You were a dragon rider, one of the only ones that were still alive after the massive murder of the dragons. Of course you had to hide it and you were pretty good at hiding it, that until now.

You were flying with your dragon; Crimson (it's a boy). You both were flying high in the sky, in between clouds. Flying from home? Not a smart idea, but flying over an unknown Viking village, the worst thing you could of had ever thought.

Suddenly a rope was shot, wrapping around you're and the dragons body. Crimson wrapped his wings around you for protection, as you both fell from the sky to the middle of the village, your body getting damaged quiet a lot.

A crowed started to form around the both of you. As afew young men formed around. They got rid of the ropes and Crismon let go of you. Gasps and gossip started to form until a young man; Roald, stepped closer. He stared down at you with shock. Of course they didn't think or know you were a dragon rider.

"Call the medict and my father!"

he yelled, pulling you're unconscious body up into his arm.

"Roald, are you sure-"

"Call the chief (his father), now!"