snotlout continued, placing his last share into a large basket with the rest of the filled canteens.

Then Snotlout had to open his mouth and ruin the moment.

"What are you talking about?"

"It's simple supply and demand. Follow me here," Snotlout said as he reached out for a jug. "The people of Berk are parched, desperate for fresh water, and who's got all the water, Aarne? Snotlout that's who!" his nasally snort echoed throughout the mountain side. "I'm gonna make a fortune!"

"You're gonna charge people for water? That's the dumbest thing I have ever heard," Aarne derided in disgust making his way towards his two baskets, tossing them over his shoulders, and marching his way back towards the village, leaving his partner behind.

"Is it? Ha! Do whatever you want, Aarne, just don't ask me to cut you in later!" Snotlout boosted before lifting his share, twinging from the mocking sting in his right wrist. He should really put some ice on that.

As they continued down the mountain pass, the cold gales of the east softly frosting the light droplets of sweat on their skins, a faint rumble awoke from the earth causing thick layers of sleet over the highland and treetops to quiver like the earth itself was getting chills.

Stopping in their tracks, Aarne's shaded eye caught the passing glance of a stag in flight between the strands of his golden fringe before witnessing a sudden avalanche of wild boars, deer, squirrels, and hares charging towards them from their right and scattering about the woodlands in a frenzy, bolting their way towards higher ground as if their lives depended on it.

Before either could say or do anything the quakes below grew louder and fiercer as if a stampede of charging yaks were passing just above and under their feet, crashing and thrashing about the earth with no apparent sign of ending or slowing down. It got to the point where both Vikings had to anchor themselves firmly onto the sides of nearby trees just to keep from being trampled by the belligerent rush and keeping their footing true as the very sound of splitting stone and stomping hooves scraped at their eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.

The tremors and perching screams of the earth lasted seventeen seconds before subsiding completely like a faint shush in the misty breeze.

Silence.

The earth was still once more yet the lingering shudder of motion lay thick in the air with the taste of rusted copper and bile while the smell of pulled soil and crushed moss told a battle that for whatever reason, happened.

Steading themselves from the shock, Aarne and Snotlout's eyes slowly met, each questioning in silence what had just happened with neither having the faintest of clues. One minute everything was calm and the next it was like the beginnings of Ragnarök.

It could have been an earthquake or the fallout of a landslide from the other end of the island, those were possibilities; it wasn't like they'd never happened before.

Yeah, that's gotta be it, Aarne's mind reasoned.

Whatever it was, it was over. Without further hesitation the two continued downhill as if nothing had happened, listening to the haunting silence of the mountain streams and the evergreens.

"That's it, girl! Just keep it steady." Fishlegs encouraged as Meatlug lowered a length of rope into the dried up well with Gustav on the other end investigating the situation firsthand.

The air was damp-dry and the heavy scent of moist grit and earth hugged to his nostrils as he shined a fire-glow lantern onto the slightly glistening walls of uneven and jagged chiseled stone.

"Lower, keep goin'," echoed Gustav's voice, his grasp firmly held onto the line with one hand while his feet balanced precariously on the ream of a secured wooden bucket. "Juuust a little more–okay, hold it right there!"

Stopping right at the dark remnants of a waterline about a third of the way into the well, Gustav grazed his fingertips over the watertight walls; it was still wet.

The wheels began to clink and clunk within his mind. They had rallied to give Gobber his bath before the break of day, finally managed to trap him around mid-morning, and only found out about the dry well just as they were about the soak the rancid man, and now knowing that the well did indeed have plenty of water - a short while ago nonetheless - it begged the question: Where did it all go? Upon feeling the warm humidity of stone on his touch, the soup thickening, a loose fragment between two misshapen slabs brushed against his knuckles to which he gently removed from its jigsaw-like confides and allowed the sweet experience of gravity to take it down toward the wells subsequent end. He counted the seconds closely, patiently awaiting the echoing kerplop of fluid spoils, but as the numbers rolled off silently in his head no reassuring splash came. It was only when the distant thump of stone to soft earth lazily trumpeted towards him did he understand.

