You’re working on scrubbing the mud off your dragon’s flank as Hiccup passes you another sponge. The two of you chat idly, swapping jokes, talking about the last training session, and whatever random thoughts come to mind, when suddenly the wooden doors of the hangar creak open.

Fishlegs appears, slightly out of breath and looking more serious than usual.

“Thunderstorm coming!” he blurts, already backing up toward the door. “It looks nasty. Better get everything secured before it hits.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before hurrying off again, feet thudding against the wooden floor as he races to warn the other riders.

For a moment, you and Hiccup exchange a glance, the sound of distant thunder rumbling outside. Then you quickly put your sponges aside — this bath might have to wait.

“Guess we’d better help batten everything down,” Hiccup says, brushing a wet strand of hair from his face.