Lois Letchford Reads "How to Train Your Dragon" Part 8

The boys stood very tall and tried to look like proper hooligans. Heroes or exile! yelled Gobber the Velch. Heroes or exile! yelled 8 boys frantically back at him. Exile, thought Hiccup and Fishlegs sadly. Aye, I hate being a Viking, panted Fishlegs to Hiccup as they stumbled back through the bracken to the hooligan village. You didn't really walk on the Island of Berk. You waded through heather or bracken or mud or slough that clung onto your legs and made them difficult to lift. It was the sort of country where the sea and the land was always falling into one another and getting mixed up. The island was shot through with holes burrowed by the water, a maze of crisscrossing underground streams. You could put your foot on a solid-looking piece of grass and find yourself disappearing up to your thigh in black sticky mud. You could be making your way through the ferns and suddenly find yourself Fording a river waist-high in icy cold. The boys were already soaked to the skin with seawater, and now the snow had turned a horizontal driving rain, blowing in their faces with the strength of one of gale-force winds that were shrieking across the salty wastelands of Berk. A narrow escape from horrible death first thing on a Thursday morning. Complained Fishlegs, followed by complete rejection by the junior half of the tribe. Nobody's going to talk to me for years after this. Except you, of course, Hiccup. But then, you're just a weirdo like me. Thank you, said Hiccup. And on top of everything, continued Fishlegs bitterly, a 2-mile run carrying a deranged dragon on my back. A basket at Fishlegs' back was plunging wildly from side to side as the dragon inside tried manically to get out. And only a dinner of horrible limpets to look forward to at the end. Hiccup agreed that it wasn't a delicious prospect. You can have this dragon back if you like, Hiccup. I warn you, they're filthy heavy when they're wet and cross, said Fishlegs miserably. Gobber is going to take off like a typhoon when he finds out you haven't got a dragon. But I have got one, said Hiccup. Fishlegs stopped and began to take the basket off his back. I know it is your dragon, really, he sighed wearily. I think I'll just go straight Pass the village and keep on running till I reach somewhere civilised. Rome, perhaps. I've always wanted to go to Rome. And I haven't got a hope in Valhalla of passing initiation anyway, so— No! I've got another one in my basket! Hiccup insisted. Fishlegs' jaw dropped open in disbelief. I got it when I went back into the tunnel! exclaimed Hiccup. Well, pista my barnacles! said Fish. How in Thor's name did you know it was there? It was so dark you couldn't see the horns in front of you! It was weird, said Hiccup. I sort of sensed it when we were running down the tunnel. I couldn't see anything, but as we were passing, I knew there was a dragon there, and that it was meant to be my dragon. I was going to ignore it, actually, Because we were in a bit of a hurry, but then you said not having a dragon, and I went back and there it was, lying on the shelf in the tunnel, just as I'd imagined it would be. Well, jiggle my jellyfish! said Fishlegs, and the boys started running again. Hiccup was bruised all over, shaking from shock, and he had a nasty dragon wound in his calf. which was stinging like crazy from the salt water. He was freezing cold, and there was an irritating bit of seaweed in one of his sandals. He was also a bit worried because he knew he should not have risked his life trying to get a dragon for Fishlegs. That was not the act of a Viking hero. A Viking hero would know not to interfere Between Fishlegs and his fate. A Viking hero would know not to intervene between Fishlegs and his fate. On the other hand, Hiccup had been worrying about dragon-catching day for so long, or for longer than he could remember. He had been sure he would be the only one to come back without a dragon, and shame and embarrassment at