Hi everyone! I know it's been a while...during the day I am a teacher so you can imagine my life gets pretty busy. On top of that, I also had a difficult time producing this chapter, but I am finally, finally done with it!

Please read, comment, and enjoy!

*Warning: possible triggers ahead*

The island had been her home for nearly eleven years, and during that time Valka was able to rummage around for anything she could need. The dragons brought her gifts, she had a garden, she made her clothes, and there was plenty of fish to eat…most of the time she had enough supplies to care for the injured dragons she rescued.

But not this time.

"Shh...Shh…you're alright, you'll be okay."

Beneath her quivering fingertips, North was trembling in a fevered state. Her cyan scales had dulled, turning a sallow white along her belly and her shoulder blade, where her injuries were most prominent. Her amber eyes, once so alert and intelligent, were clouded over. Milky white foam was dribbling from her mouth as she panted, her chest rising and falling, yet unable to retain air. It was unlike any wound Valka had ever seen.

Mercy hovered over her daughter, purring sadly in a feeble attempt at comfort. Mercy had had other broods over the years, but had always retained a maternal love for all of her hatchlings. Valka had laughed in disbelief years ago when she discovered just how deep a dragon's mother love went: they were just as devoted as the day they were hatched.

North squealed in agony, her body writhing. Valka bit her lip, feeling the line between her brows. The precocious dragon had returned from a week long disappearance, carried on the back of a Seashocker. How the dragon was still alive was beyond Valka's comprehension, but the whole nest had gone into a flurry of anxious activity the moment she arrived. A swarm had formed overhead, circling around the spires of mossy rock. The nest was concerned, but only Valka seemed to know the depth of North's injuries; after all…a dragon's innards were supposed to stay inside the body, weren't they?

North screeched, her pupils thinning to a mere speck in her amber eyes. Valka's blood stained hands rose to her lips to force back the scream she longed to unleash.

Cloudjumper sensed her distress and rested his head against her. Mercy licked her daughter's neck with a feeble cry. Even the alpha Bewilderbeast raised his broad head to inspect the dire scene.

All at once, North's body seized uncontrollably before tightening into a thrashing coil. Her final breath was a yelp of anguish, before she stilled and was silent.

The nest released itself from its frenzied state and returned to normalcy…but the dragons huddling around Valka remained in somber silence.

Mercy continued to nudge her daughter, whimpering softly as if in song. East, West, and South…Mercy's brothers clacked their jaws in a language foreign to Valka's ears, while Cloudjumper provided his head for Valka to cry upon. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Who could have done such a thing?

"Oh Mercy…"

The matriarch Nightmare glanced up at Valka.

If dragons could cry there wouldn't be a lake deep enough to hold her sorrow.

Valka had questions, and she knew what she had to do.

They left the next afternoon while the sun was still high. Valka donned her mask to protect her face from the icy air and wrapped herself in as many furs as she could manage. She sat on Cloudjumper's shoulders to absorb his warmth and to steady her nerves. She had been living as a ghost for the past ten years…it was time to emerge from beyond the veil for just a short while.

She should have gone sooner, should have sought out the answers to her questions earlier. Maybe then North would still be alive and Mercy would not be a grieving mother. Dragons had come to her with injuries: some she could identify as wounds from other dragons in typical nesting habits…but others had been caused by weapons. Most had been superficial, things she could identify: a slice from a sword or an ax, a crushed foot from a hammer…but lately the wounds had become graver, and Valka had never seen devastation like she had on North.

If humans caused the harm, then humans had the answers.

Valka let Cloudjumper lead them to the closest village, nestled on the shores of a mountainous island speckled with red trees. They landed under the cover of darkness before creeping up for a closer look. Valka heard laughter and singing coming from a tavern, could see small figures darting about by the central fire before being whisked away by taller figures. Her stomach clenched in anxiety.

"Calm down Val," she whispered, removing her mask and her furs, "You're human too."

Cloudjumper clacked his jaw at her as she adjusted her skirts. It had been a decade since she wore her Berk clothes: they felt loose around her curves. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Her fingers trembled as she latched a cloak around her shoulders and pulled her braids into a sensible knot at the nape of her neck. She quickly found a patch of lavender that she rubbed over herself to mask the scent of beasts. Cloudjumper sniffed at her, wary.

"Just for an hour, my friend," she stroked his cheek, "I'll come right back."

He grumbled, huffing into her hair.

"I'm protected," she gestured to her boot, where she hid a dagger—spoils from a rescue weeks ago, "And I'll call if I need you. Trust me."

With that, she snuck down the slope and left her dearest companion to wait in the darkness.

Valka nearly vomited at the scent of ale. Ten years without that smell in her life and the tavern was saturated in the stench. Every surface was sticky with, what she hoped was, spilled drinks. Ample bosomed barmaids scurried around with giant mugs overflowing, dodging the wandering fingers of drunk patrons. One man punched another square in the jaw for interrupting his flirtations with a girl, sending the two brawling out into the village square.

Humans, Valka thought, so stupidly primitive.

Noticing the curious eyes, Valka reminded herself to walk upright.

She squeezed her way up to the bar, settling in between a couple deep in conversation, and a dark-haired man with a raspberry colored scar along his cheek.

The barkeep approached her, his expression flat as if this was the most boring evening.

"Drink?"

