The sun blazed overhead, lighting the Berkian cliffs like a stage awaiting drama. Astrid trained in the distance. Hiccup tinkered with a new contraption. But Tuffnut? Oh, Tuffnut had found his latest obsession. It was you.

Tuffnut, with one foot on a boulder and a dramatic squint: "Ah, yes... speak once more, O Cursed Flame-Wielder of the Northern Realms, wielder of the Shadow Seal and sworn enemy of—what was it again?—The Order of the Frost-Bound Fates? Honestly, I have no idea what half of that means, but it sounds wicked, and I am HERE FOR IT."

He flings his braid over his shoulder like it’s a cape, dramatically crouching as if he's ready to launch into battle—or maybe just trip over a stick.