learning to fly, how to train your dragon

001. her berk

chapter one
001. her berk!

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    BERK, for Freya Balderofferson was something more than the village she was born in. It was more than the village she grew up in▬that she was forced a connection with even before she could understand what a connection was. It was more than a village with people she couldn't feel more unattached to (at least, she tried to be). It was more than some freezing cold climate that brittled her bones and▬some years▬wouldn't see the sun to melt the snow until months had passed. Berk wasn't just the village, it was the island. Freya might not like her village, but the island she stood upon, that she felt between her toes and breathed into her lungs ... that was what became Berk to her.

    An island twelve days north of hopeless, and just a few degrees south of freezing to death. An island built upon a shore of rich, icy and dangerous waters▬they lapped at the base of stone formations that had built their way up from the bottom of the sea to one day▬as some say▬reach their spot in Valhalla past the clouds. An island guarded by two Vikings to show the way for fisherman, traders and wayward warriors in search of their home, welcomed back as soon as they saw the fire within their stone warriors' mouths. From there, they'd sail through to find a mainland located solidly on the meridian of misery.

    A mainland beautiful in the day, especially at this time of year. When it wasn't covered under snow, they saw the grass upon the cliffside; pastures and pastures of grass with wonderful wildflowers▬interlocking docks that spread across the intertwining formations to the houses Freya has been told many times were nothing if they weren't sturdy. Farms, cobblestone paths, tailors huts, fisherman's hideouts and the cozy wooden cottage▬all of which have been on this island for seven generations, but every single building was new.

    Hidden under the towering Dragonscale Cliff, tucked away from the endless, brilliant green forests, lakes, creeks, caves and waterfalls▬the places Freya gazed upon each day and wished she could explore▬was the village she was supposed to be grateful to have been given. A village where the residents: the Hairy Hooligans of Berk, a population of ... great ... Vikings, were tough, ugly and sometimes even uglier with rocks for bladders, pebbles for teeth and even sturdier skulls to hide the smaller-than-average brain. Tall, burly, with thick hair, crooked grins (and sometimes eyes), and beautiful singing voices▬they loved their meat, their mead and most definitely loved their axes and hammers.

    A place that has many things: fishing, hunting and charming views of the sunsets.

    One of the things that didn't make Freya grateful for it (amongst other things) were the pests.

    In the mornings, most charming islands such as these have pests such as mice, or mosquitoes.

    But even before the sunrise, where the darkest hour settled upon the quaint village of Berk, the night became something far from peaceful. It was at this time their pests loved to raze the ground upon which this sturdy village was built.

    For they had something no other island had:

    They had dragons.

    Most people▬when the early morning night lit up with fire and screams▬would stay tucked in their homes, praying for their lives. Not them. They were Vikings, they had stubbornness issues. And while Freya hated the pests of her home, they never stopped her from being dragged out at this time, ducking past the sprinting Vikings with their weapons held up high, diving around dragons that scorched the stone of her footsteps to a place now deserted in the chaotic fray.