Chapter Text
Away from any form of civilization, a lone Night Fury was taking a solo flight over the ocean. Cutting through the air with ease. Her wake caused ripples in the water she flew just above. In a daring move the Night Fury dove under a group of Thunderdrums as they breached the water. The salt spray from the ocean misting her as she narrowly passed underneath their wings. They let out rumbles of amusement, joy while the Night Fury barked out excitement, happiness. A warm and pleasant day with the sky-fire high in the sky, perfect for clearing one's head or forgetting their frustrations with certain annoying mates.
Racing across the sky, barely above the water with powerful strokes of her wings pushing her as fast as she could go with sub-wings out to create that iconic Night Fury whistle. This was pure freedom, a gift only her wings could provide. Able to go as far and as fast as she wanted without responsibilities or someone pulling on a chain tied around her neck. No long-paw tribe to look down on her for not being good enough. No Tyrant Queen burrowing in her head forcing her into actions against her will. Most importantly no Hunter cages to confine and torture her for committing the grievous crime of existing. Today however was not about freedom from tyrants and cruelty.
This flight was about the space and air she needed to be herself and not biting her beloved mate for his incessant desire to settle down and have hatchlings. Truthfully Leita loved her mate, she really did. He has been there for her through everything. From the moment he accidentally forged a bond due to his loneliness and desperation, putting Leita on the path to becoming a Night Fury herself, Vígamaðr has stayed by her side. No matter what, she could never bring herself to stay angry with him, he gave her the gift of flight after all. In moments like these though Leita really wished her mate would leave her be and let her live. It didn't help though that he liked it when she got fierce and aggressive.
She shot back into the sky, piercing the clouds like an arrow. At the apex of her climb she allowed gravity to take hold with a feeling of weightlessness as she dove back towards the clouds, before she leveled off into a gentle glide. A purr of happiness, contentment passing through her as the sky-fire warmed her scales.
She understood her mates desire for hatchlings, she even shared that desire. Just not yet. She was only twenty and one season-cycles of age, only six of which had been as a Night Fury. Of those six seasons-cycles only one of them had been spent free of humans, tyrants and trappers. She wished to live, to explore and thrive before settling down. Night Furies lived for centuries after all according to Vígamaðr. She was barely an adult by their standards, if that.
And yet, Vígamaðr was hunting an abundance of land-prey for her and preparing their nest as if she were gravid or planned to be soon. It wasn't even close to mating season and she ate plenty thank you very much. She was not thin or underfed, she was just on the smaller side. Grumbling with frustration, irritation to herself. Standing a full head shorter than Vígamaðr, she was still more than capable of coming out on top when they played or fought.
She had been out flying for a pawful of hours now in a somewhat aimless flight. It was a bit reckless to fly like this but these waters had long since been cleared of Trappers. Ryker was dead from her claws and hers alone for what he did to her. That was a kill her mate knew to let her have. Viggo meanwhile had taken what remained of the Trappers and joined the Defenders of the Wing after learning from Leita the truth about dragons. Together the Defenders, the Wingmaidens, Viggos faction and the two Night Furies had taken on and defeated Krogan and his forces in a final battle.
Ever since then both the Wingmaidens and Defenders of the Wing had been lightly patrolling these waters. For about a season-cycle now their floating-tree-nests and recently their own Riders had done so. So Leita was quite surprised to see a pack of a few pawfuls of Vikings and other long-paw floating-tree-nests. She let out a warble of enquiry, confusion. It was odd in itself to see these here, Vikings did not tend to explore this way not recently anyways.
They may have been a noticeable distance from her and Vígamaðr's island. But it was still too close for comfort. Their island had miraculously remained hidden throughout the Trapper War. Leita had no intention of letting it be found by accident. She angled her wings to let the air slip past them so that she could slowly descend, tucking her sub-wings in so as to not let out the screech Night Furies were known for.
The pack, if it could be called that, was in shambles. Most of the ships had blackened marks on their hulls. Sails were torn, repaired and torn again. But it wasn't just damaged by dragon fire or claws, there were arrows sticking out all over the place. Paying more attention to the sails that were intact she noticed the ships flew the Bog Burglar crest. What were they doing all the way out here she wondered?
So engrossed as she was inspecting the fleet, she failed to realize that she had drifted too close and didn't even notice the bola until it wrapped around her left wing. She squawked surprise, terror, but she quickly spread out her other wing, fins and sub-wings to turn her fall into a poor attempt at gliding. Too low to the ocean, there was little that Leita could do at this point other than aim in the general direction of the largest ship of the fleet. Thinking on her paws, she decided an old trick that worked well against the Dragon Trappers would do nicely here.
Gliding with all the grace of a well thrown rock, she managed to tuck in and turn the crash into a roll across the deck. While doing this, safely on the floating-tree-nest now and not over open ocean she transformed into her human form. Once on her feet she whipped out her flaming sword Inferno and cut through the basic bola Vikings were known for using with ease. Honestly seven generations and they still couldn't come up with something better than rope with weights. The trappers had sharp barbs and Gronckle iron lining their bolas inside of a season of fighting the shapeshifting Night Furies.
Taking in the surrounding Vikings with a trained eye, she saw about a dozen with weapons drawn and their mouths hanging open in shock. Growling danger, warning, “Ancestors preserve me, you Vikings never change do you? Always jumping to violence. You couldn’t just leave a lone scaled-kin alone could you?” She exclaimed loudly.
Unfortunately or perhaps fortunately depending on how this went. She had left without fully gearing up as frustrated as she had been. As for weapons she had left all of her small false-claws she used for throwing behind. Only grabbing Inferno as an afterthought. She only had her light leather flight gear sans a helmet. That and her own scales were the only things between her and the Vikings with their false claws. This left only her now very human looking head exposed for all to see.
As she took in the long-paws, she was surprised to see she recognized one of the Vikings here. Despite the many season-cycles it had been since she last saw her at The Thing when she was ten and five season-cycles of age, she would recognize her old friend Camicazi of the Bog Burglars anywhere. "Camicazi, what are you doing all the way out here?"