π₯» βββ do you remember me? (( * from hiccup haddock. ))
βπ·πΈπ π πΎπΈπ²π΄ πΈπ ππ·π΄ ππ°πΌπ΄ ππ΄π π²π·π°π½πΆπ΄π³ π°π»π» ππ·π΄ ππ°πΌπ΄βΈ» not in sound (she recalls the cadence, how he cautiously placed words like stepping stones) but weight. it's grown firm; patience clinging to the timbre, replacing the erratic uncertainty he once possessed. there's a newfound calm to be noted: fear is not absent but he's learnt to master it, like he's walked through fire and decided it would not define him. β you changed. β she replies, barely louder than a breath as she observes his hut on dragons edge, considering her next course of action, still marvelled at her findings. the ceiling beams arch low, hung with things that don't belong together: coils of rope, metal hooks, bits of carved wood, mechanisms she can't name. some gleam in the light, polished by careful hands; others bare soot and scratches, a residue of trial and error. it's less of a room and more like the inside of an innovative mind; restless, searching, alive. she remembers that about him...
one corner of his mouth lifts, a crooked motion bridging between then and now: 'yeah, i get that a lot...' the boy she knew always seemed misplaced in his own skin, all lanky limbs and sheer doubt. this figure is something else entirely: his silhouette has lengthened itself into confidence; gone was the almost apologetic way he held himself. he's steady now, balanced like the archipelago trusted him not to falter. his hair grew wilder, shaping him like a banner of independence, sun-streaked and untamed, echoing the sky-rider he became. she likes the little braids. β you are different. taller. but... i would know you. β the soft youth of his face sharpened into angles of resolve, though not lacking kindness. his eyes are the same startling green, forever fixed on distant horizons, perpetually in conversation with possibilities unseen. a brief glance casts her gaze downward; ever the honest thing, she notes aloud without a hint of humour: β you had two feet, then. β
the hooligan tribe's lone heir sits beside her, wrapped in the quiet authority of someone who learned to survive being underestimated, and is now passing down his wisdom. she studies him, but before he can reply, crosses their distance in a sudden, unthinking rush, stripped of invisible rules most were taught during childhood. itching fingers break personal boundaries as she reaches forth, touching the prominent mark beneath his lower lip. thumb finds flesh abruptly, pressing against the pale crescent of scar tissue as if confirming he's real, like he might vanish if she doesn't anchor him. @dragnese startles, breath catching, whole body stilling in surprise. β i remember this. β
not tentative or polite, she traces it with blunt familiarity, memories oozing like the cut on her leg from long ago. (orange splits the horizon. smoke clawing at her lungs. meaty fists dragging her while she fought like a feral and cornered beast. amongst the commotion: a child running toward her, not away. shouting, stumbling, refusing to let anything root him to the ground. his fathers voice, her chief, booming and loud and promising aid.) β youβ¦ tried to help. when they took me. we were friends? your dad tried, also. β she fails to notice that she should have stepped back by now, provided space and softened the intensity of the moment into something more acceptable. she had forgotten how to do that. or perhaps she never learned.
β you were small. like me. but still tried to save me. β berk lived within her like a wound that hadn't closed properly, and only now does she remember why. what a place that had been, a home belonging to another girl in another time. a home with a mother she's beginning to recall. β ...they hurt you? alvin? i saw you fall. β
