Wandering around amongst the raining ashes, Rooster coughed slightly before calling out for probably the hundredth time, "Max!" Letting out yet another cough, he looked around. All he could see was smoke and charred rocks and ash. "MAX!" the chief shouted, louder this time. He was about to yell again when he spotted something white in the distance.
The Rabbu, his son's dragon, alone.
His heart sinking in his chest, Rooster ran towards the downed dragon. The other Vikings slowly followed behind him. Everyone was fearing that the worst had happened. Making it over to the Rabbu, Rooster stared sorrowfully at it. The beast was laying on his side, looking hurt and exhausted. The prosthetic tail fin was gone. There was no sign of Max anywhere. Unable to hold back his tears anymore, Rooster crumbled to his knees. Kneeling before the dragon, he looked Snowball in the eye and whispered, "I'm so sorry..."
Blinking his sky blue eyes quietly, Snowball bowed his head. A small purr rumbled in his throat. Unfolding his wings, he revealed Max. The Viking teenager was pressed against the dragon's chest. Other than a few burns and covered in soot, he was in one piece. Gasping, Rooster grabbed his son and checked for a pulse. Finding it, he cried, "He's alive! My son is alive!"
Cheers erupted amongst the gathered crowd of Vikings. They were joined by the dragons. Gazing down gratefully at the Rabbu, Rooster placed his hand on Snowball's head. Looking the dragon in the eye, he whispered softly, "Thank you for saving my son."
"Well, you know," Pops muttered, coming up behind Rooster, "Most of him."