The darkness quite accurately, hit rock bottom.

"Fishlegs, get me all the way down!"

"Are you sure?" Fishlegs asked from the greying world above. "It looks awfully dark and scary down there."

"Fishlegs!"

"Okay!" flinched Fishlegs from the side of the well. It wasn't often that Gustav snapped at his friends, but Thor help them if they questioned him when he was on a roll. "Take him down, girl!"

Slowly and steadily Gustav and the light from his lantern descended lower into a swallowing darkness leaving Fanghook above to whimper and groan pleas of caution to his young companion, his long claws dangling over the solid brim as if preparing to reach out at any moment's notice and bring him back up to solid ground. The overall suspense was killing him.

While attention between Fishlegs and the young Nightmare were directed to the task below, dear sweet Meatlug - in her uninterested blank state of duty - found it relatively simple to become enraptured in personal thought and the complexity of the universe before her.

Thin sheets veiled the ethereal for miles with soft gray light while stretched shade from Berkian peaks sobered the village's newfound beauty to the world as she gazed over the tall cabins of arched timber with beautiful trimmings of detailed and intricate knot carvings, each adorned with tasteful renditions of wooden dragon's heads atop support pillars above front porches like protective totems over the residence while soft layers of snow contrasted with dark, steady scale-like roofing shingles against the overall backdrop of silver skies.

Not a week ago the village air was laced with the scent of ash and lingering of festive cheer with tatters of what were once homes, shops, and communities splintered and split about like an aftermath of a dragon raid; though to be honest the effects were dragon in origin, her dragons if one was being technical but pointing fingers and/or claws was both rude and were beside the point. Now, the new Berkian metropolis, with its bright matte highlighted woods, retiled stone crossways, and sturdily dragon-friendly architecture, could dare say challenge even the beauty of the polished marble monuments of the Empire, though any loyal Roman would disagree for their Republic's behalf.

Once again Berk could proudly be deemed the jewel of the Archipelago, but alas, that pesky temptress that was causality shrouded the glimmering gem in gray and ice-parched barrenness.

Oh, if only the quench of liquid vitality could be sated with but a mere gaze of the island's sullen radiance. Damned, be it the woe farmer and child. Cursed be this cruel fate!

If only to share in her cohorts troubles, she too would fast her urges, be it thirst or hunger. A hunger for dense stone, with its grainy textures of sating bliss... their filling…

Perhaps if a large cart stacked with boulders were not within her direct line of sight, dazzling like a bounty from the heavens, Meatlug may have well stuck to her silent oath.

The initial tug was unexpected and harsh on Gustav's bare palm, his hiss echoing up the channel like the warnings of a coiled viper. The second bounced him from one side of the circled walls and pivoted his unprotected forearms to coarse wet stone like a pendulum. What was going on up there?

"Whoa! Fishlegs, wait!" Gustav cried up, his balance tested as the rope snagged onto a sharp piece of exposed rock while the upward momentum continued to travel down towards him due to his anchors residual kinetic force.

"Steady, Meatlug," Fishlegs hushed patiently to his Gronckle as it is always best to ease a Boulder class dragon, especially one so delicate and sensitive as his Meatlug, but upon noticing that his companion had disregarded her post for the prospect of food, a frightful screech couldn't help but pass his lips. "Gah-AAHH! MEATLUG, NO! YOU'LL SPOIL YOUR MID-AFTERNOON SNACK!"

"Meatlug! You can have your snack later!" Fanghook called out, but just like Fishlegs' words, his roars also fell on deaf ears as the Gronckle continued to strain against the rope in an eager attempt to satisfy her hunger for the beautiful bounty of boulders just right in front of her. The young Nightmare let out a small noise of distress, torn between reaching over to stop Meatlug and keeping his place next to the well in case Gustav needed help.

