Blind Spot
Hello and thanks for reading my second HTTYD universe story! Once again, it's a nod to one of my favorite time bending, madhouse, humor ripping science fiction authors: Robert Anson Heinlein.
As you've noticed from the summary, this does not take place in Berk, and it features characters of mine who were in "To Soar into the Sunset: a Night Fury's Odd Memoir." Of course, some HTTYD characters will be in here, don't worry, but the focus is on a different part of the world of humans and dragons- and on a different way that humans and dragons might find a way to understand and work together against a common danger. In this world, it's not the humans who need convincing... it's the dragons!
And I can promise you there will be Vikings. And, of course, dragons. And even Vikings who are not Vikings and dragons who are not dragons and yet are dragons! There are dragon species from the movie and even some that did not make it into the Dragon Manual.
I am planning to get back to Berk very soon with some post movie fictions, but this story is an important one to tell now since it shows some concepts and potential plot situations that are going to be very important to our Vikings and Dragons on Berk in these upcoming stories.
The events in this story take place right about the time as the events in the latter half of the movie and in the latter half of my other fan fiction.
Also, there are some major spoilers here for my other fanfiction, so if you have not read "To Soar Into the Sunset," just be aware of that. Otherwise, this is a stand alone story.
Thanks to WhiteFang333 for sharing his biological knowledge and letting me run a few theories about possible dragon behaviors past him. He also gave me some suggestions on unique types of dragons and their lifestyles that I am using in this story. Any mistakes about biological theories are entirely my errors.
Note: There are many puns and terms in this story that are based on English, which, of course the people in this story would not speak. I needed to have them in there, though, to add to the understanding of the characters' thoughts and personalities. I also put translations and definitions below the story.
Chapter 1: On the Slopes of the Steppes
"Must be a yearning deep in the human heart to stop other people from doing as they please. Rules, laws — but always for the other fellow".- R. A. Heinlein , The Moon is a Harsh Mistress
Disclaimer: Yes, the world "Disclaimer" is spelled correctly. And, no, I don't own Toothless, Night Furies, and most of the other dragons mentioned here. The other characters are mine (insert evil laugh here.) All chapter quotes (and chapter headings) are from Robert Heinlein. Chapter names are derived Robert Heinlein novels and short stories
I had been watching him as he stumbled in the canyon, starving, unable to snag the prey that hovered just in front of him.
I know I had not had a good day so far. Training had been getting hardcore, and I hated that I not only had to prove myself capable of handling the same challenges of the other younglings, but I somehow had to EXCEED their- and our teacher's- expectations. They all completely expected I would fail. That just fueled my fire to soldier on in the training, even though they laughed at my appearance and used it as a reason that I would fail.
I mean, come on! Can you help how you look? Why can we not judge a Person by his character or by her deeds, and not by the size of the muscles or the hair color? I don't fit into the standard definition of what makes a warrior of my people, ergo, I have to prove I am worthy to stand in the training grounds before I can even attempt to pass the training? Just like that old saying goes, someone like me has to work twice as hard to show I am half as good.
Heh. In my opinion, eating rotten apple cores covered in tar would be much more fun, and probably cause less of a bad taste in my mouth.
So, I entered the canyon with good ole snarkiness as my ally, feeling I had something to prove. I shook my shaggy reddish-brown hair out of my eyes as I saw him.
Still there, the tenacious critter.
He was trapped in the canyon and hungry. Much as he wanted to eat, his injury held him back. I could see he was very clever. He was trying to figure out ways to get himself out of there, and they probably would have worked if he did not have a crippling injury that caused all his escape attempts to fail.
When I saw what it was, it made my heart sink. Losing that part of the body, in our world of warfare and raids and long voyages, is a pretty serious setback. You cannot go it alone with that kind of loss. You'll always need to have someone - or something- to help you get where you want to go. He had been calling, sounding loud pleas in a brave and proud call to let his kind know he was trapped here, but no one had answered him.
It made me realize that he either really was the only one of his kind, or his kind was not anywhere in this region to be able to help.
I knew, with a cold chill, this creature would die without my help.
So, I entered the canyon, bringing food for the trapped, intriguing creature.
We had a few issues of trust, for sure. I was amazed he did not strike out at me when I put the food before him. When he offered to share it with me, I choked it down, but not gladly. (Believe me, the apple cores and tar would have been a true gourmet delicacy in comparison).
We continued to suss each other out, coming closer and leaping away. You know the general details, anyway. (Goodness, I know I hate listening to the same cute "my-baby-learned-his-first-dirty-word-today" stories over and over again at social gatherings, so I know you, also, get tired of hearing the same stories of our bonding, as well). So, in my infinite and awesome mercy, I will not bore you.
Eventually, we faced each other, and I knew this was the time to ask him to show his support or to ask me to leave him alone.
So, I turned my eyes away and reached out, letting him know the decision was his.
A few stressful moments of water and insects and wind whistling.
Then, amazingly, we made contact.
I gasped in surprised happiness as he took the chance and he lowered his human hand to touch my equine muzzle.
And we bonded as a Rider and Horse.
And I was never lonely again.
That moment was the furthest from my mind at the present. Survival had poked its scaly head in and let me know that, if I miscalculated in any way in the next few moments, my friend and I would be going on a really long, one-way journey to the Afterlife.
The Red Death followed us, its breath hot on my back. Our speed in fleeing this annoyance was throwing my bangs back, and I had to struggle not to lose my balance. Still I gritted my teeth and signaled out the command to my friend.
::Hold::
A moment more. A moment more. A moment more.
Wind flattening along our sides, a forest of teeth waiting to snag me.
My mind seemed tensed for it. And then the strange instinct that I've developed from our days together flared into being.
::Okay! NOW!::
My Rider swiveled on my back and let loose the strung arrow with a fantastic, echoing, ripping sound.
It seemed to blaze like it was on fire in the way the sun caught the tip, and then it buried itself right in the "Happy Landing Ground", that vulnerable spot juvenile Red Deaths have under the jaw, where the plates have not yet fused.
The Red Death startled for a moment and jerked its head up, driving the arrow blade in further, spreading the scythian coating on the arrow into its bloodstream.
The toxin did its work, just as I thrust my back legs and sent my Rider and me flying away, perpendicular to the monster.
My jump was nothing to boast about to the high priest, but it cleared us out of there before we got splattered with some not so nice parting gifts. My Rider was expecting it and braced himself, legs gripping securely to my sides, the gently raised fenders on each side of the saddle keeping him locked in place. I thudded to the ground and let out a snort of relief, shaking the long blades of bunchgrass around us.
