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〰〰〰𖠳 〰〰〰
𝕊𝕋𝕆𝕀ℂ𝕂'𝕊 voice reverberated through the great hall, filled with villagers eagerly listening to his proposal. "Either we finish them or they'll finish us! It's the only way we'll be rid of them," he declared with a sense of urgency. His eyes scanned the faces before him, seeking solidarity. "If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave. They'll find another home!" With determination burning in his eyes, Stoick grasped his knife and drove it into the map, the blade piercing the image of a dragon. "One more search before the ice sets in," he proclaimed, his voice ringing with resolve.
A skeptical voice cut through the tension. "Those ships never come back," a Viking man remarked.
Stoick's response was swift and firm. "We're Vikings. It's an occupational hazard. Now who's with me?!" he challenged, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. Murmurs and hesitations filled the hall, but Stoick wasn't deterred. "Alright. Those who stay will look after Frida," he conceded, a hint of disappointment in his voice. However, as hands rose in agreement to accompany him on the perilous journey, his confidence returned. "That's more like it," he declared, watching as the villagers began to make preparations.
But Gobber, always the voice of reason, interjected with a touch of humor. "I'll pack my undies," he quipped, only to be halted by Stoick's serious tone.
"No, I need you to stay and train some new recruits," Stoick instructed, moving closer to his friend. Gobber's sarcasm persisted. "Oh, perfect. And, while I'm busy, Frida can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, lots of time to herself. What could possibly go wrong?" he remarked dryly. Stoick's concern for his daughter was palpable as he sought guidance. "What am I going to do with her, Gobber?" he questioned earnestly. Gobber's response was pragmatic. "Put her in training with the others," he suggested, but Stoick's worry persisted. "No, I'm serious," Stoick insisted, his thoughts consumed by the dangers that awaited Frida.
"So am I," Gobber retorted, meeting Stoick's gaze steadily.
As the two friends debated, Stoick paced the hall, his mind racing with parental concern. "Listen, you know what she's like," he began, his voice tinged with frustration. "From the time she could crawl, she's been... different. She doesn't listen. She has the attention span of a sparrow. I take her fishing and she goes hunting for trolls!" Gobber listened, but his demeanor remained unchanged. "Trolls exist. They steal your socks. But only the left ones. What's with that?" he mused, before returning to his drink, momentarily distracted by a wayward tooth. Stoick's reminiscence turned somber. "When I was a boy..." he started, only to be met with Gobber's knowing interruption.
