The Wild Stryke

Chapter 7

  Over the next few weeks, Dusk found himself somehow enjoying the murderers' company. 

  In the morning, Hiccup would come and check on him, with a bucket of juicy fish. He'd try and touch Dusk, and keep repeating "Pitch Black" for some reason. Then Dusk realised that it was his 'name' for the Vikings. But Dusk wasn't tamed so easily like some docile Gronkle! He'd hop around unexpectedly, or stab with his tails - just because they were bound together didn't mean they couldn't be used as one big tail - or just wait until Hiccup left, blending into the shadows, to feast on the fish.

  After that, the riders would come in periodically and just sit there and talk. It was like they didn't even notice the fact that Dusk wanted to kill them! Astrid and Fishlegs came more often, due to an unfortunate incident involving the twins, Snoutlout and a gallon of Monstrous Nightmare gel. Dusk had developed an intense, pure hatred for anything smelling like Nightmare, and it had only been by a sliver of luckthat the trio had escaped with their heads intact. 

  When the Sun was at its peak, Dusk would shrink into the shadows to sleep. Dusk was slightly nocturnal, and since he spent most of the night growling angrily and keeping everybody awake, the afternoon was used for rest. 

  At night, Toothless would come instead with a sheep or cow in his jaws. He would chat with Dusk, and Dusk learnt about how Berk functioned now, and what Toothless' companions were like. After a particularly enjoyable conversation, Dusk came to the abrupt realisation that they were friends. Not only that, but he became friends with every single Viking and dragon on the Edge!

  Even Stoick. He had come on the second day with a tentative yak as a peace offering and apologised profusely for half an hour. It seemed that Vikings didn't know dragons could understand them, but that had unconsciously been to Stoick's advantage. Dusk's hatred towards him was no longer sharp and deadly, but dull and softened, barely a lingering thought in the back of Dusk's head, and only there if he thought hard enough about it.

  This particular day, Hiccup's 'Bucket of Treats' were jam-packed with Dusk's favourite, carp. He didn't even hesitate and dove forward, shoving his head into the bucket. Hiccup had stumbled back, wary of an attack, but Dusk didn't even pay attention to his anxiousness - and that was a huge upgrade from being forced to avoid wild silver flames instead.

  "That's it, you just eat there, I'm not going to do anything to hurt you," Hiccup murmured. It was a good thing Dusk's ears were stuck in the basket so that he didn't hear something as suspicious as that.

  "Okay, Pitch Black, here goes nothing!" Dusk's ears perked up at his 'name', and his head swiveled around.

  His eyes were round.

  Hiccup held out his hand, then turned away, letting Dusk decide the fate of his limb. 

  Dusk sniffed it curiously.

  Something within the hand called Dusk to move forward.

  Dusk's snout touched Hiccup's hand.

  Something blossomed within Dusk, something warm and trusting and beautiful. 

  He would later remember it as trust.