Pitch frowned. He was not happy. Scaring children had become indefinitely more difficult over time, as those wretched Guardians (even thinking about them made him shudder) grew more powerful and spread their petty little hope and dreams and wonder. It was absolutely revolting.
Because of his frustration, Pitch decided to take a walk. No, he was not leaping from shadow to shadow, as usual. He was traipsing through the thin trees of a forest, on edge and hands almost clenched. He was deteriorating. More and more children had ceased to be afraid, and therefore ceased to see him anymore. Pitch was weak, and while he hated to admit that, it was true.
In the cover of the night, Pitch moved wordlessly through the forest. Years of life in the shadows had taught him how to be silent. The darkness of this terrain had suited him well. It was aphotic and scary and unnerving. Well, not to him. But to everyone else, it was.
Pitch quietly slid between two trees and came to the edge of the woods. He took one look at the carts of axes and maces and the horned metal helms and knew the name of the place... Berk. It was where that damned Frost had befriended... who was it? Haddock. Hiccup Haddock. Pitch shook his head, staring distastefully at all the lit windows.
Suddenly there was a rustle to his left. Pitch instinctively backed up into the darkness and looked to see the source. Huge eyes and black horns... Pitch was almost scared for a second. But only for a second. He recovered soon after realizing it was Toothless, the Hiccup's companion. Pitch knew that he was quite harmless and affable.
But he knew better. Dragons always have had a beastly nature within them.
Still face to face with Toothless, Pitch walked forth from the darkness again and gazed unwaveringly into the large eyes.
