Flight of the Rocket Ripper: Chapter 2

  I know what you're thinking. Of course I'm afraid of dragons! They're built for killing in the most painful, inescapable ways possible, their roars are terrifying and they aren't exactly the most cuddly animals in the world. Any living thing in it's right mind would have a healthy fear of dragons!

  Well, you're not a Viking.

  Vikings are expected to be tough, dangerous, and most of all fearless. Especially when it comes to our number-one enemy, dragons. Plus, now, there's no excuse. Dragons are basically our pets, part of the village, and I still can't get near one.

  Back when they were pests to us, I just curled up in a corner when they attacked and hoped nobody noticed me hiding instead of trying to get a piece of the action like the other kids my age. And if anybody asked or saw me, I just made up some lame excuse or something. If they suspected I was scared, it wasn't such a big deal.

  Now I really don't have any reason to be afraid of dragons because they aren't completely dangerous anymore.

  But I don't trust them! Who's to say they won't turn on us the next time there's a famine or whatever?

  And, um....it's not just that. When I was, like, ten, my parents and I lived in a hut to ourselves. My mom baked for the Gathering Hall, like I do now, and my Dad was a warrior. He was proud, stubborn, just like every Viking. But he wasn't harsh and commanding like the other fathers of the village. I remember he used to take me out in the woods, just me and him, and I used to get so excited and want to impress him really bad. He taught me how to throw a knife, and he was going to teach me how to throw an axe, but we never got that far.

  One night, three years ago on Snoggletogg  (Which is a really dumb name for a festive Holiday we have in the winter) the dragons had a nightly raid on our village. Mom never let me go out during these nights, so unlike the other Viking kids, I wasn't used to seeing fire and chaos and hearing war cries and roaring.

  So when the Monstrous Nightmare got hit by one of the catapults and crashed through our roof, lighting itself and the hut on fire in the process, I was completely unprepared. I remember Mom telling me to jump out the window, hearing my Dad challenge the dragon...Everything happened really quickly, so it's all a blur.

  You'd think I would remember the last night I saw my parents vividly, but I try so hard to forget that it's starting to work.

  Most kids lose their parents before they can walk on Berk, so I'm not special or anything. It's just...I guess the way mom sheltered me, how Dad never taught me the basics of fighting dragons, and the way they were killed just all added up to give me my phobia.

  Now the only dragon I let anywhere near me is Scramble, the Terrible Terror my Aunt has, but even he and I don't get along. If he sneaks up on me and surprises me so that I don't realize who he is, it's still scares me as bad as if he were attacking me. I pretty much avoid him, and forget about him coming in my room! The thing that freaks me out the most about dragons is their eyes. Reptile eyes are so cold, so emotionless, like they could roast you without a second thought, and they're so intelligent-looking it's scary.

  Not having a dragon these days, plus working at the most boring job on Berk, AND being as...well, non-social as I am means no friends at all. Good thing no one notices me. I may as well be invisible. I'd like to be friends with Fishlegs or, you know, Astrid or Ruffnut. All of Hiccup's gang of dragon trainers always look like they're having the time of their lives. But that'll never happen.

  My parents were the last thing I wanted to remember about as I jogged through the rain towards my job. Who wants to spend their "Sweet Sixteen" without their mom and dad?

  But Vikings don't think like that.

  I glanced up and down, right and left, into the little spaces between huts and at the stormy sky, on the watch for pet dragons. They were everywhere--a Hideous Zippleback pressing itself under the roof of a hut to avoid the rain, keeping it's fire-breathing head out of the water--a Gronkle wallowing in the mud near the village center with one of it's buddies--a Monstrous Nightmare chasing two Terrible Terrors up in the sky who were carrying a trout between them.

  Anyway, I was so busy being paranoid and afraid the Deadly Nadder I was passing would decide it wanted to come closer that I totally wasn't watching where I was going. Which was probably the main reason for me ramming right into none other than Hiccup Haddock.

We both fell flat into the mud.

