Fresh meats and veggies filled the cabin air. Zephyr hid upstairs so as to not be asked to help cook. Thankfully, her father was cooking tonight and not her mother. If the Thunderdrum didn't kill Chief Ragnar, then her mother's Yaknog pudding would...
Zephyr shivered at the thought. She sat up in her bed and looked over the railing of the loft. Nuffink was quietly sharpening his knifes in the corner, her mother sat aggressively peeling potatoes inside the kitchen, probably angry she isn't allowed inside to help cook, while her father ran about the kitchen, specs of food products peeking out of his beard. She pulled her head back inside the loft and ducked underneath her bed.
Zephyr grabbed a leather bound notebook and pulled it on top of her bed. She untied the string that kept the book closed and took up the "pencil"— which was really just a long stick of graphite covered in cloth to prevent stains. She opened the journal and flopped through the pages of ever person she's ever interacted, each one penciled in nice and neat with a large (sometimes crudely drawn) picture of the person next to their "column of facts".
For example, Salmonfoot the Fisherman has an extra pinkie toe on his foot, the farmer down by the fields has an eye disorder, Zack Ingerman enjoys boar chasing with his cousin Dash Thorston. Boar chasing! Zephyr giggled softly and turned over the Dash Thorston page, who's allegedly stole almost half of New Berk's metal coins to forge mini battle axes, to the newly created sheets for Chief Ragnar Blackfydre and his suspicious daughter Dae.
Zephyr frowned at the picture of Dae, who she drew with a permanent frowny face with thick, slanted eyebrows and ridiculously large arm muscles. Her facts column consisted of one fact, something that describes the woman perfectly:
- Lying ᛒᛁᛏᚲᚺ
Zephyr smirked to herself, a silent victory against Dae, before she turned her attention towards the page that was dedicated to her father. Without realizing it, she drew him like some sort of fairytale Prince; sharp jawline, shining eyes, strong arms that could snap a tree in half—
Zephyr slapped herself across the face. 'No, bad Zephyr!' She screamed in her mind. Besides, she had other things to worry about...like how Dae and Ragnar were attacked by a freaking sea dragon and lied about it!? She groaned and pushed her head inside her pillow. Suddenly, the steps to her loft were creaking and cracking so hard it seemed as if they were breaking.
"No Dad, I don't want to help you baste the turducken with you—" She mumbled loudly into her pillow.
"What's a turducken, lass?!" A voice boomed back. Zephyr shot up from her bed and turned towards the voice.
"Grandpa Gobber!" She exclaimed, breaking out into a large smile. She leaped from her bed and ran into her godfathers arms whilst laughing happily. Her godfather responded by picking the girl up and wrapping his arms around her, his prosthetic metal hand pressing into her back, sending a chill down her spine. Gobber let go of her, placing his large hands on her shoulders.
"Let ma look atcha, lass," Gobber told her, pretending to scan her up and down. "Ah, yes, you've grown an inch talla!" Zephyr smiled widely.
"And you have more gray hairs in your beard." Zephyr shot back playfully, earning a hair ruffle by her godfather's calloused hands. The pair sat on her bed with Zephyr discreetly pushing off her journal onto the left side of her bed. Even at sixty-five years old, her beloved godfather traveled throughout the Barbaric Archipelago selling his handmade prosthetics and weapons. His visits home included special visits with his "favorite granddaughter".
"Ah gotcha somethin'," Gobber boomed, pulling a rectangular box tied with twine out from one of his many pockets. "Ya know, early birthday present." He handed her the box. Zephyr laid the present on her lap and unwinded the twine bow and opened the box. She gasped, as what laid inside took her speech away: A medium sized dagger, it's blade a cool silver and sparkling new. The handle was carved from the trunk of a Sitka spruce, sanded down to prevent any splinters during use. A small logo of a dragon, a Timberwing she presumed, was burned into the butt of the dagger.
YOU ARE READING
Lightning And Fire
Fanfiction"This is New Berk. It's twelve days North of hopeless, and a few degrees South of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My village. In a word, sturdy. It's been here for seven generations, but every single building is ne...