My former pursuer had now started running in circles, a nasty greenish steam coming from its nostrils. It gave a screech of bone chilling agony as purplish blood began pouring out of its four nostrils. Green-tinged foam dripped between its considerable display of teeth. A few of those snaggly things even fell out, loosened by the reaction of the toxin. They fell, hissing, into the dead prairie grass.
My Rider and I kept our distance, moving in a large circle at a gliding walk, heading back towards the dying creature. I heard a soft rustle as my Rider nocked another arrow to the bow, just in case. He sat back harder on me for moment, our worked-out code for me to stop, and I did so, ears back in cautious anticipation.
The creature toppled onto its side, and we both heard the gargle as the toxin did some rather mean things to its insides. I felt no powerful emotions as I watched it. I did not pity it, considering it would very happily have snacked on my Rider and me. Plus the dragon it had managed to bring down. I like to think that the Great Stallion's words have some value that there is a spark of goodness in all creatures, a gift the Creator Father gave all of us , along with the Sky Lady and the Night Lady. No disrespect to the deities, but they probably have not had the pleasure of meeting a Red Death for a no-repeat game of tag. At least, they would not know what we mortals face in that situation.
"Good work, Bond-sister," my Rider's voice stroked my forehead between my ears, and I shook my head in pleasure, letting out a rattling snort of happiness. He continued to pat my neck and gently slap my withers, letting me know he was proud of me. Like all of my kind, I leaned into it and lapped it up, mentally. Firemakers underestimate the joy and belonging the touch of a true friend can bring. My People, the Turkmenes, know it, and that's why always nibble each other along the neck and on our withers when we are showing one of our kind we are pleased to be with them.
::Same here. Firemaker-brother:: I told him, ::Excellent aim, as always. Remind me never to get in a fight with you.::
"Huh. Without your help, I would not be able to shoot you in the first place, so you pretty much can annoy me all you want."
::I know. That advantage gives me great pleasure, too, O hairless Ape.::
"Merciless mare, you will come to a bad end." My Rider sat up in the saddle, "Come on- let's see if she is okay."
He nudged me gently on the right side, signaling me to turn in that direction. I did so, gliding through the rustling late fall grass. Even though it had long ago died, a scent-aura of sweet grass clung to it, a whisper of the long gone summer.
The grass suddenly wavered as a creature that had been lying on its side lurched to its feet. A flash of deep slate color, and the most beautiful creature known to Sarmatians- both human and horse- erupted into the air, scattering blades of dead grass in its passage.
She was still off her game and wobbled a bit, balancing on incredibly long, velvety bat wings freckled with silvery patches. To me, the Lightning Breather resembled nothing more than a black leopard from the Far Eastern steppes, but with smooth scales and a powerful reptilian jaw. She flew with two sets of wings and balanced herself, cat like, with a long, sinuous tail armed with two rows of small ridges. It ended in two, streaming tail fins. She circled around us, catching a breeze and gliding to save her wings. The sun brought out the deeper tones of stripes and spots decorating her neck, shoulders and legs.
::Permission to link minds, please:: I thought-sent to her, the traditional greeting acknowledging that my species, like hers, can thought-send. I lowered my mental shields, letting her sense I was putting myself vulnerable to a mind blast from her, but also that I was approaching her in peace and greeting.
The black-blue Lightning Breather, to my surprise, actually did lower her shields, too, but it was an abrupt, cold gesture. She was not doing this out of any interest in friendship, but because it was the easiest way to communicate.
Gotta love those Bureaucrats of the Sky. Yes, they are stunningly beautiful, the most stunning of dragon-kind. Unfortunately, they know it, too. And, even more unfortunate, they like to make sure we Sarmatians know it.
Well, if you've been guiding them for as long my Rider and I have, you may admire their beauty, but you lose your respect for their natures.
After all, when you trot on the ground like me, the view I mostly have of soaring dragons is their bellies and everything under the tail. That does worlds to diminish my awe for them.
"Hello, my lady!" my Rider called, raising his free hand in the salute of our tribe, "Have you been harmed? Those creatures have quite a mental pull on dragons. My friend and I were serious, here, about helping you over the steppes." He gestured to the dead Red Death, "That is why you need us as guides."
I translated my Rider's words, thought-sending them to the Lightning Breather.
Suddenly the dark dragon shuddered again and let herself land back into the grass, trembling, still fighting off the effects of the Red Death's thrall. It must have been playing havoc with her internal navigational system. That, and the general overwhelming feeling dragons get from our Steppe land (admittedly, it is on the very odd side of home-sweet-home), had taken down her resistance.
This Red Death, like all the ones our people have dispatched, was a juvenile. We've never seen a fully grown one, but I have a feeling none of us would have lasted the time it took to sneeze if we'd challenged an adult. The key is to get rid of them before they get that old enough. Better to take down a problem while you still can control it.
The Lightning Breather shook her head rapidly, her side plates flapping almost comically, her cat-like nostrils flaring in shock. Even in this condition, I must admit she was exquisite. Even though they are insufferably arrogant, I can never get enough of seeing the way Lightning Breathers move in the wild- graceful, phantom-like winged cats. (I guess I really am a "Cat" horse, much as my Rider likes to tease me about it. He seems to think dogs are the pinnacle of creation on Earth. Except for dragons, of course.)
::Are you all right, winged one?:: I asked her, maintaining my trained professionalism when dealing with someone who is sure she is a Higher Power, ::We really are happy to help. We do not expect any payment for this. You'd even be helping us, since you can see things from above we cannot.::
She glared at me with baleful golden-green eyes, pupils shrunk to cat-like thinness in the bright sun.
::Just breathe, that's it:: I said soothingly, ::I know it's not easy to be on the ground, but we'll watch your back until you can fly. Trust us. We swear it on fire. And, being a dragon, you should know that is no small boast.::
And it is not. When a Sarmatian Firemaker- or his horse- makes that oath, we say it with total truth.
The Lightning Breather seemed to be a young one, what in my Turkmene People's age would be just when a filly becomes a mare. She flared her nostrils, her breaths coming easier, now. And then she inclined her head gracefully, sending out her well thought message of appreciation for saving her sleek and lovely hide.
::Scorch you! Both you and your Firemaker! Stay back from me, Traitors to our People! ::
I've learned long ago not to let Lightning Breather compliments get on my nerves, but this one really did take the prize ::Well, you're most welcome. Such a pure pleasure doing business with you, ma'am. We'll see you again at the next enthrallment, 'kay? Hopefully , you'll still be in one piece ::
My Rider took in this exchange with calm, but underneath I could feel some roiling anger, and his free hand gripped my neck- harness handle hard. Because he has Bonded with me, he can pick up other Mental's thoughts, using me as the conduit.