In the well, whatever commotion was taking place above was setting its toll on Gustav's fidgeting form. Balance as well as grip were put to the test as he tried his darnedest to focus his energy on remaining calm, the last thing he needed was to suddenly develop claustrophobia and pain. His death grip on the lantern, his only source of visual guidance, truly turned to a literal beacon on hope as he steadied his breath.

With Gustav distracted in his attempts to calm himself, Fanghook and Fishlegs distracted with Meatlug's antics, and the Gronckle distracted with her eager attempts to reach her prize, not one of them noticed it when the sharp rock onto which the rope got snagged on started to work its purpose, the friction from Meatlug mightily tugging the rope aiding it. The edge began to saw through the fibers, slowly at first. But as soon as just a small part of the rope gave way, the rest was quick to follow. The rope frayed, with a quiet snap that seemed to echo inside the well, and the resulting drop jolted its passenger.

Gustav sucked in a sharp breath at the sound and looked up, eyes wide with suspense. They managed to catch a glimpse of the unravelling rope before another strong tug from Meatlug broke the last threads, the last lifelines holding up Gustav. The rope went slack in the boy's tight grip. Realization, and a sudden sensation of falling hit Gustav hard, pushing out a surprised shout from the boy as he plummeted into the depths of the well.

Outside, Fishlegs and Fanghook turned just in time to hear Gustav's cry trumpeting out of the well and witness the end of the cut rope being pulled out by Meatlug. The comprehension of what just happened was swift to reach them as the two peered down the well, eyes widening in fear when they saw the small form of Gustav plunging down, the rope dangling uselessly in his grip and the golden glow of his lantern as the only sign of his whereabouts.

"Oh no!" Fishlegs gasped, while Fanghook roared as he tried to scramble down into the well to follow his friend in hopes of saving him. However, the well's opening was too small for him, his shoulders, spines and wings making his frame too broad to fit, even when he tightly tucked his wings in. All the distressed dragon could do was watch helplessly as the last sign of his friend, the lantern's light, was soon swallowed up entirely by the gaping maw of the darkness below. "Gustav!"

Fanghook growled and struggled, every muscle in his body straining as he tried to wriggle inside the too-small well. Hands trying to pull him away from the well, and by extension, from his goal of saving Gustav, just made him panic and struggle even more fiercely, faint sparks of fire already starting to crawl over his form. Every strip of muscle in his body then grew tense, ready to give one huge surge of strength as a last rebellion that would surely reward the Nightmare with his freedom.

"Fanghook!" a strong voice barked, as a new pair of hands grabbed his horns. With a strength that Fanghook did not anticipate, they hauled him away from the well, eliciting a surprised yelp from the dragon. Turning his head, his golden eyes, with pupils so wide, from fear and anxiety that they left only a ring of gold, soon landed on the scowling face of Stoick. It was an expression one would assume to be anger at first glance. But the furrow in his bushy eyebrows and the downward turn in his frown barely hinted at the worry the chief felt. "Listen to me," he intoned, low and authoritative. "You won't be able to get inside the well that way, and you'll only hurt yourself more if you keep doing it. We'll have to find another way to get Gustav out of there, alright?"

Fanghook whined, but a part of him understood that Stoick was trying to help. His struggles slowly came to an end, the embers dancing across his scales dying out, and he reluctantly moved away from the well, letting Stoick peer into the well to take account of the situation.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Thud!

A breath of air was forcibly wrenched out of his lungs as Gustav's back impacted against the ground below harshly. If it were not for his own multiple experiences of falling (since dragon riding did come with its occupational hazards, which included falling when doing aerobatics and tricks), the impact would have stunned him longer. But it was only a few seconds later before the boy caught his breath and pushed himself up, a hand reaching over to grab his lantern that had miraculously remained intact despite the fall it took. Gustav sighed in relief for that small blessing and checked the fire-filled globe inside. Not a crack marred its perfect surface, much to his delight.

