Javor Thorhamarr

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The sun shone brightly from the clear spring sky and reflected in innumerable blinding sparkles off the ocean waves many dragon's-lengths distant as Javor strode through the bustling Hooligan Village.  He was returning from the Great Hall, where Hiccup --Chief Hiccup, he had to remind himself, still unused to operating within the tribe-- had just asked the Dragon Riders to check up on the Defenders of the Wing, an allied tribe.  From what he had been told, these "Defenders" were a proud, ancient people, noble warriors who revered dragons almost as gods.  He wondered how they lived, and what their village was like.  Almost, he again remembered his own village, but expelled the thought before it could fully form.  What was done was done, and there was no way it could be undone.  He couldn't dwell on the past; he must focus on the here and now, and that meant preparing himself and his dragon for a long flight.  

The Viking smiled, and began to walk more quickly.  Though he was slowly adjusting to life on New Berk, he was excited to have a good reason to leave for a short time.  Though not the happiest period of his 22 years, especially not at first, he rather missed the days of freely exploring the world with his dragon, having no ties to anyone but the Monstrous Nightmare.  Speaking of...

Having now left the confines of the village proper, Javor cupped his hands to his mouth and roared an imitation of the fiery dragons' call, refined through long practice to be virtually indistinguishable to an untrained ear.  Within minutes, there was an answering call, and he soon was treated to the sight of his majestic, mighty friend breaking from the forest canopy and circling before landing in front of him.  The sun played along the Nightmare's scales, rippling with the easily-working muscles underneath as he flew, and shone through his outstretched wings, making their flame-like patterns almost look as if they were truly burning.  Even as lost as he was in the glorious sight of his dragon in motion, a sight that could never grow old, the young man couldn't help but smirk at that last thought; his dragon's kind was the only one where there could be any mistake about that.  He quietly enjoyed the simple joke for a few moments while his dragon settled, then looked him in the face.

"Alright Firelash, ready to fly?  Hiccup --er, the Chief-- asked that some of us Dragon Riders fly out to an island called 'Caldera Cay' to check up on some of their --our-- allies.  I don't know who else will be going yet, but it's going to be a long flight, so we'll need to prepare.  Care to drop me off at the hut?  I should pack some extra equipment, like my bow and arrows.  We'll have to land and rest along the way, so I'd like to be equipped for hunting."

Firelash let out an excited cry, lowering his powerful neck to let his rider mount.  He was always up for a new adventure!  Javor rested a hand on one of the dragon's horns and vaulted to his neck in a motion of well-practiced fluidity.  The Nightmare looked back to see that he was ready, then took a running leap skyward.

There was one thing more glorious than watching his dragon in action, and that was being a part of that action.  No matter how many times he experienced it, the thrill of takeoff, the sensation of dragonflight, gave the Viking a rush unlike anything else in the world.  There could be no doubt:  This was where he belonged, on the back of a dragon, his dragon.  Let come what may!  As long as Firelash was with him, there was nothing they couldn't handle!  Even as he thought it, the logical corner of his mind declared it a foolish notion.  Still, he felt it was true, and he relished that feeling.

Much too soon, the short flight to his hut, built a short distance into the forest which bounded the village, was over.  Firelash landed in the clearing in front of the simple structure, and Javor slipped from his neck.  Entering the building, the young man took his unstrung longbow from where it hung by its nail catch beside the doorway, looked it over, bent it, then satisfied with its condition, picked up his quiver.  This he strapped on, then hooking the bow to the back his baldric, looked around the single room.  Was there anything else he should pack?  He grabbed two earthenware flasks from a shelf, filled them from the water barrel next to the door, corked them, and strapped them to his belt.  He made sure he had his hatchet and a sharpening stone, and tucked a length of sinew into another of the several leathern pouches hanging from his belt.  A lump of soap and his sunstone completed his equipment.  Finished, he returned to his dragon.

"Alright, I think I'm ready.  How about you?"

Firelash roared, and Javor laughed.

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're excited.  I am, too.  Let's go!  We'll meet our wingmates atop the southernmost cliff, then head for the Archipelago."

Firelash roared again, and the Viking settled himself in his accustomed place astride his dragon's neck.  Again they took to the air, and one more short flight brought them to the rendezvous.

"Alright, everyone here?"