"Come on, doostam," he said to me, soothingly, "We have other things to do, before the venom dries out."
I could not agree more, and we moved back from the panting Lightning Breather. As I turned my back to her, I was grateful that we Turkmenes- like most horses- can see behind us.
::Rest well, good Lightning Breather. Just remember, if you plan to shoot us Traitors in the back , that this is a vast plain of dead, dry, foliage that stretches for hundreds of leagues. And fire really can burn faster than you can fly , in the right conditions. And I doubt you can fly high enough where the smoke won't overcome you. Just a little advice, girlfriend to girlfriend::
I heard a quick gasp of breathed-in oxygen being forced back out of the mouth and jaws slamming shut.
Yup, figured your moves out long ago, Lightning Breather.
She continued to seethe, though, realization probably settling in her that my Rider and I were the only thing that could help her on her journey over the plains. This is a zone of general weirdness due to some strange temporal circumstances.
See, dragons have this extra sense that makes them unique among Earth creatures. They can echo locate like bats and pull in thoughts, auras and a whole feast of other amazing things that the rest of us poor slobs don't perceive, though they are right under our muzzles. This makes them very keen hunters and explorers, and according to the few priests of our kind that dragons will deign to visit, extremely perceptive about situations.
Not in the steppes, though. There are disturbances in the atmosphere here that mess up dragons' sensors, knocking out their sense of direction. Normally, they rely on a network of Lightning Breathers to guide them as they travel, being "passed" along from "Signaler" to "Signaler" during periods where rain and fog obscures a normal dragon's ability to navigate. Lightning Breathers, like our loving admirer in the grass, have the highest level of navigation, probably because they have a set of eight sensors, opposed to the usual two on most dragons. However, even they cannot handle the disruption fields here, and the lack of sheltering caves, overhangs and trees is very dangerous for creatures who depend on being able to blend into the shadows of mountains, cliffs and high forest canopy.
Enter my Rider and I, the newly-minted Traitors, at your service! We are part of a network of teams of Sarmatian horses and riders fanned out across the Steppe lands, guiding dragons through this region where their own people cannot guide them. We also guide Firemaker travelers: merchant caravans, pilgrims of various faiths, nomadic folk bringing flocks to the Borders to trade with the Settled Firemakers.
To be honest, we deal more with Firemakers than with dragons, which suits us just fine. Firemakers will pay us for guiding and protecting them, so my Rider and I can bring back to our Tribe the useful things we nomads cannot cultivate in our lifestyle. And, sometimes, we'll even bring back a few fripperies that look nice hanging from a wagon wall or woven into a lady Firemaker's cloak. Sarmatians love bright colored clothing or a beautifully crafted piece of art, and they will pay my Rider handsomely for that. It also means Yours Truly gets lots of extra honey in the grain, some new coat brushes and even decorations on the harness, to hoof! (I may be warrior, but I also am a lady, and I like to look nice on special occasions)
Our bartering protection for goods brings in a continuous flow of trade items that helps us to afford our obligation to protecting dragons. It's not easy for our people to give up valuable warriors who should be serving in their Dragon Units to, instead, protect real dragons out on the plains.
But this is our Task. It was given to us as a condition by the most powerful Firemakers I have ever encountered. Agreeing to come here to these Steppe lands was the only thing that kept my Rider's People from being annihilated by the Broomheads. And, we know we are being Watched, so we take our mission very seriously.
And, yes, there is another route both dragons and traders could take, but it involves dropping through the Caucusus mountains and across Anatolia, up into the Great Walled City/Prison of Eternal Madness and then the Greek speaking lands. It's safer for both human and dragon, but it takes longer. So, everyone who chooses the Steppes has a pretty good reason for taking the risk of being chomped by a Red Death or getting lost in the mirages.
Anyway, after that explanation, you can wake up now!
At this point, we had come back to the Red Death's side. It lay stretched out, glassed eyes trained on the sky, sides flat and still.
I drew back my lips from my teeth and breathed in, the horse's way of scenting the air. Firemakers who don't know us think it is cute and we are "smiling" or "laughing." We're actually seeking possible hazards.
The smell of death curled into my nose and mouth, and I knew the Red Death was, truly, dead.
"How many eyes, my friend?" my Rider asked me.
::Two and a half:: I answered ::One pair, right and left, and there is a bud on the left starting to generate into an orb::
"Good," My rider had a tone of satisfaction in his voice.
We take a great deal of pride in stopping these beasts as young as we can. There almost is a sense of dissatisfaction when we bring a Red Death down that has four eyes. It means we were not swift enough to intercept it when it came over the Gate. We rather want to take 'em out before they have a chance to lay claim to our homeland.
None of us have seen if they can grow more than four eyes. There is a continuous array of knobs that run alongside the beasts' wolfy/vipery faces in a row. Apparently, these develop into eyes as the creature matures. The row of knobs stretches all the way back to the end of the jaws, almost where the neck meets. Does that mean it can make as many as ten or more pairs of eyes? Or, as it grows up, does it require more knobs fusing together to make a single eye, yet these "newer" eyes have better vision than the first set of eyes?
These thoughts were passing back and forth between my Rider and I as we observed the beast. We had heard the priests discussing this with some of our troops, and it was something that was intriguing.
I must admit, we Turkmenes- and most horses- are not ones for deep introspection, but since I have bonded with my Rider, it seems my own mind has been opened, and I find myself able to grasp things that the silly, little Roxalani filly I used to be, could never have. When my Rider is touching me or on my back, I am instantly much smarter.
Conversely, when I am away from his side for too long, I am instantly much- well- you get the idea.
Amazing, these Firemakers!
But then, again, my Firemaker also is at his best when he is touching me or sitting on me. We have a most unusual Bond.
I felt his gentle weight on my back lighten as he slid off my back, landing on his booted feet with a bit of a grunt. We had been on the move without a break for a long time today, so I imagine his legs were feeling a bit stiff.
His palm remained on my harness hand-grip, keeping contact with me. I knew the drill.
::Two candlemarks past noon. The tail tip will be under your right hand. Be careful. Smell for the poison::
"Thanks, Bond-sister."
We were adjacent at an angle to the Death, but my Rider knew now the direction to head for the tail. He walked forward, hand held out to balance himself, eyes closed. His steps were clumsy and halting, but that did not shame me in any way. It is how he is, and I am proud he is my Rider.
