A Night's Tale

A Night's Tale- Up Strike:

                He glared the best he could. Couldn’t he just die in peace? “My wing’s dislocated!”

                She had sympathy in her golden eyes before she grabbed a hold of his injured wing with her claws and popped it back into place. The ground was coming dangerously closer, and he hoped if she would move he could open his wings.

                “Now!” she informed.

                With a whoosh, he opened his wings and glided upward, his legs just touching the tree tops. Every muscle in his body relaxed a little as he flew up into the familiar dawning sky. When he looked down, there was no Night Fury. Was she a ghost? Or a figment of his imagination? But she fixed his wing.

                Looking everywhere, there was no sight of the slender Night Fury anywhere. How? The Gronkle was combining groups with his ally and had just spotted him. He hoped for a fight, his claws were itching to do some damage.

                All three dragons flew toward one another, Strike wanting to do some damage. Apparently, his anger showed in his blue eyes and the dragon and Vikings grew nervous.

                The one riding the Nightmare said with a shaky voice, “F-F-Fight! I-I-If y-you dare!”

                A tight pull on the corners of his lips made him smile in anticipation. All four beings in front of him started quivering. Snorting, he nodded.

                Making the first move, he dived under the two dragons with such speed that they didn’t know he moved until he was whacking them with his tail and claws. Both Vikings screamed out in distress, fearful of the wild dragon. Strike roared and struck the Monstrous Nightmare on the back side of his head, making him dizzy and loose altitude as he forgot to flap.

                The Gronkle was more difficult. With thick scales, he had to finally scratch some wing leather out before he fell to the ground. He didn’t scratch enough to completely not heal right, but enough to loose flying technique and fall. Then the Nightmare came back up, blowing a long stream of fire right at strike.

                Of course while breathing fire, the Nightmare couldn’t see, so Strike dived out of both dragon and riders’ view, ramming into the underbelly. The sound of the air getting knocked out of the dragon felt good to Strike as he dodged out of the way from the falling dragon.

                “Good luck next time, Strike!” one called as he landed safely on the ground.

                Exhaustion gripped Strike like claws from a Night Fury. His eyelids drooped. The sun was up in the sky completely now, and he was tired. One day he had without sleep, but he had worse before. However, the fighting and the news did bring a lot of weight on his shoulders so he flew off into the forest and landed outside a cave.

                “Nadder.” he mumbled as he caught a whiff of the scent of the dragon who lived here.

                Sighing, he rose back into the air and flew into the dense fog of the surrounding mountain, the Red Death Mountain, he liked to call it. Pillars of stone rose from the ocean, but ever since the death of the large dragon, most of the fog and pillars have gone.

                He landed on one comfortably. It was covered with dense fog, for now. Settling under a “roof” of rock and a nice place to curl up, he was soon asleep. But nightmares raked at his brain, mocking him, torturing him, teasing him.

                Toothless, his father, his rider, Hiccup, and the dark one opened up his mind. Then the female Night Fury flew in on silent wings, a silent good dream. Before she burst into flames, making it once again a nightmare.

                Wind blew at his face as he banked to the left, trying to make sure the weight on his back wouldn’t fall off. Weight? he thought. His eyesight came to look at whatever was on his back. Straps and buckles, along with a Viking on his back.

                Roaring in anger and disbelief, he found himself standing on all four legs, all shaking uncontrollably, and near the edge of the pillar where he had slept. His wings were out to their limits, as if he were flying.

                This happened at least once every time he slept. He caught himself a few times, but never like this. Strike sleep-stands. Like most would sleep-talk or sleep-eat, he sleep-stood. But this was as if the dream had been real, which made the stance even worse.

                Kneeling back down was difficult, even though his legs had stopped shaking. His mind was playing tricks on him, again. Like he thought that the Night Fury female was a false impression, a way for his mind to play with him. Would she come back? He wondered.

                “Being told what to do is useless. We are dragons. Wild and untamed. No dragon should be held captive.” he told himself as he remembered the rider on his back. He wouldn’t allow that to happen to him. No way.

                He looked up into the sky; dusk. One of his favorite times of day, but also his worse. Staring out into the ocean was beauty, some would say, but Strike had seen beauty twice in one day in all his life. Her. Where was she? He couldn’t get her out of his head, and he didn’t know her name, so he swore to find out what it was next time he saw her, if there was a next time.

                Opening his wings for flight, a breeze hit him, carrying a scent that made his head turn to face the wind. Her. Without thinking, he flew in the direction of the smell, his dreams forgotten and his wings working powerfully as the scent grew stronger.

                There she was, flying against the darkening sky, swiveling back and forth amongst the wind. A dream come true, Strike thought. She twisted in one spot, making Strike think of a black angel. Such beauty.

                Then a thought struck him. Show off. Instincts told him, but he wasn’t sure. He had seen other male dragons show off in front of females, but they got turned down. Is it natural to show off? Why not show her the way he was and not his instinct.

                Angling his tail and wings, he flew over her. Her golden spikes shown against the now dark sky. He knew he looked like a normal Night Fury from below, so he was careful not to look at her to arise attention.

                Judging the distance and how fast he would be going was slightly difficult, but he tried anyway. Strike dived, his wings folded and he missed the female by a foot in front of her face. He opened his wings and flew in a circle back over her, but she had gone by then.

                “Wha-?” he gasped, shocked.

                Wind sounded from behind him. “Think you could surprise me, did you?”

                Jumping in midair may not be possible, but his muscles tensed as he faced the female. Her wings were beating the air so silently as if they were razors cutting the air. Golden eyes glowed a little in the moonlight, but Strike was more focused on how she seemed the same as him; different.

                “Who are you?” she asked him, flying in a small circle around him.

                It made him dizzy, but he replied simply, “I’m not sure what my true name is, but everyone calls me Strike.”

                She stopped in front of him, “Strike, nice to meet you. I’m-”

                “There she is!” a Viking’s shout interrupted her. “And Strike! Get them!”

                Both Night Furies sighed and dived down simultaneously, both flying in the middle of the crowd to break them up. Only what happened next completely threw Strike off guard: a net, a large one at that, suddenly appeared over him and the female.

                But when he got captured, he looked around and saw small pieces of gold flying off. His first thought was, How could she do that and escape so quickly?