PerfectAstrid considered herself to have a high threshold for pain. She'd been scraped, scratched, cut, bruised, sprained all in the process of training to become the warrior she expected to be. She felt the pain but for the most part blocked the feeling. Physical pain was not fun, but she didn't try to spend too much time feeling it and letting it bog her mind down when there were more important things to worry about in life.Perfect in Fan Fiction More Like This
But for the first time in her life the pain was overwhelming, and she couldn't suppress her screaming. There was no ailment, none except to get it over with.
It was an annoying command said yet again, for what seemed to be times too many. The bossy vocals of the woman at the end of the bed, looking between Astrid's legsit made her weary and annoyed though she knew she shouldn't have been, the lady was only trying to help.
Though she was pushing, she had and had been for what seemed a day though the labor had only started a few hours ago.
Vestige - 1Vestige - 1 in Scraps More Like This
Chapter 1 At Last
This is Berk.
It snows nine months of the year, and hails the other three.
Any food that grows here is tough and tasteless.
The people that grow here are even more so.
The only upsides are the pets.
Where some people have ponies or parrots...
...we have dragons.
A small dragon known as a Terrible Terror landed flat on the sleeping boy's face, chittering loudly.
Most people would be put off housing with vicious, fire-breathing reptiles.
The Terror gave the boy a friendly flame-burst hello before fluttering up to the shoulder of its master: a burly, dark-haired man sporting a scar from brow to cheek on the right side of his face. The boy took him in blearily.
Not us. We're Vikings.
The boy rubbed his face, checking to make sure his eyebrows were still there.
We can handle it.
"Rise and shine, Hiccup! Time to get moving," said the man. He moved to the next sleep
Vestige - 2Vestige - 2 in Scraps More Like This
Chapter 2 Berk
Astrid Hofferson took no notice when the rest of the meat from the cellar was loaded into the large saddlebags straddling the three pack-Nadders. She didn't hear Spitelout hounding everyone to make sure their loads were strapped down good and tight. And she didn't see the old hunter enter the lodge one last time, sweeping it for anything left behind and extinguishing the fire before grabbing his cloak and fastening the door, shutting everything within up in frozen, slightly cobwebby darkness until the next hunting party arrived.
Astrid sat alone in a field a hundred yards to the south, ten feet up on the broad blue back of her Nadder, absently fingering the blade of her axe as it hung in the saddle's holster.
As soon as Hiccup had taken his sweet, squeaky time to lug Astrid's supply basket out, she had directed her dragon down onto its haunches and hefted the load up over the saddle to tie it down. F