I walked behind him and, as he reached the point, I struck my left front hoof on the ground, hard. He knew to stop and, then, knelt down. I saw his tiny Firemaker nostrils flare as he smelled for the venom, a piney smell that is not unpleasant.
He nodded, indicating he had located the source. Most of his tribe cannot smell the Red Death venom, but my Firemaker can. He has senses the others do not have, and for a very good reason.
You see, if you have not figured it out, there is one thing you should know.
My Rider is blind.
With a surety that anyone who did not know my Rider would not expect, he was grasping the tail tip in his thick, dragon-scaled riding glove. His other hand moved to his belt and grasped until he pulled a sharp tool from it, one with a blade designed just for this purpose. Carefully, his tongue sticking childishly out between his teeth, he sliced the Red Death juvenile's tail tip, including the area that has the venom sack. Since this Red Death was so young, its tail had not yet formed into a club. It was a simple appendage with a basic "rosette" of spikes, each about the length of a viper's fangs. The whole tail tip was no thicker than my rider's wrist, but the poison was still potent enough to paralyze a Firemaker who got pricked while handling the tail.
He tilted the tail tip the right way to keep the venom from running out and stood up, leaning back against me. Using the tool in his other hand, he pressed it so the specially-designed clamps located below the cutting blade squeezed the open end of the amputated tail shut. The edges, touching each other, actually fused together, sealing off the venom from running out.
If we had waited too long after the creature had died, the skin would lose that fusing property.
::To your Right. Two finger-lengths::
Nodding his thanks, he pulled the compactly-strapped venom sack from the clips where it hung around the outside of my breast band. The sack was actually made in triple layers, each one lined in Red Death hide to protect against the unlikely event that venom that might leak through.
He dropped the sealed tail tip into the sack where it rattled against the three other tail tips we had collected so far. Our priests would extract the venom from the sacks and combine the venom with some other natural elements that, to me, sounded like various ways of saying the word "Gobbledegook." The resulting serum, scythian, changed the structure of the Red Death poison, warping it into a form that would poison a Red Death upon contact with its blood stream.
Incidentally, it also made a rather nasty little gift to send our Firemaker enemies via our arrows.
"Thanks, ma'am. Would you like a pretty bauble for your harness, horsey-kins? You do deserve it, and I'm happy to fetch you a nice accessory. Just say the word!"
::The word!:: I nickered sarcastically
My Rider laughed and followed my directions to move up to the Death's shoulder where the skin made an interesting pattern of red, pebble-like, knobs on the usual dull blue-green hide. He skillfully sliced a strip of the hide and cleaned it on the spot. Then he set it in another part of our packs. The tribal tanner would cure it and stretch it into the right shape so it could be secured to one of the moon-shaped medallions that dangled from my breast plate, my neck band, and breeching. It would make a pretty streamer that would float in the air but not hinder my movements. If the light hit it the right way, it would even glow a sparkly red and green, a ghastly shade of red and green, mind you, but anything to creep out the enemy is key.
He held it up for me, "Suits, ma'am?"
I nodded in pleasure, ::Suits. Carry on, Monkey Man.::
I already had quite a collection of Red Death Ribbons, but there was still plenty more room on my harness for more. I'm just a young 'un, and we all need goals in life, right?
We used to hang other, perhaps more macabre, skins from those medallions in the days before The Crossing, but I won't gross you out with the details on that. Yet.
My Rider checked my saddle girths, making sure everything was secure and comfortable on me. He skillfully swung himself onto my back in a fluid motion, just balancing his hands on my pommel as he swung his right leg over my back.
He settled himself comfortably on me, shifting himself so he was not putting all his weight on my back. My Firemaker's Tribe has a great deal of respect for horses, and it shows in the little things they do to keep us comfortable on our long journeys.
::Guess what gender it was?:: I snorted, playfully at my Rider.
My Rider sighed between his teeth, "You always ask me the most difficult of questions. I'm not sure, honestly. It most likely was a female Red Death. But, then again, it could be a female Red Death."
I tossed my head, ::Wrong. It's a female Red Death.::
"I knew it! I should have gone with my first instincts." I heard my Rider face palm himself in a teasing way, "I wonder if there has been any sighting of a male Red Death."
::So, far, no. We've only seen females::
This fact has led our Forge Priests and Star Priests to consider that this strange invasive species practices some sort of strange self reproduction where it creates completely identical copies of itself. They use a mystical word that sounds like Khloh Ning.
As I finished my comment about only female Red Deaths being sighted, my Rider started chuckling in a pseudo Evil One manner.
::Don't, even say what I think you're going to say!:: I warned my Rider as we moved away, passing the annoyed Lightning Person, as we moved on our way towards the west.
"What? I just was going to say, seems only nat- AAAAHHH STOP BUCKING, WILL YOU?"
"So, I'd really like to know why we are traitors, all of a sudden," my Rider said, moving the roasting skewer with the hare a little closer to the burning fire. He did not need my direction. His own, excellent, ability to sense the heat directed him to the best cooking parts of the campfire.
We had set up our evening camp in a usual spot we had marked for this route. It had a small stream with potable water, and there was a small overhang for shelter if it started raining. Tonight was a little warmer than usual for this time of the year, and my Rider wanted to sleep under the stars, but we had to have a Plan B if the rains came.
"I know I used to be quite the prankster in my younger days, but I was certainly no traitor. Heh. I enjoyed swapping one of each person's boots so everyone had a mismatched pair. And hanging sissy-flower chains around the necks of the Scepter Holder's oxen just before the Sarda Festival so there was no time to change the harness. And all those "Wash Me'" tamga-runes I used to finger draw in the dust of people's wagons," my Rider sighed, and I heard the regret there, the silent That was before IT happened to me.
I nudged my Rider in the shoulder. I had not been there when IT happened to him. We did not discuss this. Our common version is he had a blow to his head during a raid, but I think there was more to this. The faint, silver webbing in the skin around his eyes that has faded with time tells me a different story. I knew he would tell that tale of how he lost his sight when it was his time. We all have our demons to face, and he had not been willing to deal with that one.
He reached up and scratched me under the jaw, a spot I LOVE to have tickled. I leaned into it and nickered, quietly. He laughed and scratched a bit harder.
At that point, a loud explosion of wind came over us, punctuated by thumps of wings.
"Incoming Lightning Breather," my Rider said, casually.
::Oh, be still, my heart. We are about to be Blessed::
We both looked up as the Lightning Breather we had saved earlier today circled over our us, her eyes glowing a strange beryl shade in our campfire light. Neither my Rider nor I communicated a thought to her.
