How To Train Your Outlaw

The Sheriff

Astrid POV:

I stood up slowly as I watched the line rider walk into Gobber's Saloon. He had the balls to glare at me. He clearly doesn't know who I am. I'm Astrid Hofferson, the Sheriff of Berk. And the first woman to become Sheriff.

This little town of ours isn't like others. Berk, small town south of nowhere and north of empty land. Here, everyone is equal. It's better that way, everyone is happy. Only problem is, the local tribes and bandits decided to raid this town more,  I have no idea how they found us. That rider was the first person to come here in a long time. The last person to leave was Henry. That poor boy. Lost his mom to tribes then the constant teasing and being pushed around. He's probably dead by now. The west is no place for a small weak boy like him. Even though, I still feel bad for how he was treated. I didn't bully him but I didn't exactly help. I shook my head as I stood up and walked down the steps of the jailhouse. Bobbie, our own little town stable-boy, not really a boy since he's 75 years old, was brushing my horse.

"Bobbie, what do you think of that lone rider?" I asked him I as walked down the old wooden steps, each one creaking.

"Well, sheriff, I reckon he has had a long ride. Must be tired and needing of a drink," he rubbed his chin a little. "Although, he does have a certain dark feeling. Gave me the chills."

We both heard a loud crash coming from the Saloon. I narrowed my eyes and tighten my jaw. Kicking the dust up around me, I began to jog over, my blonde hair bouncing everywhere. I reached the saloon and rushed up the steps. "What the hell is going in here?!" I announced my presence to the bar.

"Astrid, that newcomer over at the bar assaulted me!" My deputy, Snotlout said to me. Yes his name is Snotlout, don't ask. His face was bruised and he was cradling his arm. I looked over at the bar and saw the loner rider sitting down drinking whiskey, his long black coat, with a strange symbol on his back.  His hat still sat on his head, hiding his face, no doubt an ugly one.

"Hey, newcomer, I don't know who you are but I will kindly ask you to come with me," I said respectfully, something my 'glorious' deputy does not have. The stranger stayed silent. I grabbed his shoulder, "Mister, I asked for yo-" I was cut off by him twirling around, shrugging off my hand, then he jabbed the heel of his hand into my chest. I stumbled back and coughed. Falling to my knees, my hat fell off, my hair hanging down. I heard gasps from the crowd. I heard footsteps pass by me, heavy ones, with the sound of metal clinking together.

"Thanks for the drink Gobber. Looks like I'm not wanted here." The lone rider called to our bartender, Gobber. How did he know his name? I tried to stand up but fell down again. I grunted and finally stood up. I watched as the newcomer walked out the door.

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?" I yelled at him, picking up my hat. I threw the doors open and looked for him, I saw his black horse but I didn't see him. Suddenly I felt a cold piece of metal pressing against my skull. I slowly turned my head and all I saw was the barrel of a six shooter. My eyes widened and looked up at the man behind the gun. His forest green eyes staring at me, burning a hole through my own eyes. He was wearing a dusty bandana so there was no way of telling what he looked like.

"Stop following me." He narrowed his eyes.

"Let's just calm down, I need you to put the gun down, you don't want lawmen after you, do you?" I said to him.

"They don't scare me," he replied, he raised his hand, he had my sheriff's badge, "So you're the sheriff huh?"

"Yes I am, now I suggest you release me." I said to him.

"No." He said sternly. He tossed my badge to his left. He pulled out a second gun and shot the golden star in mid-air. I jumped from the sound.

PA-TING!!

I watched as my badge hit the ground, with a large hole right in the middle of it.

"What the hell?!" I yelled at him, I tried to step forward but he kneed me in the gut and pressed the second gun to my head. I was pinned, there was nothing I could do.

"WHAT IN ODIN'S NAME IS GOIN' ON OUT HERE!" A thunderous voice boomed across the middle of town. And there he was, a rarity now a days, our mountain of a man we call a mayor, Stoick.