When the prison doors are opened, the real dragon will fly out.
Ho Chi Minh

According to infamous direction giving Dr. Drake, the stream was supposed to be over the third hill, due east from the backside of the manor. All he had to do is just follow the trail and he find it easy as pie.

Hiccup rolls his eyes. Trouble was in the ten plus years since the man had taken his young son fishing the path had grotesquely overgrown. In some places the only distinction that there was actually a path was that the foliage was less slightly less dense.

Hiccup grasps onto a set vines to help haul him up the side of the muddy hill. He can hear the sound of rushing water in the distance. He digs his fingers of his other hand into the damp dirt, while minding not to drop the fishing pole, and yanks himself up on top of the knoll. He rights himself, readjusting the strap attached to the tackle box thrown over his shoulder and brushes the dirt of his trousers. In the middle off the valley between the hill Hiccup stands on and the next a crystal clear stream of grey flows swiftly. It is little more than four feet wide and did not seem particularly of great depth.

Then, careful not to trip, he half slides half tromps down the steep knoll. He takes off the tackle box and sets it on a rock on the muddy bank. He leans over, staring into the stream, a number of good sized fish dart around in the rushing water.

The sun is high in the sky, and not a single wind rustles the tree leaves. More than anything it was hot. Hiccup walks back toward the rock were he set down the tackle box and takes off his shoes. He rolls up his pant legs and sleeves so as not to get them dirty or wet. He flips open the lid of the small tackle box and pulls out a hook. Painstakingly he knots it to the fishing line. The metal hook glints from the sunlight in his palm as he skewers a worm on the end.

He places the hook in the water. He settles down on round rock an waits, the tips of his toes brushing the cool spring water.

After a while he feels a swift tug on the end of the line. He slings the decent fish out of the water without much trouble. He struggles to get the flopping slippery fish off the hook, it refusing to stay still in his hands. He finally manages to rip the hook out of its mouth. Hiccup sets the fish down behind him on the bank. It twitches occasionally as it slowly suffocates. He sticks another worm on the hook and settles back down on the rock.

Fishing isn't so bad he supposes. Though it is rather boring, he exhales leaning his head on his palm. Perhaps the dragon had wanted him to learn patience? Hiccup thinks to himself with a roll of his eyes.

He drives the end of the pole into the muddy sediment and pulls out his sketch book from his satchel.

.

Yes, its short. And its been sitting on my desktop since Winter break when life decided to shit all over me. Mainly school. T_T I'll be hopefully be back to writing soon after school lets out in like 5 days. D: sorry I did on ya'll.