learning to fly, how to train your dragon

006. mothers and old bothers

chapter six
006. mothers and old bothers!

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    WHEN FREYA was little (well, little▬er), she used to pray to the gods to make her taller, and stronger, and fiercer. She asked them▬no, begged▬that they'd bless her with the strength of a warrior when she grew up. That they'd free her from the expectations that had trapped her so, and she could explore the ends of the earth and live to tell magnificent stories. She asked them to make her just ... well ... better. She was still waiting for the day she'd wake up and all of her dreams would suddenly come true. 

    She trudged home alone after Dragon Training later that day, feeling downtrodden and defeated now that all her frustration had left her. The sun was slowly setting over the cliff faces of Berk, basking the island into a pretty pinks and purples. The colours in the sky were mirrored by the ocean waves that crashed against the two Berkian Warriors guarding the harbour of Freya's home and the sea stacks surrounding it. She stopped in the gentle wind that was gradually getting colder and colder, feeling it kiss her cheeks, brush her hair gently into her eyes and tousle her furs. Freya gazed out towards the horizon with a sense of longing▬for what? She couldn't exactly answer nor explain. But whatever it was, it left her with an indescribable ache in her heart. 

   The colours of the sunset reminded her of the Deadly Nadder in Dragon Training today. She wished it didn't. But Freya couldn't get the dragon out of her mind since▬the way it tilted its head at her, and the inquisitive glint in its enchanting yellow stare was engraved in her mind, and there was no way of getting rid of it. That creature could have killed her then. Freya should have attacked the Nadder when she had the chance. Yet, neither did.

    It felt as though, for a brief moment in that maze, time had frozen, and both Viking and Dragon had mimicked each other▬shared the same breath of curiosity, determination and eagerness; the need to be better and prove its worth that could be defined by something else other than their small stature. 

    Which troubled her. Because dragons don't choose not to hurt Vikings, and Vikings don't choose not to hurt dragons▬and neither one of them could see a reflection in each other's eyes. 

    And so, Freya did her best to stop thinking about it▬to not let it trouble her and ignore the strange sensation and moment. To choose not to believe it would continue to haunt her▬even though she knew very well it would. 

    When she made it back home and stepped through the front door, underneath the wooden head of a Timberjack, Freya was met with the absence of her father like a cold chill down her spine. She stared at his empty chair by the fire that was starting to grow and wished that he was here.

    No ship ever returned when searching for the Dragon's Nest▬but Freya chose to ignore that fact and was determined to believe that her father would, even when everything else was telling her, straight in the face, that she would be proven wrong. 

    She took a deep breath and tiptoed towards her room, hoping to pass by undetected by her mother that was sure to be home. Her boots scuffed gently on the wood of the small home, passing by helmets hung up on metal hooks, tapestries her mother had made herself of Berk landscapes, a shield portrait of their family Bucket the Halfwit had done when Freya was little, and her betrothal gift from Hiccup (well, Stoick) before she could even remember: a ceremonial, decorative shield that hung on her door with intricate designs of long sea dragon necks and waves that interlocked. 

    Freya has seen that shield every time she has walked into her room for the entirety of her life so far▬it had never once left its spot, never once fell down. It was a constant reminder of the future she couldn't escape, and every time she saw it, she got closer to grabbing it and throwing it off the edge of Dragonscale Cliff. But she never did.