But we are professionals. He pointed with his finger and I my muzzle, toward the overhang where she could rest. Hospitality is one of the basic rules of the Sarmatians. If a traveler seeks shelter, you give it to him or her. You never know when he or she might be the one to save your life in the future.
She flew to it and dropped down neatly, folding her primary wings against her shoulders. Her secondaries gracefully furled themselves out like two fans. She folded all her legs under her and wrapped her tail around herself. She dropped her head on her the knees of her curled up front legs.
"So, we meet again," My Rider said, raising his rabbit up and sniffing it to ascertain how well cooked it was. Shaking his head, he lowered the skewer back over the fire to cook his meal longer, "There's fish in the pond, in case you're hungry."
::I'm only doing this because I need to get to the West:: I picked up the Lightning Breather's guarded thought-speech ::And I DON'T like it. I usually stay away from traitors.::
I felt a chill in the air that had not been there before, and I was glad for the fire and for the embroidered blanket my Rider had put on me after he'd unsaddled and groomed me.
::Would you mind, ever so much, esteemed dragon, explaining why we are traitors?:: I asked her, :: I find it rather helpful to know why I am being condemned so I know the appropriate way to sneer at it. Force of habit, sorry.::
::Delusional dragon, that's all you are:: the Lightning Person closed her great and beautifully-perfect eyes. She seemed relaxed, but her mind was as keen as obsidian, ::Dreaming of what you will never be. Is this why you betrayed our kind? Did you and your Rider think you could somehow gain our cooperation, gain our abilities, be more like us? ::
I could have said something, but I know a Professional Monologuer when I meet one. No matter the species, they love telling you why you are inferior and doomed and they have the moral high road. Or whatever.
So, I just munched on some more of the lovely barley and hay my Rider had laid out for me (oh, goody, it was the stash from the Issikul alfalfa fields!). And counted backwards from ten. (Yes, I can count. At least when I am near my Rider. When I am not, I can sometimes make it up to four. When I really try.)
And, as predicted, she Monologued as I hit "Two."
::You must KNOW why you two are Traitors among the Lightning People. Somehow, you managed to brainwash one of our kind into giving you classified information. That was highly secured data. When that no good dragon-trash opted to give it to you and not to a Lightning Person Signaler, it was a breach of security, of confidence. I don't how you did it, but there it is.
::Not only did you brainwash, but you Mind-raped one of our kind!:: She laced back all her sensors and spat out a hiss :: Mind-Perverts! Thanks to you, a promising no, I underestimate, - one of the MOST promising- younglings of his generation, has been excommunicated, thrown away like maggoty meat scraps, since he is now damaged goods. In one gesture you turned a young genius into garbage::
I knew what she was talking about and laced back my ears in real anger. This was further from the truth than I could have ever imagined! Gossip among the Lightning Breathers contains more venom in it than what bounced in the sack on my saddle harness.
:: 'Scuze me, but I am pretty innocent on these Force-People-Against-Their -Will things, but I specifically recall that my Rider and I asked that young Lightning Breather- Toothless, he calls himself, now- his permission. And he willingly gave it. We would never have forced him. If he had declined, we would have left him alone, no questions asked. It's not our way to force someone to act against himself. That is the path of The Lie:: I snorted in semi aggression- a warning, not yet a signal to attack ::It is a smear on our honesty that your people think we pushed Toothless into this.::
I do take my comments back about all Lightning Breathers being insufferable. Not too long ago, My Rider and I had met one who had been quite fun to be around, and we had become friends, of a sort.
Another snort, ::Barbarians and their simple beliefs. Well, we're just lucky that some of our Lightning People intercepted the data before you got it to your so-called Elders::
My Rider and I exchanged a mental gaze, mind meeting mind. We both shrugged and decided to go with the flow.
::We're lucky, in the long run, you intercepted it. We learned the error of our ways:: I sent contritely, as my Rider nodded at my way-too-agreeable words.
The Lightning Breather seemed happy with that, though, and flicked her tail in pleasure at her cleverness. She lidded her eyes in satisfaction.
My Rider pulled the rabbit from the fire and started to eat it for dinner, delicately, as was his manner. I fluttered my nostrils. I am not a meat eater, but our Firemakers are. I don't begrudge them that. Our nomadic way of life makes it hard for Firemakers to rely only on plants. And they can't eat grass, the poor dears. But they have a responsibility from Marha to be good wardens to nature.
What Her Majesty did not know, is that my Rider and I are a firm believer in keeping Backup data. Yes, our data was intercepted. And, yes, our forge priests still got the data, just through the back door of the wagon, as it were.
But there was one comment that stuck at my mind, and that of my Rider. He leaned toward me and gestured with a hand. I looked at the Lightning Breather solemnly, ears leveled back
::What did you People do to Toothless?:: I asked, trying to keep the edge of threat from my thought voice
It worked. The Lightning Breather opened her eyes, met my gaze coolly, then closed them again. ::Toothless? Is that what you call him? That's rather a crude name for a Lightning Person, a former Signaler, too.:: she snorted again, the cool night air turning her breath into light steam ::The North Atlantic Sector confronted Stormthrill and took his connection to us away. And we banished him. Stormthrill won't be able to hurt anyone, now. Crippled and mind-locked, he's now as harmless as a stranded fish in a tidal pool::
I could not help it and dropped my head. My Rider, next to me, laid a reassuring hand on my neck, picking up on my distress.
Stormthrill. Is that Toothless' True-name? If it was possible for my respect for the Lightning Breather lady to drop lower, it just did. Among we Sarmatians- both horse and Firemaker- we never give out another's True-name. That is why I am known as the Turkmene, and my rider is, simply my Rider. We don't give out our names to just anyone.
Your name is who you are, the connection to your soul. And only you have the privilege to share it with others. It is your gift to them. Mostly, we who meet and decide to become closer friends exchange our names with each other at the same moment, so it is a shared gift. Otherwise, if the wrong person knew your name, a soul infected by the Lie Under the Earth, he or she could place evil spells on you.
I never asked for Toothless' name. We just used nicknames when we first interacted. If he later wanted to be known as Toothless, why I was happy to use that name. It's what he wanted. I found it a violation that this stranger could reveal my friend's True-Name so easily, and in such a disparaging way. But then, again, she seemed to feel he was not worthy of respect.
::What will happen to him?:: I asked, finally, my thought-voice more reedy than I intended.
A snort from the outcropping above me and a flash of beautiful green eyes ::Really, do I care? He asked for it. We had to banish him. Otherwise, he could damage our People more than he already has. He was too smart for his own good, if you ask me.::
Actually, I didn't I thought, rather undiplomatically. I decided the topic was over, and I let myself relax, willing myself to sleep. I later heard my Rider putting out the fire for the night. Then the warmth as he spread out his ground cloth and bedroll near me.