With that checked, Gustav swung his lantern out and found himself gaping.

The well had led him down to what was a large underground cavern, connected to numerous tunnels revealed in the illumination of the fire globe's light. In his awe, he took a step forward. A soft splash drew his attention to the ground, and he noticed that it was faintly wet as well, just like the insides of the well. The source of the splash revealed itself to be one of the many small puddles of water still pooling around, reflecting the lantern's glow. It could be deduced that this cavern once held water. To Gustav's knowledge though, this didn't make sense. It implied that this cavern was once filled with water, enough to reach all the way up the well, to the point where it was but an underwater cave.

And it was not possible for an underwater cave to exist under Berk, not this far inland, and certainly not with freshwater. Usually, wells were dug down to reach an underground aquifer, and the groundwater flow naturally drew the water upwards. And an underground aquifer is a water-permeable layer of earth, not an empty cavern full of water. So, just what happened? What happened that would have caused the transformation from an underground aquifer to this empty cavern? Better yet, how come no one noticed this until today?!

"Gustav! Are you alright?!"

The echoing yell brought the boy out of his pondering thoughts, prompting him to look upwards to the opening of the well, where he spotted the familiar figure of the chief looming over the bright spot of light. "Yeah, I'm fine, chief!" Gustav shouted in reply while cupping a hand to his mouth. "But I've found something! The underground aquifer, it's, it's gone. And the water's drained completely."

"But, that's impossible!" Fishlegs spluttered. "An underground aquifer can't just...disappear!"

"Tell that to this empty cavern here!" Gustav huffed sarcastically, before looking back at the tunnels. "The water has to have gone somewhere. There are tunnels..." He swung his lantern around, which revealed multiple openings all connected to this cavern. "...everywhere," he finished, frowning at the slight ping of recognition he felt the longer he stared at them. He could have sworn he'd seen these tunnels before...but where? Wanting to investigate further, he looked back up at the opening. "I'll do some investigating chief! There's gotta be a reason why the water's all gone!"

Stoick's brow furrowed deeper, hesitant in his worry to allow Gustav to go on his own, especially without the lad's dragon, and especially into places where help would be hard to come by. But he couldn't follow Gustav; someone needed to wait on standby in case Gustav needed help. So, it was with reluctance that Stoick replied, "Alright. But just be careful down there! And if you need anything, come back here and tell us, alright?"

Fanghook rumbled in agreement to Stoick's words, hovering over the chief's head to peer down into the well.

"Alright," Gustav answered with a nod, before turning his attention to the tunnels. Most were up high, lining the walls, but there were also a few that were at his ground level. Among those tunnels, there were a couple that had trails of water leading towards them as the liquid flowed downstream. "That might lead me to where the water ended up!" Gustav deduced out-loud to himself with a grin, bending down to take a closer look. Indeed, the water was streaming down, a sluggish flow but it was a good of a clue as any. "Well then, let's see where these tunnels lead..."

Cruckle-thud.

Just as he stepped inside his chosen tunnel, there was a sound behind him, as if a stone had dislodged itself somewhere and tumbled down to hit the ground. Gustav yelped in surprise at the sound and looked over his shoulder, staring motionlessly for several seconds. But there was only the empty cavern and the spotlight of sunshine from the well shining down, with empty darkness beyond its lighting. "...Why do I get the distinct feeling that I'm not alone down here...?" Gustav muttered, swallowing a lump in his throat as he slowly turned back to the tunnel. "Here goes nothing..."

Gustav headed down, never noticing the whirl of a spiny tail behind him and white pupil-less eyes shying away from the light of his lantern.