"Uh…just a water?" Valka squeaked.

The barkeep raised a bushy eyebrow: "Don't got it. You want water, go to the well out back."

"A mead then…small, please."

He rolled his eyes and poured her a pint of mead. Valka sipped it before her tongue recoiled at the taste. Her face must have been amusing, as the man beside her chuckled.

"Klub here makes a good mead don't he?"

Valka pushed the mug away, "Uhhuh, it's...very…strong."

"They don't have good mead where you're from?"

"Oh, no they do," Valka felt the warmth of memories rejuvenate her. Sipping honey mead before the fire with Stoick tangled up beside her…

She jerked her head: snap out of it.

"I'm just not much of a drinker."

"That's rare around these parts."

"Well, I'm not from around here."

"I figured that. Where ya from?"

"I grew up on Berk-" Valka began rashly, "But I haven't been there in years."

"Berk huh? Haven't set foot there. Nice place?"

"Lovely."

"I'll add it to my list. Who should I say sent me?"

"Oh…no one will remember me," she fibbed, feeling her heart pounding. Think first before you speak, dummy!

"A pretty face like yours, I highly doubt that."

Scarlet. Valka's face turned pure scarlet. The man smirked.

"I take it you don't hear compliments much."

"It's…been quite a while."

The man extended his hand. It was the hand of a worker, brown and rough. "Wulf, son of Wharf."

Valka took it and shuddered: human contact.

"Ursula."

She didn't realize she had yet to let go of his hand. He stared at her until she retracted.

"So…" Valka began, inconspicuously wiping her palm on her hip, "Do you live here?"

"I have for about a year now. I used to be a sailor," he gestured to his scar, "Boss made me leave."

"I'm sorry…was that a punishment?"

"My scar? No, this came from the reason my boss made me leave. The one my boss gave me is much worse, believe me."

"Odin…he sounds like a brute."

"Yeah well, you kind of have to be to trap dragons."

"Trap dragons?" Valka felt the chill of the night air penetrate her. She shivered.

Wulf leaned forward, his lips curling back in a whisper: "Have you ever heard of Drago Bludvist?"

It took all of her strength to not give the man a matching scar on his other cheek. She was not going to sacrifice her good fortune. She shook her head: "No."

"You will one day soon, believe me. The man is half man, half beast…he can control the dragons."

"What!"

"Shh…yeah, he's unstoppable. His enterprise is small right now, but he has plans. Huge plans."

"Was he your boss, this Drago?"

"Yeah. Scariest guy on Midgard but it paid well. Solid pay plus extra for rare breeds. My old captain, Eret, he got us extra silver for bringing in this old egg…I thought the thing was rotten but the boss really wanted it. Don't know why, but a coin is a coin so I didn't complain."

"So, Drago doesn't kill the dragons?"

"Just the ones that don't submit. He's brilliant too; I was used to seeing dragons being hunted with axes and swords, but he has these weapons built that look like something Tyr would use in his battles. State of the art traps…I'm telling you, dragon raids will be a thing of the past."

"That sounds so…incredible," Valka smiled through gritted teeth. Painful as this was to hear she was thankful; the gods must have given her a merciful Hamingja tonight for finding this loose-lipped man.

"Where does this Drago operate from?"

"Nope. I can't tell you that, it's top secret," Wulf grinned, his eyes narrowing, "Though a kiss might convince me otherwise."

Valka pulled away as he leaned in. His breath was potent with ale, "I'm married."

"So am I-"

"Stop-"

Valka felt a vice around her wrist. He had her arm pinned to the counter.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "Let go of me-"

"You've been making eyes at me all night-"

"You're drunk-"

"You're beautiful-"

"Stop-"

His lips brushed against her neck. She could feel his teeth and the viscosity of his tongue. Valka leaned back as far as she could, fingers searching…

"Come on love, one kiss…"

"I SAID STOP!"

The blade of her concealed dagger dove into the back of Wulf's hand. She ripped her arm away, yelping at the burn from the friction; she'd have a bruise there for sure. Wulf shouted something incoherent at her, and Valka found herself the center of unwanted attention. Klub, the barkeeper, had already stepped out from behind his station and was making his way towards her.

Valka did what she does best: she ran.

Even at the age of thirty, she could still outrun any human.

Cloudjumper was ready for her, his amber eyes narrowed into agitated slits. Wincing with pain, Valka swung herself up onto his back, hardly having time to balance herself before they launched into the night sky.

The anxiety of her close call caused Valka to vomit when they reached the mountain. She scrubbed her neck with scalding hot water, before submerging herself into the frigid glacial waters. Try as she might, she could not erase the memory along with the touch.

But that was the least of her worries.

Valka wanted to curl up into a ball and wail. She wanted to throw every object in her possession against the walls of the caverns. She wanted to set the world on fire…but instead she picked up one of her precious pencils and wrote down what she knew. Cloudjumper watched as she paced back and forth, his eyes never leaving her. When she paused, he flexed his toes, preparing to rise to her side, only to settle back down when she continued.

Using a freshly molted Nadder spike she pinned the parchment to a crack in the cave wall.

"Drago Bludvist," she snarled, underlining the name. Beneath the shaky runes she made a list:

Trapper

Control

Weapons

Kill

Then, with a sigh, she made one final addition: Location unknown.

"Where are you, Drago Bludvist?"