"'Night Horsebutt."
I nickered, sadly ::'Night, Apeface. And let's both wish Toothless a good night.::
"Agreed. Toothless, wherever you are, we have dishonored you. May we meet again so my Turkmene and I can make amends for the pain and loneliness you must feel now."
I nodded in approval. It is our people's way. Our actions, innocent as they were, had helped to cause the one Lightning Breather I truly respect (ssshh.. don't tell him that) to be hurt in his soul, heart and body.
A pause as my Rider collected his thoughts and calmed himself, "But whether or not you may still consider us so, you do have two friends here in the Steppe. You are not alone. May our good wishes fly to your heart, dragon-brother."
My Rider may look like butter would not melt in his mouth, but he has a heart of pure warmth. I nodded at that old Sarmatian blessing, and I wished fervently that it would be so.
Other than a sigh of sleep, the dragon on the rock was silent.
We made our way west, bringing the Lightning Breather across the steppes. In the process, two more Red Death tails joined the collection sack.
Both instances had involved us saving the Lightning Breather, who kept insisting on plotting the route, not understanding that the routes my Rider and I follow are well established and logical. They are reliable tracks going through the few areas where a dragon and Firemakers could find shelter. So, we had to break off our trail and search until we would find her collapsed on the ground with a Red Death staring her down. Then we'd fight off the Red Death, cut off the venom sack, and then get angry glares for not being fast enough to protect Her Majesty.
I have to say, I was sad when we said goodbye to Toothless, but my Rider and I both were looking forward to sharing a bowl of barley beer when we parted company with our current dragon.
We pointed the direction to her, and she shot off, letting off a ballistic scream of joy because she was finally getting out of the "cursed and horribly deformed" steppe lands and into the bordering steppe forest.
We watched her go. It struck me that she never said "Goodbye".
And, of course, she never said "Thank you."
Then, again, in all the instances we have guided dragons, not one has ever said "Thank You."
But, like always, I reared up and my Rider pumped his fist in a salute of victory and good wishes.
:: You're welcome, by the way!:: I thought-sent to the Lightning Breather as she sped, amazingly fast, into the horizon.
My Rider ruffled my sparse mane in affection, "Heh, mare. What is that important lesson of the Sarmatians? Fill in the blank. There's No Such Thing As...?"
I snorted playfully, ::A Boneknapper?::
A light tap between my ears, "C'mon, doostam. You know better than that! Try again!"
I swiveled my ears, ::A free lunch?::
"Very good, but no beer! Not in this context. C'mon. Third time's the charm!" My Rider laughed.
I started glide-trotting, following along the border, heading north to the general direction of our tribe's camping spot, ::Hmmm... how about there's no such thing as gratitude::
"Bull's Eye!" My Rider laughed, but I could catch the bitterness under his voice, too. "Anyway, home is near, so let's get going, shall we?"
::Of course, Ape Face:: And I put myself into a gallop so we would be home faster.
We both were silent in the last leg of the journey, heading towards the general location of where our caravan would be. Our tribe follows established routes, but we never exactly know their travel speed, so sometimes we have to wait for them at the traditional border encampment. We just have to look for the signs, sounds and smells as they approach- or we approach them. Sometimes we even glimpse one of the hunting falcons on its way back to its owner, so we know we are coming nearer.
I was thinking about Toothless, and the role my Rider and I had played in his banishment. I have a feeling my Rider was, too. He was staring straight ahead in his unfocused way, tongue caught between his teeth, the way he does when he is deep in concentration.
Banishment. So, Lightning Breathers banish their own people. But how can this be? Lightning Breathers live solitary lives already. Her Majesty had mentioned something about being crippled and mind locked. Did they actually, physically, cripple him? I laced back my ears at the thought of them breaking his wings or hamstringing his legs. Then, again, poor Toothless had already been crippled, his left aileron ripped off when a North Atlantic Firemaker had shot him down during a raid where the dragon had been doing recon spy work. Toothless couldn't be more crippled than he already was. So, that must have meant they did something to foul up his mind or navigational system.
The way the Lightning Breather had mentioned it, it sounded like it had been cruel and painful. I had been wondering why Toothless had been so incommunicative. Maybe he no longer could no walk the Dreampaths, the communications we Rider and Partner teams can do when we are sleeping. Was he lying in a coma somewhere, broken and abandoned?
And how about that little Firemaker he had bonded with? How had he taken this? Had this affected him? Or had he been able to help my friend? This incident would surely be a test of their bond. A Rider or Partner can sometimes pull his or her opposite out of comas or trances if the bond is serious enough. I know Toothless had been quite cynical about his bond with the Firemaker youth. He had gone into it as a way to subvert the small Firemaker into getting him out of the canyon and, possibly, even doing spy work for him if he could brainwash Hiccup into it.
In the end, the joke had been on Toothless, as the Firemaker had been the one who had shot him down, but he also turned out to have the big, compassionate heart of a true Rider, even if he looked better suited to be a Broomhead slave-scribe. He had immediately accepted responsibility for what he had done, feeding Toothless, healing the injuries from his fall, even creating a fake tail fin that would help the dragon to fly again. Step by step, Toothless had started to realize how nice it was to have a friend like that, and he had been opening up to the youth. He had indicated that they were working together on a system that would allow Toothless to fly when the two worked together as a team. However, my teenaged Lightning Breather friend was still hoping he could teach himself to fly without Hiccup. He still was still a bit hesitant to accept this Hiccup fully as a Rider, not a good sign for poor Toothless surviving that crippling mind torture the snotty Lightning Breather had mentioned..
I just hoped this incident had not shattered that gently strengthening bond.
"You thinking about Toothless and his River Rat?" My Rider's voice floated down to me, and his hand pat my shoulder reassuringly.
::Hiccup seems like a good kid:: I sent back, maneuvering us around a large badger burrow in the grass. ::According to Toothless, he does not act like the typical one of his kind.::
"Mhph!"
::Yeh, I know you LOVE River Rats.:: I rolled my eyes, anticipating his next words, usually something involving medium rare cooking and some sort of savory sauce.
My Rider stayed quiet, this time. He had been surprised - and even a bit irritated- that Toothless had bonded with a River Rat. He's not fond of Norsemen- few of us Sarmatians are. They have this annoying habit of kidnapping women and children during their raids and selling them as slaves up and down the rivers bordering the steppe lands.
I stayed quiet, too. My Rider had every bit to be upset about slave traders. Someone very close to him had been sold into slavery during a raid- not by River Rats, but by raiders in a time and place far from here. The Norse River Rats have become the current manifestation of all slave trader evils.
