A Night's Tale

A Night's Tale- Strike Out:

                Although dusk was just settling in, Night Furies were awakening, at least the wild ones were. For years, most dragons found tranquil peace amongst the Vikings living near. A few months before, the Red Death had suffered its terrible loss by a Night Fury named Toothless. Dragons and Vikings had worked together for years on end, most ending up with Vikings.

                There was one Night Fury in particular that was completely different. He awoken to the difference in the sky’s pattern. When he looked, white clouds formed the sky that was all dragons’ domain, clouding most of the sun and some of the sky. Most would think it was a sight to good to be true, but the Night Fury knew better. He had other wonders to fuss about.

                Snapping sounds came from his wings as he unfurled them, the black membrane feeling the wind made him want to jump off his steep fall. Below him was a large stream that rushed downstream, not caring what it picked up.

                One clawed foot stepped halfway out onto the ledge, the claws curling to grab the edge. Wait for it, he told himself. His ear flicked back as a creature, most likely a Viking on a dragon, came running through.

                Then they appeared, a Deadly Nadder and a large Viking. Both looked shocked as his appearance, but he was used to it. Ever since hatching, everything looked at him with awe and strangeness.

                Snaking his head back, he shot out a blue flame-ball and it hit the line of sticks that had been his defense, in case he was found while he was sleeping. It instantly caught on flame, the tips licking up at the sky. Soon, an armada of dragons and Vikings would come.

                So, without another thought, he jumped off the cliff. The wind caught in his sail-like wings and he rose into the air, safe from further harm, for now. Even as he heard the Nadder cry out, night settled, but it wasn’t the same for the Night Fury.

                He dived toward the pine forest, knowing that the Viking would be following him. With undying skill, he twisted and turned in between trees, just he does nearly every day, avoiding Vikings and their dragons.

                After a while, he heard a thump and a roar of defeat. Moving his tail tip, two small wing-like rudders on the end, he angled himself upward. His blue gaze traveled through the wood until he saw the Nadder flying in the opposite direction toward the seven other dragon shadows he could see.

                Of course, his pupils dilated into dangerous slits, making him look more deadly. Blue against black didn’t really work out, but for him it did. The eight dragon shadows flew in the opposite direction of the Night Fury, knowing the chase would be completely hopeless. A rider-less dragon against even eight dragons with riders wasn’t enough for him, for he was to skilled and to willing to run at whatever the cause.

                Night Furies past him in the indigo sky, giving him second glances, most envious. All were the same, black and either golden, green, or a mixture of the two for eye color. No, he was different.

                His appearance looked off the charts extreme. While his main scale color was black, he had bright blue markings, or as he liked to think of them: Veins. He could hide at both night and during the day when it was clear. Only his underbelly was completely black. And just to make matters worse, his eyes matched his markings color. While every thing thought he was a Night Fury mistake, he thought he was special.

                No one knew his name, he didn’t even know his own name. After hatching, his mother left, fearful of her hatchling. He’d learn everything from watching others and himself. However, the Vikings called him Strike. They called him this because it was like baseball. Everyone takes a swing, but strikes out, hence his name. He liked it and stuck with it, happy that at least someone had the trouble of naming him.