The next morning, Hiccup made good on his promise to return to Magnus, much to Astrid's annoyance. Frankly, he wasn't that thrilled about it, either, but if there was a chance Astrid would be safe, then it was worth it.

Hiccup braced himself for the tongue lashing of a lifetime when he walked into Magnus' house, but things were strangely quiet. The jailer barely glanced at him from his place at the table, and when he did speak, it was only an order to stay at the smithy until after sundown. Hiccup kept his head down, didn't look Magnus in the eye, spoke only to give a submissive "Yes, sir," and generally tried to be invisible. It seemed to work, even though it drove him crazy. He took a few pieces of bread from the counter and hurried out the door before Magnus could pin him down again. When he got to the smithy, Gobber was looking at him anxiously. "You okay? After last night?"

Last night, Hiccup would have said that he was absolutely not okay, but now it wasn't so bad. "I'm fine," he said. "Gothi got to me. Just a few bruised ribs, is all." He tried to sound nonchalant, but Gobber didn't seem so at ease. Their eyes met, and for a split second, the blacksmith's eyes shone with agony. Not from any physical pain, but because he cared about Hiccup the way he knew his father would have cared about him, because what Magnus was doing was wrong on so many different levels, because no one could do a thing about it and it wasn't fair.

The fire died down before Hiccup could figure out what it was. But he had a feeling that he knew, anyway. And that scared him.

"Gobber," he said, keeping his voice low.

"Yeah?" the blacksmith replied, noticing the change. He came over cautiously and started working on a spearhead, sharpening it on the wheel, letting the noise drown out their conversation.

"Magnus figured it out last night. He knows everything now. The rebellion, even me and Astrid."

"Does he know when?" Gobber asked, his face pale.

Hiccup shook his head. "Do you?"

Gobber thought for a second, then chuckled quietly. "No. We haven't really gone over that bit yet. Ironic, isn't it? We have the weapons, the motive, the numbers . . . and yet we haven't figured out the actual date of the thing."

Hiccup smiled a little. Then a thought struck him. "Gobber, what's going to happen to Astrid's family?" His voice shook a little, involuntarily voicing his fears.

Gobber paused and put down his work. This was serious. He sighed. "Do you want me to try to make you feel better, or do you want the cold hard truth?"

Hiccup scowled, which was enough of an answer for Gobber.

"In all honesty, Hiccup, I don't know. Magnus is extremely hard to predict, and he can offer mercy just as fast as he can raise the executioner's blade. If I had to guess, though, I'd say her father would probably get put in jail for a few months, but he wouldn't do anything to Astrid."

"What would stop him?" Hiccup asked. "What's the difference between hurting me and hurting her?"

"You're in Magnus' charge. She isn't. And unless he wants the entire Hofferson clan baying for his blood, he won't go after her." He wasn't kidding. Astrid's family was comprised of some of the fiercest warriors Berk had ever seen. To even try to take them on singlehandedly—because that's what would end up happening with Magnus being the most unpopular guy in town—was suicide. And, fortunately for Astrid, Magnus knew it.

Hiccup sighed, relieved. "So she's safe."

"As safe as one can be with him snooping around." Gobber jerked his head in a vague gesture toward the window, where Magnus was trying—valinatly—and failing—miserably— to make polite small talk. Hiccup edged further into the safety of Gobber's shadow.

"Ack!" Gobber huffed suddenly, signaling that their secret discussion was over. "The forge is dying down again." He checked the cabinets. "And I'm near out of wood."

"You want me to go get some?" Hiccup offered.

"Aye. Mind you don't get lost, though. I still need you back here." He handed Hiccup a small axe and sent him into the forest.

Hiccup jogged down the path to the woods, ignoring the heaviness in his arm when it began to complain about the weight of the axe. The familiar sounds of the village melted away, and a certain tranquility settled over him like a blanket. From past experience, he knew there was a spot deeper in with plenty of low-hanging branches that he could take back to Gobber for the forge, and he remembered the way pretty well.