Traversing through the long winding tunnel, Gustav kept his ears open and his eyes turned downwards in order to keep track of the small rivulets of water that were his guide. Here, deeper in the tunnels, the rivulets had grown bigger and the water-flow stronger, soaking the ground and making each step slipperier and more treacherous than the last. He kept a tight white-knuckled grip on his lantern, having learned his lesson after slipping on the ground and losing his only source of light several times already. The lantern was looking rather battered, but the fire globe inside remained intact and alit, much to his relief.

"Wonder how far this goes...?" Gustav asked himself out-loud, his voice echoing in the near-silence all around. It was honestly getting to him, the way there was no noise, no sign of life other than himself. All he could hear were his own sounds - his footsteps, his breathing, and even his heartbeat when the stillness seemed overwhelming - and the sounds of non-living beings, such as the trickle-trickle of water underfoot or the crickle-crackle of dislodged pebbles. It made him feel as if he was all alone in an entire new world...

Just as he thought of that, the earth before him suddenly exploded in a spray of dirt and rocks. A scream escaped him unbidden from the startling sound, and he swung out his lantern, both to illuminate and to ward off whatever it was that was the cause. A screech came in reply to his actions and Gustav saw a mouth full of rotating teeth, a spine-covered serpentine body and striking white eyes without pupils or irises. The light glinted off emerald scales, a familiar shade Gustav remembered seeing on another dragon in Berk. "Is that...?"

The now-recognized dragon roared again, distressed by the fire-globe's light that burned its light-sensitive eyes, and Gustav snapped out of his thoughts. He quickly backpedaled, setting his lantern behind him so that the bright searing light was shielded by his body. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he then reached out with an open palm. "Hey, hey, it's alright, it's alright..." he whispered, the words trailing off into a soft coo as he put to use his knowledge on the dragon language. The Whispering Death gave a quieter roar, not as agitated but not quite calm either. "It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you..."

Gustav slowly approached the Whispering Death while the roars grew quieter and quieter, until fading to a barely audible rumble as the boy's hand rested on the dragon's snout. Without the light, he couldn't see as well as before, but at such close quarters, he could recognize other features, and managed to identify the Whispering Death hatchling. "Mason!" he breathed out, the name causing the dragon to rumble happily. "It's you, girl! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be with Etch and Gothi."

At the sound of her mother and the elder's names, Mason's eyes sparkled in remembrance. But still a hatchling barely a month old, she couldn't reply to Gustav's questions, let alone understand them. Gustav sighed exasperatedly once he realized that. "Well, at least I won't be alone now," he commented optimistically. "But I wonder...what are you doing here anyways? Heck, how did you even get in...oh, right, Whispering Deaths, of course. You probably just tunneled right down...wait, tunnels!"

Slowly, the bits and pieces started arranging themselves in Gustav's mind. His mind flashed back to the numerous tunnels he saw back in the cavern under the well. He had never seen a Whispering Death's tunnel before, but the size and circumference were just about the size of the hatchling before him.

"You were the one who made those tunnels!" Gustav exclaimed, his mind jumping from fact to fact like a lightning bolt. "And...you must have come across the underground aquifer. By tunneling through it, you would have weakened the layer enough to make it collapse and the water to flow away... That explains the empty cavern. But...can one Whispering Death hatchling really do all of that in such a short amount of time?"

From what Gustav recalled, the well was fairly damp when he first entered. It showed that there had been water there, probably until yesterday even, and the water had only drained today. From the time between daybreak when they first headed out to catch Gobber, to the time it took to realize that the well was empty, that was about...five hours, give or take. "Five hours... Can you even drain the entire underground aquifer and make that many tunnels in five hours?" he asked Mason rhetorically while giving the hatchling a good chin scratching, much to her delight. "I mean, it would be possible if you have your siblings to help..."

Dark eyes widened as the second realization came crashing in. "Oh great..." Gustav groaned. "That means we have three other Death hatchlings out here, digging who knows how many tunnels!" A deep sigh, full of weary exasperation, pushed out of his chest while he turned a dead-panned look to Mason. However, the hatchling seemed rather oblivious to the human's woes, content in the delightful chin scratches she was given.

