Dragon Whisperer (HTTYD)

3 - Wake-up Call

Skuf opened his eyes and jerked up in a cold sweat, his heart racing as he scanned his surroundings. The last thing his fuzzy mind could recall was laying on the top of a tall sea stack, bleeding out of his leg, and trying not to freeze in a yak hide. However, he found himself sleeping on a simple wooden bed in a plain room, warm under a pile of furs.

He slowly pushed the furs aside, sliding his feet over the side of the bed. His clothing had been removed and replaced with a rough canvas robe. Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, in front of the only door, was a large man with almost no hair on his head, but a ridiculously long, braided, blonde mustache. He had a prosthetic left arm and right leg. Skuf squinted at the man, staring in thought.

Is every creature on this island missing some sort of appendage? Maybe it's a rite of passage? Maybe all these missing arms, legs, and tail fins are the liability of trying to befriend dragons?

"Ya can relieve yerself over there," the man with the blonde mustache said. "There's crutches leanin' against the wall there if ya need 'em."

Skuf slowly stood up, testing his right leg with the knife wound. It felt about how he'd imagined a stab wound ought to feel. At least the blade was sharp and made a clean cut without much tearing. His urgency to answer nature's call made him arrive at the conclusion that his leg was good enough for a limping run in the indicated direction.

"I know what it's like to wake from a long sleep", Mr. Blonde said, chuckling.

After taking care of business, Skuf reappeared again from around the corner, feeling much better. He sat back down on his bed and looked around. The room was square, about ten paces wide. Judging by the type of timber on the walls, this must be the one and only room in the structure. Well, the adjacent outhouse could almost be considered a separate room, which is a luxury on Berserker Island that few can afford. A fire was stoked in an open hearth at the center of the room, casting a dim glow on the walls. Aside from Blonde's chair and Skuf's bed, the room was void of any other furnishings.

The cripple reached into a pocket and tossed a chunk of dried fish and what tasted like yak jerky at Skuf, whose hunger would not allow him to be cautious as he tore into it. If it was poisoned, then so be it. Besides, if they wanted him dead, he would have never woken up. As he ate the salty food, he could almost feel the hollow, dead feeling in his whole body from so much blood loss fade away to be replaced with a much more acceptable weariness.

It was all too good to be true. Berk had prisons. Every tribe had prisons. Dug into the cold stone with iron bars to hold you in. And pig slop for food. And buckets for doing your business - if you're lucky. Here, though... it's almost an entire home for Thor's sake! This cannot be common prisoner treatment.

The best Skuf could figure out is maybe Berk does have dragon whisperers and that Night Fury... right, he called himself No Teeth or Toothless or something like that... maybe Toothless gave him a good report? On that note, where would Toothless stand on the pecking order? Beloved pet? An equal? Village overlord?

"With all the dragon raids we get," Blonde casually droned on, "We learned ta' build small, temporary living quarters like this for those who lose their homes. Since we had no such issues for a while, it'll serve fer a place ya can recover while we figure out what, exactly, you are."

{Surely Toothless told you?}

No response to the projected thoughts. Skuf was unsurprised and disappointed in equal portions. He's been to other tribes and never met another human who would respond to his projected thoughts. Toothless was very surprised to realize a human could hear him. The conclusion was obvious.