After a few minutes, he came to the area and set to chopping off some of the dead vines. That done, he started on the larger, thicker pieces that would keep the fire going longer. At one point, the axe got stuck deep in the tree trunk. Hiccup tugged hard at it, but it didn't budge. He gave it another try, almost pulling his arm out of the socket. His hands gave out and he stumbled backwards with a yelp, tripping on the wood pile and landing flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He lay still for a moment, but he didn't seem to be injured, so he got to his feet. The axe definitely wasn't going anywhere at this point. He'd have to make a new one before Gobber ran out of wood again.

A low rumble floated through the thicket and Hiccup froze, wondering if it was just the trees groaning like they sometimes did when the wind was strong.

But there was no wind to speak of, not even the faintest breeze.

He heard the rumble again, only it sounded a lot more like a growl. The hair on the back of his neck standing erect, Hiccup turned slowly . . . and came face-to-face with a mountain lion.

Trembling, air shuddering in and out of his lungs, Hiccup backed up, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the lion, who lowered itself closer to the ground, stalking closer and closer, agonizingly slow in its approach. Hiccup tried to retreat further, but his hands only met rough bark and no escape.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small opening in a hollow log a few feet to his right. If he could just get a little closer, he might be able to squeeze through and find a place to hide until the mountain lion lost interest. Praying desperately for luck, Hiccup threw all caution to the wind and dove for the opening.

The lion roared and sprang forward, covering the space between them in less than a heartbeat. It was too close, Hiccup knew, too close for safety. The lion stuck its massive paw in and swatted at empty air. Hiccup cringed away, hoping the meager shelter would be enough.

No such luck.

A horrifying crack sounded just above Hiccup's head, and through the cracks he saw the lion pounding on the log's weak spots, throwing all of its weight down to break in. Hiccup knew he couldn't wait a moment longer. With no weapon of any fashion, he was utterly defenseless. His only hope of survival was to run.

The lion finally broke through the log, and in terror, Hiccup catapulted himself out of his hiding place and made a break for the path, instinct for survival hoping he'd make it back to town, common sense telling him it was futile, instinct for survival telling common sense to shut up and run.

But, as is often the case, "shut up" just translates into "you're right and I don't want to admit it".

Hiccup heard the pounding of the lion's paws hitting the ground, felt how dangerously, horribly close it was, and kept going as fast as he possibly could. The lion was faster. In a split second, it lashed out with one paw again, this time catching Hiccup across his left leg. Hiccup cried out and stumbled, staying upright through willpower alone. He knew he was hurt, bad, but he had to keep going. It was either that or get turned into cat food.

The lion screeched and pounced, claws out, aiming for Hiccup's neck. He twisted away at the last second, catching the blow on his shoulder instead. The pain made his vision spin and he lost all balance, collapsing. A heavy weight fell on him, paralyzing him, making it impossible to move. He stared up at the lion in horror, watching its nostrils flare. It had smelled blood. A small part of him thought, No! This can't be it! There has to be a way! But the rest of him was too deeply engulfed in terror and he couldn't do anything except scream and hope against hope that somebody, anybody, would come to his rescue.

The lion flinched at the sharp, loud noise, but it didn't retreat. To be more specific, it lowered its head, teeth bared, going for the neck, and—

The weight was suddenly lifted off of Hiccup's body in a tangle of snarls and roars, pitch black and tawny gold. Hiccup didn't waste a second in crawling to the other side of the thicket, as far away from the fighting beasts as he could get. This also gave him a better vantage point, from where he could now tell what had just saved him from getting eaten alive.

First, and most obvious, were the black scales covering the creature from head to toe. Next, a long tail with two large fins at the end. Then a pair of huge, powerful wings that beat the air furiously. They had to be at least twenty feet in length.

The lion screamed, a haunting, unnerving sound, and charged the intruder. The black creature rose up on its hind legs, hissed, and a jet of white-hot flame shot out of its mouth, creating a wall of fire between the two. The lion wailed and slunk off to nurse its singed tail. The black creature bellowed its victory, pumping its wings before slamming its forepaws into the ground hard, as if to say, "And don't ever come back!" Then it turned to face him and Hiccup found himself immediately sucked in, hypnotized by its piercing green eyes. It was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

And suddenly it all clicked and Hiccup thought, Oh, Thor. Oh . . . Thor . . .

Standing before him was a Night Fury.