The Wild Stryke

Chapter 4

  The Night Fury is the fastest dragon alive, capable of nimbly weaving through complex structures without even the tiniest brush of scales on stone, of hitting speeds beyond even the sound barrier, of moving with such speed that it can appear to be a blur to the untrained eye.

  Of course, that changes when traveling in a pack.

  It was almost dangerously easy for Dusk to stay with Toothless; not once did those blithering baboons turn around and see an irregular shadow a few hundred feet away.

  Stoick was, well stoic; the only sign that he was still alive and functioning was the occasional sigh at whatever the others said, or a heaving grunt.

  There were two nearly identical twins on the Hideous Zippleback, who had made it their personal mission to disrupt any and all peace on the group.

  There was a rambling, rather 'sturdy' Viking on the Gronckle, who was muttering almost feverishly, annoying everybody around him, including Dusk.

  There was a stout boy, 'Snoutlout', on a Monstrous Nightmare. Both had horrid egos, an inflated head and the desperate need to set themselves on fire.

  In fact, the only four sane souls were probably Astrid, Stormfly,  Hiccup and Toothless. Heaven knows how their minds were still functioning. Even Dusk, a few hundred feet away, could see the tension in Astrid's shoulders, ready to explode at any minute.

  It seemed that this route was one commonly used; not once did they hesitate, or consult a piece of paper to check their path; Dusk had seen a Viking use it once; it was a strange thing, with blobs and circles and dotted lines; perhaps it was meant for nothing but to seem smart.

  Dusk decided to take a gamble. He took a deep, deep breath, till it seemed that his lungs would burst, and dove into the icy water. 

  It was quite obvious that the island was straight ahead; Dusk was familiar with the layout of the archipelago around Berk. Which meant that there was a perfect opportunity for an ambush. A quick, explosive swim, and Dusk was nearing Dragon's Edge.

  "What the Thor happened here?" Hiccup breathed, looking around, half-shocked and half-amazed. 

  Dragon's Edge was trashed. There was no other word for it. Every piece of wood in sight was burnt into unrecognisable blobs. Their now teetering houses had bits of metal sticking out and there were still flames spluttering about. It was like the Red Death had come along, stomped around, shot Dragon's Edge full of flames, then flew away without a trace.

  "What could've done this?" Astrid gingerly hopped around, Stormfly following. "No flaming arrows, no catapults, no footprints."

  "It must be a dragon, then." Fishlegs scooped up some burnt ash, and held it up for Meatlug to smell. 

  "Whatever dragon it is, it's gotta be amazing!" Snotlout laughed.

  "Could it've been a Buffalord? Only they have this sort of explosive power," Stoick mused.

  "No, Dad. Buffalords are peaceful creatures. This sort of firepower, it's unheard of." Hiccup was still dazed from the destruction of his home.

  "Hey Hiccup? You might want to see this." Fishlegs pointed to a glowing flame.

  It was a familiar silver.