This is my first Modern AU HTTYD FanFiction. It involves a little bit of trapping knowledge, and I've probably messed up a lot of stuff in that regard. It should be a fairly short story, I'm guessing about twenty-five chapters long. Basically it's a combination between Alaskan hunting, Alaskan cross country running, and Hiccstrid romance. All towns, roads, schools, and race courses are real Alaskan places, most of which I have firsthand knowledge of. Hope you enjoy, and review with suggestions, thoughts, or criticism.

And I don't own HTTYD in any way, shape, or form. I claim no rights whatsoever.

Sixteen year old Henry Haddock swore loudly, his sharp voice cutting across the stillness of the Alaskan forest and making the red squirrel above him chirp in alarm, running down its branch to safety. Sighing, a pissed off Henry scowled and surveyed the cause of his distress.

His favorite beaver trap had been raided. Scattered all around were bits of brown fur and blood, where the entrapped animal had been torn to shreds and dragged off into the trees. The strong steel of the trap had been bent and the springs damaged due to the incident, and a torn beaver leg was still stuck in the trap's jaws. The animal that got his beaver had gotten it good.

Shouldering his rifle and kneeling down, Henry examined the source of the problem. Large bear tracks covered the area, with bits of torn fur among them. They led into the bushes on the right, along with a blood trail from the beaver's carcass. No doubt he would find the full remains of the animal in the thickets, where the bear would have stopped to eat his prey. Patting the soft mud, Henry calculated how long ago the bear had struck. It had been about ten hours ago, and by now the bear was long gone.

Groaning in despair, Henry took another look at the massive tracks. He knew them well - this bear had been raiding his traps since Henry was a child. Henry could tell it was the same bear simply because of the size of the tracks alone. They were unlike any he had ever seen on a grizzly. The claws alone were four inches long, and the paws bigger than his head. Henry had once borrowed a camera and photographed them. However, when he showed the pictures to Fish and Game, Alaska's Wildlife services, they thought it was a hoax, and laughed him out of their office. He never went there again.

In fact, no one ever seemed to believe his story of this bear. Henry had first met the creature right after his parents died. He was ten at the time, snaring rabbits outside the small town of Soldotna. His trapping mentor and by then adopted father, Gobber the Belch, had laughed when Henry told him that this one enormous bear was deliberately targeting his trap lines, and disclaimed it as funny nonsense. However, Gobber was a drunken old timer who was never truly sober, and Henry never got anything useful out of him except tips on hunting and trapping.

Gobber had been the best trapper in Alaska back in his day, until he had stepped in one of his own traps and lost a leg. Now all he did was run a small trapline, drink beer, and give advice to his adopted son, Henry, who did not even live at the same house. He also chuckled at Henry's stories of a massive grizzly bear, which Henry claimed was about as big as a car. He had told Henry that it was impossible, and that if such a beast existed he would have shot it long ago.

Henry knew better. With his heart set on revenge, he hunted the great bear, and soon became a master of silent stalking, tracking, and shooting in the Alaskan wild. Finding the beast seemed impossible, and Henry had been unable to track it past the Kenai River, where it walked on the rocks and swam to deliberately evade pursuers. He had only seen it three times in six years, and only once had managed to fire a shot at it, which had missed.

The bear was a highly intelligent animal, and due to the reddish-brown hue of its fur, Henry named it the Red Death. Henry had an intense rivalry with the beast, and wanted to kill it more than anything else in the world. Trapping was his very life, and the only way he knew how to survive on his own. Gobber had once talked to him about getting a job, but he had dismissed the idea.

Forgetting the bear, Henry cursed again at the loss of the beaver. This was late spring, and the last good sales prices on beaver pelts were still in place. He needed to catch about ten more furs just to break even this year, and hopefully enjoy his summer without having to worry about cash. The Red Death was not helping matters, as usual. Henry sighed in frustration. It had looked like a good sized beaver, too. Even though the bear had left hours ago, he decided to try and track it one more time. Checking his rifle to ensure it was loaded, he whistled for his companion to join him.

In a few minutes his friend arrived. Leaping through the bushes, Henry's large dog/wolf crossover, Toothless, bounded to Henry's side, his pink tongue hanging out his mouth eagerly. Pouncing on his friend, he began to lick Henry's face.

"Aww, stop it, bud!" Henry groaned, as Toothless covered his face in wolf saliva. "Knock it off! We've got no time to goof around. I'm hunting the Red Death again."

At the words 'Red Death,' Toothless leapt off and growled. Looking at the raided trap, he began to sniff around the area, moving slowly and carefully, as if treading on holy ground. Toothless shared the same respect for the Red Death that Henry did, for despite being a master sniffer, the Red Death had always eluded him as well.

