úlfheðnar, httyd

xx. Here, On Berk

𖣯 ✹ 🌷(úlfheðnar) ꏍ ！┈─❟
╰───►chapter twenty; yrsa
❝ here, on berk! ❞

    FOR a long time (three generations, in fact), Berk has been stuck in an unusual, stubborn cycle━much like its dwellers. A cycle of morning raids; of killed or be killed; of dragons against Vikings. But now, things have changed━and for the very much better. Berk used to be known for its chieftains; especially that Hiccup's father: one of the best Dragon Slayers the Archipelago had to offer, or perhaps a more infamous ancestor, the ruthless pirate called Grimbeard the Ghastly. Either way, everyone knew of Berk. Of its beauty, of its harsh climate, of its determination to slay every dragon it could. But now, Berk seemed to just drift back off into the shadows with a secret they held on all of their shoulders; the best-kept secret this side of ... well ... anywhere.

And granted, it didn't look like much. A few cliffs here and there, a glacier up north and vast woodland that has been explored to the point there was nothing left to explore within it. However, Yrsa's home: a wet heap of rock did pack more than a few surprises. Life here, on Berk, was amazing━just not, of course, for the faint of heart. You see, they're Vikings, they have ... uh ... stubbornness issues.

Because where most folks enjoyed hobbies like whittling or needlepoint, Berkians prefered a little something they liked to call ...

    Dragon Racing!

And in the skies of Berk, a group of dragons sped past filled stands of cheering Vikings. They dived down to a flock of sheep hiding in the nook of a house, and a pair of gnarly claws snatched up one by its wool━

"Haha! Yes!" the Viking cheered. That would be Fishlegs Ingerman, a big boy with absolutely no chin a chicken-filled potbelly. His blond tufts of hair stuck out of his tiny noggin of a helmet and shaped in small braids down by his round ears. On the days Fishlegs Ingerman wasn't attending Dragon Racing (and taking the sheep right from Yrsa's hands!), or spoiling his precious Gronckle, Meatlug, one would find him with his fat nose stuck in the Book fo Dragons, Bork the Bold's papers, or his Dragon Cards. Meatlug, his dearest dragon, buzzed her wings happily at the sheep in her grasp, her wings and scales covered in racing war paint much like her rider, who may as well have a green and yellow target painted straight onto his face.

They were━to the surprise of many━in the lead, until the menace that was Snotlout Jorgenson smacked him and Hookfang right into Fishlegs's side, making him drop the sheep right into his arms.

"Ho━ho!" he bellowed, looking back over his shoulder with a smug grin. "Oh, I'm sorry, Fishlegs, did you want that?" he was a mean Viking, with a permanent sneer on his brick-square face and a jeering joke, or sarcastic comment, or anything annoying to say right up his wrist guards. His dragon, a blood-red Monstrous Nightmare by the name of Hookfang, matched his smug sneer━ah, yes, quite the team Snotlout and Fangster were; both mean, both stubborn, both never listen ... even to each other.

Fishlegs grumbled after him, "Snotlout!" he shouted. "That was mine!"

Pulling Hookfang back, Snotlout veered in next to those right behind in following; the Twins: Ruffnut and Tuffnut. Which is which? Well, that was a question the whole of Berk and the Archipelago often mixed up. Despite being obviously faternal (they were opposite genders), the Thorston Twins could be considered entirely identical. In practically everything━their hair, their noses, the facial expressions, the anger and an absolute love for destruction. They even rode the same dragon! A Hideous Zippleback by the names of Barf and Belch (respectfully, of course). Those who had the━uh━pleasure to know the group of them could tell you that they were a set of halfwits with a brain they sometimes used, striking out of nowhere and confusing the rest of the team.