"Ah well...can't get mad about spilled milk now..." Gustav breathed out a light chuckle. "Come on Mason. We have to find your siblings."

He stopped the chin scratches and turned to the lantern, carefully clipping it onto his belt so that the light remained half-covered by his body. "Come on Mason," he encouraged, patting the hatchling's nose. "Find your siblings. Find Scribe!"

Recognizing the name of her sibling, Mason roared and whirled around, scanning the tunnel before flying onwards while Gustav started running to keep up with the Whispering Death hatchling. Hopefully, they would be able to find everyone without having more troubles directed at them...

Outside, back in Berk, Gobber was busy doing his duty of sharing the water the Thorston twins brought back with the other Vikings, a duty he had taken up with delight as with every bucket given out, he was reminded of the glorious fact that he would not be taking a bath anytime soon - and forever if he had anything to say about it. Hopefully, by the time this water crisis was sorted out, everyone would have forgotten to give Gobber his bath, and the now-dragon-dentist would never have to worry about it ever again! "That's it, keep the line moving!" Gobber called out with a cheery grin as he filled another Viking's bucket. "One bucket each!"

Next to the blonde Viking, there was another who was doing the same, with the equal amount of cheer as Gobber, but less generosity. "Water, water, water, water, water, water! Get your Snotlout's mountain-fresh water here!" Snotlout called out, standing next to a basket full of water-filled canteens that he (and Aarne, but the fact seemed to have escaped Snotlout's notice) collected. In one hand, he shook a canteen of water, as if tempting the thirsty Vikings to have a drink...for a price, of course.

The Vikings waiting in line didn't seem to fuss as the one at the front traded a chicken, which Snotlout took in his free hand while handing over the canteen. "Ha, this is too easy!" the Jorgenson bragged, sending Aarne a smug look as he gestured at the chicken and the wheelbarrow full of other 'traded' goods. "Who's dumb now, Aarne? The guy with the cart full of loot, or the guy with the big mouth full of hot air?"

Aarne glared back with a deep frown, reminded sourly of the Changewing Egg Incident (and yes, it deserved all those capital letters). And even if that was not the case, the act of bartering for water, of all things, among Vikings who were living in the same village made him grind his teeth and his fists itch with the urge to slam themselves into someone's face, preferably Snotlout's in this case. The fact that the aforementioned teen had to open his big mouth just further irritated the blonde Viking. "You're taking advantage of these innocent people," he growled, low and dangerous.

"Correction. Thirsty innocent people," Snotlout merely smirked, looking entirely guilt-free at his shameless words.

"Haven't you learned your lesson from the Changewings?"

"That's that, this is something else!" Snotlout protested with a wince, the incident still relatively fresh in his mind. "There aren't angry dragons coming after me this time!"

"Ha, but there is something else," Aarne smirked, an idea sparking in his mind that was more satisfactory than simply hitting Snotlout. In a swift move that left the Jorgenson blinking in surprise, Aarne took three canteens into his arms and tossed them at the waiting Vikings. They let out pleased exclamations and ambled away with their water, while Snotlout came to the realization of what just happened and fumed.

"Hey! You're cutting into my profits!" he protested. To that, Aarne merely smirked, folding his arms with a challenge in his eyes and his pose, daring Snotlout to try and do something about it. But the villagers had already left with their water, and Snotlout didn't quite dare to chase after them to demand for payment, leaving him to grumble under his breath as he pushed the basket of canteens further away from the blonde Viking.

That wouldn't be enough to deter Aarne though.

Deep underground, away from the Vikings above ground and from Mason and Gustav in the tunnels, there was a rumble. Right now, it was faint, like the soft whisper of waves against sand that was crumbling away, a brush of dry scales against the dirt walls, going unnoticed by the humans and dragons that were so close but not enough to hear.