"That's it, bud," Henry groaned, climbing to his feet. "Try and get a scent trail. I'm betting that he headed for the Kenai River again. Maybe this time I can find out where he crosses, and then, where he lives."

Toothless followed the tracks into the bushes, and then turned back with a mournful expression.

"Yeah, he got my nice beaver," Hiccup sighed. "Can you smell the Red Death out?"

Toothless whined unhappily.

"Aww, man," Hiccup said. "Too bad. But I guess he was here too long ago for us to follow, anyway. Let's go check the last bear trap and then head back to the cabin."

Shouldering his trusty Winchester rifle, Hiccup began to walk the next kilometer to where his last bear trap was. Rubbing Toothless' jet black fur, he tried to enjoy the last rays of sunlight in the chilly spring air. Toothless raised his head to look up at his friend.

Henry called Toothless a friend because he certainly didn't own the animal. Two years back he had been hired to kill the wolves that were raiding a secluded lodge off the Kenai River. It was good pay, and Henry had accepted the job. After three days, he had gunned down all the wolves but one – a big black beast that was as smart as a human.

Hiccup had never had a chance to shoot it, and instead set up an elaborate trap system where he expected the wolf to strike next. It had worked, and the next day Henry had walked up to the black wolf, whose leg was crushed in a well-placed trap. Henry had his rifle in hand, and his finger on the trigger as he approached.

And yet he couldn't kill the animal. The pained green eyes reminded him too much of his own, and instead he had freed the wolf, taking it with him to fix his leg. The only veterinarian in the small town refused to service wild wolves, and Henry had to save the animal himself, working like a dog for two weeks. After Toothless made a recovery, the two became fast friends and hunted, fished, and camped together. Toothless had a bad leg and always walked with a limp, but he still managed to become the Alpha of the wolfpack in Henry's trapping area. It was a fine thing for Henry, since Toothless always made sure to keep the pack away from his traps. He had named the wolf 'Toothless' because every time they wrestled, he never managed to actually bite Henry.

Coming to a high place where he could observe the bear trap unseen, Hiccup poked his head cautiously out of the bushes and looked down at the concealed device he was hoping the Red Death would step into one day. There was nothing, and the bait was still there.

"Aww, man," Henry sighed, pulling Toothless' ears. "Nothing there, bud. The blasted Red Death beat me again. I really need to catch him in the act and gun him down once and for all. Go ahead and run with your pack, Toothless. I'm going back to the cabin after I rebait the trap."

Toothless growled in excitement, and bounded off into the trees, where the last rays of sunlight flitted anxiously. Henry stared after his pet for a second, and then froze. He had heard something. Then he heard it again - there was a rustling in the trees near his trap.

Flinging himself to the ground, Henry snapped his Winchester over a fallen log and looked down to where the sound was coming from. Whatever it was, it was making a lot of noise and seemed to be headed directly into his trap. Henry breathed hard, laying as still as possible. If it was the Red Death, he would shoot it, and that would be much better than catching it in a trap, where the bear had a chance to escape. Henry wanted the entire beast stuffed and sitting in his living room, to look at every time he wanted to feel proud of himself. Or maybe he could sell the huge taxidermy recreation to a museum. People would pay a lot to look at a bear this size. Snapping the safety off his rifle, he stared down the scope towards the source of the noise.

"Come on, Red Death," he whispered. "Come to daddy."

The bushes continued to rustle, and Henry's finger tightened on the trigger. His leather camouflage suit was itchy. Would the bear just show itself?

The leaves parted, and the source of the noise stepped out, causing Henry to take his finger off the trigger in a hurry.

It wasn't a bear. It was a blonde-haired girl, jogging, with a heart rate monitor on her wrist and ear buds in her ears. She was wearing short shorts and a tight blue tanktop. Henry stared. What in the name of Thor was a runner like her doing out in the middle of nowhere, with no trails, and on his trap line, of all places?

Then he realized that she was running right into his bear trap. A few more steps and her perfect, smooth leg would be crushed in the jaws of his trap like a twig. Frantic, he realized her needed to get her attention immediately. So he did the only thing he could do to halt her progress.

"Stop!" he shouted, leaping to his feet and pointing the rifle at her. Startled, she stopped running, looked up at him, and froze. He was staring her down through the scope of his rifle, pointing the weapon at her chest.

"Don't move," he said, starting to walk towards her. The girl put her hands in the air, no doubt thinking that Henry was about to blow her head off with the gun.

And by the Gods, she was pretty.

Review, favorite, and follow! Cheers!

NatB.