"We just have to hope for the best. We can't do anything on this end," My Firemaker said, finally, as we trotted up a swelling hill, frost-killed grass stalks crunching under my hooves, "It's frustrating, I know. We weren't counting on Toothless' People being so punitive."
There was another stretch of silence as me moved north and west. Most of our riding is actually in silence. Both of us like that. We know we are buddies, and we don't need to fill the moments with Mindspeech conversation. We just enjoy the companionship and the beauty of our Steppe land as it stretches ahead of us, the hills rising and plunging softly into the distance. Some traders during our guide service have mentioned that there is something called an Oh-shun where the water makes a similar motion of rising and falling, but it actually moves, like the hills are stretching out and flattening constantly. Wonder of wonders! Wouldn't someone get dizzy starting at such a strange thing? And where would the grass grow on such a moving surface?
Maybe, someday, I will see one. I have heard, though, it is many months' hard riding west to see an Oh-shun.
I moved across the landscape at the gait of my people, the one that has made us the premier horse in this part of the world for distance trekking. We have long, thin legs that allow us to move with a smooth gliding gait, one very comfortable for Firemakers to sit. We shift our gait between a trot and a walk, taking wide steps that let us cover enormous stretches of distance each day.
As I moved, I remembered how we had met Toothless.
My Rider will complain about it to you if you ask him, but I have a deep rooted obsession, and one that is futile.
I want to out race a Lightning Breather.
I know they are the fastest flying creatures, so I am deluding myself, but yet, can they really maintain that speed for a long time? We've only seen them speed in short bursts, usually when they have been stooping their prey.
How would one of those stack up in a flat land, endurance race against a Turkmene?
I had shared this idea with my Rider. As soon as he stopped laughing- and, later, when he managed to catch his balance to keep from being bucked off my back- he did agree to humor me. But only because he loves flat out racing as much as I do. (What Firemaker does not? I sometimes think this is the underlying glue that brought us together as two People).
He still thinks I am insane for imagining I could beat these speed demons. And, actually, my current goal is not to win but to see how long I can keep my lead over them. There always seems to be a point in my racing them where I do pull ahead. Not sure why that is, but there's a lag and then the Lightning Breather kicks into some sort of "second wind". My Rider is sure it is something called "pride."
So, I started my hobby by challenging every Lightning Breather we would meet to a race. They all snorted at me in indignation and ignored me. So , after that, I skip the formalities and now just start racing them. As soon as I pull ahead, they get mad and want to race me. They overshoot me. Then I overshoot them for a while. Then they, finally, overshoot me and disappear into the distance.
I know I cannot beat them- yet. My current goal is to make that overshoot last as long as possible.
Anyway, one dawn, I challenged a young Lightning Breather to a race by overshooting him. We actually were able to keep ahead of him for a very long time, but I attribute that to his being still an adolescent and not hitting full growth.
What amazed me, though, is he joined the race for fun, not for indignation. That was a change from the usual, and it actually was the first really fun race I had run with a Lightning Breather.
Of course, some stupid gully had to decide to plant itself in front of my Rider and I (why does the scenery always like to barge in where we don't want it?) so the Lightning Breather won, simply because of interference from water and mud.
And gravity.
Later, we encountered the scrawny little Lightning Breather, trapped by the miasma of the Plains. So, we helped him along by linking minds with him and guiding him to our Gritty Pond Encampment for the night.
Right away, I knew he was the most unusual Lightning Breather I had encountered. Yes, he was just as arrogant as they all are, but he had something that I had never seen in my guide work.
A sense of joy of life.
This teenager was on a journey, and it was not a Mission of Great Seriousness and Dire Importance To Complete With the Requisite Dignity in Case Another Lightning Person of Extreme Importance Happens to Be Viewing You.
No, this was a chance for him to see the world, and he was having a blast. I could sense his great curiosity and joy at discovering new sensations and storing them away in his sensors like a Firemaker child collects feathers and creek stones as treasures. They don't seem to have any worth, but for that child they are priceless, because they give her an impression about the world and good memories of that lovely sunny day when the wind was just right and the flowers and grass smelled perfect.
That's a great attitude, because it helps me to see my own everyday life with new eyes. Granted, that young Lightning Breather hated the Steppes, but still his sarcastic comments about them were funny, and he gave them a chance. And gave my Rider and I a chance, for the first time, to be guides and partners, not servants.
My own curiosity was such that, for the first time, I approached a Lightning Breather to chat on the eve of the day we met. My Rider knew I was doing this, but he kept his bow case close, just in case, as he casually cooked his dinner and laid out my evening grain. We both knew he would not be able to fire without being in contact with me, being blind. So, in essence, we were putting ourselves at that little dragon's mercy.
My deep instincts of millions of years of gauging friend or flight, told me I could trust this Lightning Breather.
And they backed me up!
Right away I could see just how young the dragon was- a yearling in my own Turkmene terms- a true adolescent. He still had not lost his baby coloring, so the striped blue black scales were mixed with a pewter grey color. His jumbled coloration looked rather like that of a paint horse. He also was very skinny in the shoulders, wing limbs, hips and legs, resembling a cross between a leopard kitten and a gecko. And he had more black and silver freckle spots than I had ever seen on a Lightning Breather. I had a feeling they would not fade with age, and he would be a regular freckle-face and freckle-wing all his life. He had unusual, grey-green, gold flecked eyes that sparkled with mischief, giving him a very approachable and charming air.
And, I have to admit, he was the first Lightning Breather I could say was not only beautiful and fierce... but also, downright adorable. It was, actually, a very nice combination. (He'd be right annoyed with me for sharing that with you).
This little guy was so bouncy and full of joy, he made me just feel like I had the ability to fly, just by being near him. Yes, he had a cocky air about him, but I also realized right off, there was nothing malicious about it. He was a prankster who loved teasing- and, amazingly, loved just as much to be teased.
I felt right at home with him, and so did my Rider.
Also, he surprised me when he offered to set me free from my Rider. It made me roll in the grass with laughter, but yet it touched me, too. No other Lightning Breather had ever wondered about the welfare of me or my Rider.
The teen Lightning Breather seemed to have been brought up well, with some very good manners and a nice sense of humor. He was an utter pleasure for me and my Rider to be around. During our time together, I often sent a quiet thanks to his unknown parents for bringing up such a charming and helpful Lightning Breather. A bit cocky, yes, but cockiness is something you expect from Lightning Breathers. This teenager actually showed that Lightning Breathers could have a warm heart under all that pride. And he partnered with us as we led him, providing us with some very useful advance scouting. He made our journey west a pleasure, both because we could travel faster and safer, and because he was delightful company.
