Dragon Whisperer (HTTYD)

9 - Induction

Despite the fact that snow covered Berk for seven months of the year, nature has always found a way to put out trees and plants of all sorts. Iðunn, goddess of rejuvenation, has made nature to be impatient and persistent in shooting forth green sprouts at the first sign of Spring, causing everything to grow with an unrelenting vengeance for the few months that are warm enough to sustain plant life. The forests that were formerly a sea of brown, dotted with greens of firs and pines, erupted with leaves of willow, birch, elm, and honey-locust. The pansies that lined garden beds started to stretch out to greet the warmth of the sun.

Naturally, the Hooligans have learned from the gods by observing their works. Even as snow still stubbornly clung to the ground, most of the village was hard at work tilling their fields for kale, collards, cabbage, and carrots. Yet, despite the cold, Stoick had little trouble working up a sweat as he helped the farmers prepare their fields.

"A chief does what it takes to help his village!" he would always say when they would offer payment or politely try to decline his assistance in manual labor. "Besides, gotta stay strong, somehow, so I can be ready to fight off the drag-... err, whatever may threaten us."

Stoick always believed a leader is, first and foremost, a servant to his people – not the other way around. Service is the pulse that keeps him alive, the driving force that gives him reason to rise from bed every morning. A chief does whatever is needed for his village and Stoick always feels fulfillment in doing just that, even if it gives him headaches, sore arms, and calloused hands.

The chief idly whistled a tune as he guided a plow down a row in a field of dark, rich soil, churning up and mixing with the compost and manure that was laid down last fall after harvest. The yak, although resistant to get up and do work, heartily pulled the plow for fear of invoking Stoick's wrath. If it ever started to drift off its course or slacken its pace, just hearing Stoick cease his whistling was enough to inspire the fear needed to spur it towards greater effort.

Halfway through the fifteenth row, Stoick halted his whistling, but not because of the yak. The distinct sound of the Night Fury's roar could be heard in the distance high in the sky, just off the coast.

"Ah, about time, son," he muttered to himself.

The yak, interpreting the threatening silence as a sign of imminent danger of the large Viking's wrath, picked up the pace.

"Woah there, buddy!"

Stoick leaped forward and smacked the yak's shoulder with the back of his knuckles, causing it to stop in its tracks.

As he removed the harness, Stoick shouted out to his fellow farmer, "Hey, Sven, can you put him away? I gotta take care of something."

Silent Sven looked over from his adjacent field and waved, halting his yak to walk over and relieve Stoick of his charge. As the chief made his way to the town square, he shouted out for his fellow councilmen.

"Hoark! Spite! Gobber! Gothi! I think this is it. Someone go fetch her, please."

From the outskirts of the town square, Gobber came peg-legging it out of his smithy as Hoark and Spitelout converged, brushing the dirt off of their hands and clothing. Stoick couldn't help but feel pride for the people of his tribe. They never were especially wealthy and life has always been hard, even without the dragon attacks, but there's always an abundance of strong backs to throw at whatever task the village needed the most.

At this time of year, what the village's greatest need is for every able hand to prepare the land to grow crops that would last them through the next harsh winter. The growing season never lasts long and they would need to make use of every bit of warm sunshine that would deign to fall upon the fields. During the winter, the sun hardly rises before it sets. Soon, though, it would stay in the sky for most of the day and hardly ever rest.