Then, a new sound appeared; a constant buzz, a constant whir of something moving at high speeds. The sound of crumbling grew, the rumble starting to rouse up, as if a beast awakening from slumber. Above ground, a young boy peered down at his bucket of water, seeing ripples forming on the surface from an unseen source. Inside the tunnels, Gustav and Mason paused, catching the growing disturbance.

There was a pause.

Not long after, the once-faint rumble exploded.

This time, everyone took notice.

Mason was fast, her serpentine body slipping through the tunnels with the ease of a natural-borne tunneler, which she was. The Gustav of moons ago would be hard pressed to catch up, but training with dragons (from actual training to running for his life from the angry ones) had given him the boost to keep up. His lantern swayed and jerked about harshly, throwing about a near-dizzying show of light against the walls. It took all that he had to keep his eyes focused on the tip of Mason's spiked tail.

As Mason traveled further onward, Gustav noticed the ground becoming even wetter. The rivulets of water that led him to Mason in the first place had grown into actual tiny streams, the splashing of his feet echoing loudly inside these walls. As they continued onward, Gustav's ears picked up another sound in the quiet of the tunnels. Like a startled deer, he paused mid-step, ears straining to locate the sound. Even Mason stopped with a quiet growl, her head turning and tilting.

A second passed before Manson roared, backing away just in time as the ground in front of her exploded in a shower of dust and dirt. A streak of white flashed amidst the brown, just illuminated by the lantern light before it disappears with the settling cloud stirred up from the sudden burst.

Gustav's heart takes a moment to settle down before his mind caught up to reality. He recognized that white!

His head tilted up as his gaze took in the huge tunnel left behind by the Screaming Death hatchling. "He's headed up for the village!"

Screams of surprise and still-lingering fear cultivated from years of enduring dragon raids (to be fair, while raids have stopped, dragon attacks were still somewhat common, so the fear hadn't gone anywhere) followed the sudden fountain of dirt and the absolutely ear piercing scream from the rising dragon. The great maw filled with needle-sharp teeth, the white scales, colored as white as the ash and bones of the dead, and the glint of red eyes completed the image of a furious Screaming Death.

Barely a moment of pause before Chalk screamed once more. To human ears with no knowledge of the dragon's tongue, it was a grating roar, like the screech of nails against iron.. But to the dragons, their ears instead picked up the emotions behind the roar that shook them more than the sound did. It was the grief of lost, the anger at that lost, the demand for blood to quench that anger...

It was the roar of someone who just lost their mother.

Back at the Outcast Island, a celebration was being held, one for a honey-sweet victory rather than a particular festival. Perhaps it would seem fitting, that while a hatchling grieved, the dragon hunters would rejoice.

Drinks and food went around, the new crop brought by spring's emphemeral arrival making sure of a veritable feast. At the very head of the table, Alvin barked out a thunderous laugh as he clapped a mighty hand on Mildew's shoulder with all the force of an incoming sledgehammer.

"Never thought you would actually do it!" he roared, grinning madly. "Stealing a dragon right from under Berk's nose."

Mildew was too busy trying to get air back in his lungs to truly respond and by the time he caught his breath, Alvin had already turned away. He could not stop grinning, every tooth he still had on full almost-macabre-like display. "A dragon army. Berk isn't the only one who will soon have a dragon army under their command."

"It is a shame though," Heath spoke up, eyes scanning their prize in a detached analytic manner. "If we had managed to capture the hatchlings as well. That white one is a newly discovered species, and much bigger than a normal Whispering Death. It might even have new abilities that would have proven useful."

"Oh, don't worry about that, young master," Mildew rasped out, the rattling of his chest almost audible as he leaned heavily against his staff. Despite being out of breath, his eyes shone with a near malevolent glint as they stared greedily at the sleeping Whispering Death trapped inside an metal cage. "One dragon will soon grow into an army...just use it as bait."

Inside the cage, Etch remained unconscious in her induced sleep, unknowing of the wickedness that was on the horizon.