Tame | How To Train Your Dragon

The Pit was not marked on any Viking maps. It was the kind of place even seasoned dragon hunters avoided speaking about, let alone visiting. Shrouded in permanent mist and wrapped in jagged black rock, the island jutted from the sea like a broken fang. Its cliffs wept steam from vents that hissed like angry serpents, and deep within its bones, the earth still rumbled-as if the island itself shared the bloodlust of its scaly residents.

At its heart lay the crater. Not a natural one, though time and weather had since shaped it into something ancient and mythic. This hole had been earned-scorched out by generations of dragons unleashing their fury against one another in bouts of power, dominance, and primal instinct. The stone floor bore the scorch-marks of Monstrous Nightmares, the claw-gouges of Razorwhips, and the layered, eerie silence that followed each clash. It was as much a monument as an arena. A place dragons came to prove themselves, or die trying.

And at the rim of the crater stood a girl. Barefoot, ash-dusted, sharp-eyed.

Katla.