His initial impression begged the following words--
❝Who-hoa--! It still works! This is fantastic--!❞
Then, as the distance between he and the ground diminished, it turned into a little something like this---
❝Whoa, okay! Less fantastic! Less fantastic... !❞
His warning proved needless, for he soared right over the other’s head and.... into the lake. Well, it could be worse: he could’ve bypassed the lake completely and met a grisly end by slamming head first into the dirt. Not his idea of a departure. Breaching the surface and drawing a breath, the young chieftain floundered about unceremoniously whilst recovering his wits and bearings. A pause allowed for his success to sink in once more and he thrust his hands into the air, illustrating his hard-won triumph-- though actually only a bit of care to the metalwork garnered him this victory.
Shortly after his hands came back down upon the water, kicking up a splash, his expression contorted into that of regret.
❝Ohh Gods--❞ he unhooked his gliding leathers from the gauntlets and began for the shore, calling to the stranger he’d nearly struck prior, ❝Sorry! I, uh... I didn’t... get you on the head there, did I?❞
They were... oddly garbed, and that was from Hiccup’s point of view. Was it some type of tradition here?
