The paranoid were generally the first to know when a potentially maybe quite possibly bad situation would most likely be squinting perhaps over the sunset because obviously the gods hate them and don’t want them to be allowed even five extra minutes of sleep.
This was the muddled thought process of an utterly sleep deprived viking as dozens of Terrible Terrors hopped frantically all over his torso, squawking and squeaking and setting absolutely everything on fire in their distress. This wasn’t the normal behavior of the generally arrogant little brats that ran amok throughout the village of Berk, and it was easy to note the tension amongst even the larger of dragons, restless snorting and reduced appetites abound.
“Alright I’ve got it, ok, get off, yep, I’m up, I’m going, you can get your head out of my armpits anytime. Bossy reptiles.”
It was no trouble for the recently proclaimed chief’s own portable bag of lightning and funny noises to track down the general area where the disturbance lay, a distinct sense of foreboding all but saturating the glistening forest beneath them, causing the young man to scowl lightly, patting the side of his friend’s head, silently directing them toward a more discreet place of landing, a little while away from a beautiful stream… a stream in which the fish were swimming in the wrong direction, almost in a panic.
This is probably bad, if it’s got all the dragons concerned.. maybe it’s a new kind? Time for stupid actions and potentially fatal mistakes. Here I go.
“Stay here, buddy, actually, go ahead and look upstream, I’ll take the low end.”
It was easier to communicate with a potentially fussy lizard if he didn’t have an overprotective Night Fury nearby, and while he knew his excuse was terrible, Hiccup knew his lameness would be excused later. For now, he would slowly approach the small stream, metal prosthesis only lightly rustling any leaves underfoot.
Please don’t be something particularly sharp, or poisonous..
❅—“Iｎ ｏｒｄｅｒ ｔｏ ｓｕｒｖｉｖｅ ｔｈｅ ｇｎａｓｈｉｎｇ ｏｆ ｉｔｓ ｔｅｅｔｈ…
“Iu oɹpǝɹ ʇo snɹʌᴉʌǝ ʇɥǝ ƃuɐsɥᴉuƃ oɟ ᴉʇs ʇǝǝʇɥ…”
Myrundíel glanced up at the disturbance. His acute hearing had perceived the boy’s approach from quite a distance, but he had ignored it in favor of observing the local flora. The condition of the soil, the shape of the leaves, even the insects associating with the plants - he could discern a number of properties and potential uses for these foreign blooms. This world was replete with life. It was terribly encouraging.
The San’layn inclined his head in a wordless greeting, when he saw the native. A slender youth, male, and critically wounded below the knee at some point. He looked fragile, delicate. The prosthetic appendage nudged the undergrowth with a gentle weight. From that, he discerned that the child was possessed of finesse, and burdened by an abundance of care - whether he did not wish to disturb potential prey, or he was reluctant to startle that which he stalked for benevolent reasons. He boy was attentive, and very much under-prepared for a confrontation.
❝My regards; I arrived here somewhat by accident. I have not come as an enemy.”
He was not lying, and he made the goodwill gesture of setting his runeblade upon the forest floor. The native seemed to resemble a human, and if there were any, the distinctions were so vague that he could not perceive them from such a distance.
❝I thought to have heard a greater beast than you approach... Is that cause for alarm, perhaps...?”
His voice trailed off, allowing the youth to set the tone of the exchange. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he, himself, was the one being hunted, for once? He couldn’t discern a weapon from the boy’s ensemble, but even he couldn’t predict everything.
—ｗｅ ｃｒａｗｌｅｄ ｗｈｏｌｅ,
‘ǝloɥʍ pǝlʍɐɹɔ ǝʍ
ｉｎｔｏ ｔｈｅ ｂｅｌｌｙ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ ｂｅａｓｔ.”
“.ʇsɐǝq ǝɥʇ ɟo ʎllǝq ǝɥʇ oʇuᴉ
