How to Train Your Dragon - Traitor Among Them

Chapter 4 - Past Revealed

"I'm sorry about this," Hiccup sighed, closing the door, and staring at his hand as if he already regretted his choices.

"You did everything you could," Lyra responded in a monotone voice, sitting down.

Hiccup shook his head, gripping the door still. Lyra chuckled.

"You really are trusting, Hiccup. The rest of your friends are extreme. I think you need someone of... middle ground."

"That's the trouble. Finding middle ground," Hiccup said. "You'll be alright in here?"

"With the pelts you retrieved from my cave, I'll be comfortable, even if it isn't ideal."

Enya growled softly from the compartment next to her, peering through the bars. The other dragons stirred, already sleeping. Stormfly squawked quietly. Their compartments weren't locked, but Lyra tried not to think about that.

"You won't be staying in the stables after this," Hiccup promised.

Lyra knew he couldn't keep it, but she nodded in appreciation. Hiccup left, and the stables were plunged in semi-darkness. Lyra felt an odd sense of betrayal. She was tired of looking over her shoulder. She was tired of being called the enemy when no one she knew could be trusted. Everyone, except for one person. His name crossed her mind like a breath of fresh air, and Lyra held on to it for as long as her thoughts would let her. She pushed her skirt aside to blindly rummage in a pocket, and her fingers brushed against smooth stone. She gripped it, and with pursed lips pulled out the object and let it rest in the palm of her hand, settled on top of her lap.

The object was a carving of a hawk on smooth, white stone. The hawk gripped an arrow in its talons and its wings were outstretched in flight. A tear began to well up in Lyra's eye as she thought of the person who had laughed and scooped her up, waving the carving in front of her face. She had giggled in delight, her tiny hands gingerly accepting the gift. Her dad. Her kind, wonderful dad. Was he alive, dead, or worse – dying? Lyra frowned and threw back her head, and it thudded against the wall painfully. She didn't mind the pain. It jolted her senses and distracted her from the memories that had washed up like the tide, quickly and intensely. She fought sleep, but eventually she could fight it no more. Her head slid and hit the soft pelt on the floor. Her eyelids fluttered before succumbing to sleep. The carving fell from her hand as her fingers grew weary.

Screaming. The sound of it filled Lyra's ears as she bounded down the steps, snatching a sword leaning against the wall. She threw open the door and stepped forward, only to trip on a groaning body. Lyra turned around, then dropped to her knees with a startled cry.

"Kieran!"

Her hands trembled as she reached out, hovering above the wound in his chest.

"No. Don't leave me alone like this!" Lyra demanded.

She rocked back and forth on her knees, wanting to grab him and drag him to the closest person who could help. Kieran opened his eyes with a groan, taking her hand. Lyra gasped and scooted closer, gripping her brother's hand tightly. Kieran winced as he opened his mouth. He was using the last of his strength to tell her something. Lyra was determined to listen.

"Don't waste time looking for Shaw, Lyra. He's gone."

Lyra shook her head in disbelief, but Kieran raised his other hand to grip her shoulder. Her brothers were strong. They had to survive this! Kieran's usual confidence and enthusiasm was gone, however, replaced only with seriousness. He wasn't joking.

"Don't these dragons look familiar to you?" Kieran said, and Lyra pried her eyes away to survey the scene around them.

It had merely been the background, but now, the screaming roared in her ears again. Fire lit up the sky, tumbling through buildings. Dark, large shapes chased owners out of their homes. Lyra frowned when the fire cast a glow on the nearest dragon, a blood-red nadder with pale white spikes. She knew this dragon. It had once roamed their village freely and peacefully. A multitude of dragons had. Her mother had practically saved their lives, and trust was formed between dragon and viking, despite their village's heritage. The dragons helped rebuild; willing to lift heavy material, light fires, and carry messages for a short time. In return, their small village had treated them kindly, no longer on the verge of death. Lyra had begun to hope that they could forget their ties to the dragon hunters, but destruction pierced her fragile hope. Who had done this? Who had led Viggo to them? What connections did they have? Suddenly, Lyra remembered. She remembered how they were tied to the dragon hunters in the first place.