Claws gripping the wooden dragon head that stuck out from the roof of his rider’s house, Toothless stared out into the sky with a heavy, concerned frown. The clouds hung low and dark, a deep rumbling echoing through the sky. His wings shook at his sides, tail fin flaring weakly as the wind picked up and swept anything that was light enough and not nail down along the ground.
Vikings were indoors, dragons were in houses or in barns, knowing a storm would strike any moment because, after all, there would be no other reason for the late afternoon sky turning dark and cold and dangerous in a matter of minutes.
The storm would hit any minute, Toothless knew this, he was adapt to flying straight through the storm itself so he knew storms like the back of his tail fin, but other dragons weren’t like him, and if one Gronkle decided it didn’t like the cramped quarters of it’s safe place and venture outside, well, the metal on it’s saddle would certainly attract trouble.
Leaping from the roof, Toothless began to jog to where the forest and the village met, wanting to make sure everyone was inside. He decided to go around the outskirts of the village first before heading through the village, figuring it was the quickest way to make sure everyone is safe before heading back inside himself.