  I scrambled to my feet. "Oh, sorry!" I yelped nervously. I wasn't naturally shy, but it was kind of embarrassing, running into the chief's son like that. He could have noticed me casting nervous looks at the dragons around me and guessed my big secret. Like I said, he's smart. I wouldn't put it past him to figure out my fear.

  I reached down to help him up. He was carrying a leather dragon saddle under one arm. As he reached up to accept my hand, I couldn't help but glance at his fake leg. He lost the real one in a fight against a giant dragon that had been basically making the other dragons hunt and steal from us to feed it. Supposedly they wouldn't have attacked us so often if not for their giant master, but I don't know if I believe it.

"Oh, no big deal, I wasn't watching where I was--" Hiccup didn't look at me as he took my hand and dusted off his fur vest, but after he bent to pick up his saddle he finally straightened up and squinted through the rain. "--Ahh, hey, Uh, don't you work at the Gathering Hall?" he shook a finger at me and hefted his saddle.

"Oh, Uh, yeah. I'm Arabella." I swept my bangs up like I do when I'm feeling awkward. Great. Finally noticed, and only because I have the lamest job on the island. "Heading there now actually. Sorry I knocked you over."

  Hiccup smiled politely. "That's okay," he began fiddling with his saddle buckles.

I chewed the inside of my lip, another thing I take to when I'm thinking  or nervous. Well, I'll never get the nerve to strike up a conversation with him again, so I might as well try to get acquainted now. Perfect timing, out in the rain, huh? But on Berk we're used to it.

"Um, where are you going?" I asked, gathering my courage.

  There was a sharp whistling of air which Hiccup hardly noticed but basically made my heart leap into my throat. The Night Fury. Hiccup's dragon. It had flown up right behind him.

  It gazed at me through the sheets of rain, regarding me with it's cat-like green eyes. Toothless was the only Night Fury ever seen, the first dragon to be ridden or trained, and the most intelligent and capable. I froze, trying to breathe or swallow or something, almost as afraid of Hiccup noticing my irrational fear as I was of the  midnight-blue-black beast staring at me behind him.

  It's eyes were so--so cold and intelligent and wild, I couldn't do anything but lean back and stare, open-mouthed, trying not to scream.

  Hiccup absent-mindedly rubbed Toothless's smooth nose as the dragon bumped his arm impatiently. "Huh? Oh, I was just gonna take Toothless here out for a..."

  He happened to glance up from the saddle at me and drew his eyebrows together in puzzlement. I tried to act casual, but I couldn't stop glancing at the big black monster and I was still having trouble getting my knees to quit shaking. "Uh-hum, you okay?" he gave me a suspicious look and followed my gaze to Toothless.

  "Uh....uhhhh..." I whimpered, my voice squeaking. "Y-Yeah! I'm just, ummm, g-going to, uhh..." I couldn't take my eyes off Toothless as he flicked those weird ear-like appendages on the top of his head up and down, and flared his nostrils.

  "...B-Bye!" I stammered and turned, slipping in the mud, running as fast as my shaking legs could carry me to the Gathering Hall, trying to get the streaked, intense green gaze of the Night Fury out of my brain.

  I pulled open the huge oak doors and, dripping, hurried through the tables and past the giant pillars, hopping over the counter and dodging a burly old Viking named Smog the Smell in his way to the door with a pot of rotten fish. He's named that way because he SMELLS like rotten fish all the time.

  Smog has a graying black beard that is mangled and gross, and it always had tiny fish bones or old mutton stuck in it. Other than that, he's bald and missing several teeth. He's always got a bad attitude, probably because he's retired from fighting and has to work in the kitchen. "Ye're late, lass." he rumbled.

  "I-I know." I stammered. I probably would have sounded more annoyed if I wasn't so shook up from the encounter with the Night Fury.

  "What's a'matter with ye, lass?" the old Viking noticed my trembling voice as he dumped the spoiled salmon outside. I was actually on the verge of tears, I think, from the adrenaline rush, but I studiously try to keep the village, besides my Aunt from realizing what a wimp I am.

  "Nothing, Smog." I managed, adding, "Woah..." as I balanced several heavy pots stacked in my arms and plopped them into a barrel positioned under