We enjoyed sassing and teasing each other on our journey west. I called him Freckles, since he had been blessed with so many. He called me Horsebutt, since, I guess, I have been blessed with an excellent one. Unfortunately, my Rider has started to call me that, too, hence my various comparisons between him and and primates. He hates that, but he knows he deserves it.
I know the teen Lightning Breather was stupefied mightily about my willingness to so easily let a Firemaker sit on my back and to wear evil second skins made of leather on my back. And, even worse, to carry Firemaker supplies (though, I admit, a fair amount of that was my own grain, brushes, hoof tools and power-food supplies). We had many discussions about that, as well as about the fact that my Rider and I are Dragons, for real. He found that amusing, until we three all cooperated to deal with a pair of Red Deaths that had leapt over the Temporal Gate. (Yes, they do come over in pairs and, sometimes even complete clutches. Eventually, though, they reach an age where they either scatter their own ways or they duel so that only one member of a clutch survives. I have seen the second option more. Maybe it's their way to ensure the best survives to pass her genetic material on in what is, to them, an alien landscape).
I was glad the dragon could see how my Rider and I could cooperate to become a fighting team, that together we could be more than we could be apart. And he leapt in and lent his wings and claws to help us, too, in that little battle. As I told him, it's not about keeping score, but about teamwork.
When we parted company, my Rider and I had been sorry to see him leave. We'd done the usual farewell, with the rearing up and my Rider pumping his fist. It was a farewell, but the Image Capture device implanted in his glove, caught the last impression of our friend as he flew off.
Later, when the priests downloaded the image and the others we had secretly recorded during the journey, they were very impressed with that Lightning Breather.
"He's special, that one," the one named Dasados told us, "He's unusually perceptive. You did a good job of bringing him over. And of letting him understand there is a benefit to bonding with Firemakers."
"Do you think he might actually bond with a Firemaker- even let one ride him?" my Rider had asked, eagerly. He had not come as close to the snarky freckled teen as I had, but he was still very fond of the scrawny dragon.
"Well, hard to say, young one," the Forge priest had said, letting each of us snatch a piece of honey cake when the other priests were not watching, "But, you got him over the border, and in a very good mindset. I would say, of all the Lightning Breathers who have come over the Steppes in the last year, he seems the most flexible, and the most generous. In the end, only Marha knows, but that dragon is a very good soul."
A beautiful cry sang over the plains, and my Rider and I looked up to see a falcon flying over head, traveling back to her owner.
We now heard the call of the owner, and both of us brightened at the song.
Skuda. One of our Dragon. We were coming close to home.
We followed the path of the falcon. The colors of the ribbons from her claws reaffirmed her handler was Skuda.
As we came down a hill, we saw the falcon land on the outstretched, gloved hand of a mounted Sarmatian warrior. The warrior's horse was a handsome Turkmene with a bright red-brown coat and a black mane, tail, legs and ear points. Like all Turkmenes, his hide seemed to glow with a luminescent sheen, as if lit from an internal lantern.
The Sarmatian Rider already had some meat tidbits to offer the falcon, feeding her and thanking her, even though she had returned empty handed this time. The warrior had the bird hooded as my Rider and I strode up at a fast walk.
As we came up to the Rider and horse and falcon, my Rider raised a hand in greeting and called out in the Firemaker tongue, " Dorood! Skuda! Kheili vaghte ke azat khabari nist!"
The other Rider, Skuda, laughed in joy and shouted back, "Bale, hale shoma chetor ast, Gatalas?"
Skuda pulled back a woven red hood to show an attractive Sarmatian warrior woman, her thick spill of dark golden air gathered into a high horse tail wrapped at the base with a smaller, coiled braid. Her almond shaped grey eyes sparkled at us as we came side by side. A silvery scar from an old battle wound wound its way down her left temple. It only enhanced her lovely features, as did a small, silver ring in her sharp, straight nose.
I reached out my muzzle to touch the bay gelding. He responded likewise, and we nickered. We are old pals from the time my newly bonded Rider took me back to his tribe.
::I touch noses with thee. Hey, there, Red Death Mare. Met any of your monstrous cousins, twinkle hooves?::
::Heh, you wish you were the Red Death color, laddybuck. Too bad you had to be a boring ,old, acceptable bay color. Anyway, we did meet a few Red Death creatures. Besides me, of course. Ah, so nice to see you, friend. Hope things were good on your sector.::
::Just wonderful. We danced with a few Deaths, too. And we met a Boneknapper, too! It was good, overall. It'll be better when we get to the tribal encampment! Nice to see you again, lady! You and your funny coat color.::
"We're almost home, then!" my Rider called out , as Skuda grabbed his wrist and said his true-name, which she could, as he knew hers.
"I greet you, Gatalas. You, and your mare. We're almost home, but I did see our Dragon Banner fly over the village on the border. It seems there has been an enemy sighted, and our encampment has sent a small part of our Dragon out to meet it. The rest of us Guide Riders have been asked to join, if we are available. That border village is being attacked. They need our help."
My Rider sat back further on me, "Not a dragon attack. Again."
We both had gotten over some minor burns we had gotten from dragons attacking that same village not so long ago on our last entry back from a guiding trip. It was strange for us, since our experience has been dragons do not attack Firemakers. They keep their distance. But something was making them raid this village for Firemaker food.
This was the reason why my Rider- you now know his name among our tribe is Gatalas- and I had asked Toothless for his data. It would help us understand what was going on here. And, in return, we might be able to provide a key to why dragons were attacking the villagers on the islands in Toothless' sector.
The bay Turkmene tossed his head and the falcon stirred on the Rider's arm.
"Not dragons, this time," Skuda said quietly, patting her gelding's neck to reassure him, "This time it's something more refreshing. More fun. A River Rats slave raid, we think."
River Rats.
My Rider- Gatalas- and I exchanged heavy thoughts.
Not dragons, tonight. Nope. We'd be taking on some other prey.
River rats. Also known as Vikings.
Some Translations:
Doostam- Friend, Buddy
Dorood! Skuda! Kheili vaghte ke azat khabari nist!- Hey there, Skuda! Long time no see.
"Bale, hale shoma chetor ast, Gatalas?" - Yes, and how are you doing, Gatalas?
Bale - Yes
I also put some of these translations and defintions for this story and my other fanfiction "To Soar Into the Sunset" in a glossary in Deviant Art under My Fjord Mustang name. It's in the gallery with HTTYD Fanction and Chapter 17