I froze, and my blood ran cold again, just as it did when I heard this sound in the Berkian prison.
A claw, unlocking the door to my prison, which was on the ship that belonged to the man who was about to enter, and had the metal hand, which had not only that claw on it, but four more.
Drago smiled when he saw me, huddled up in a corner of the prison, terrified that he'd come to give me my punishment.
'Not yet.' he confirmed, as if he could read my thoughts; and this seemed like a fittingly sinister thing for him to be able to do.
He walked over to the Nadder, and loomed over it. The dragon was the equivalent to a hedgehog, what with the darts sticking out of every part of its body, as did the other dragons, and so it couldn't have logically been conscious enough to sense the gigantic man standing over it, but even so, it made a tiny sound; a groan.
Its wings and feet were bound with strong, metal, fireproof chains, which had barbs along them; the only reason being, seemingly, to scar, and cause as much pain to, whatever was bound with it as much as possible, even, if in a dragon's case, it wasn't conscious enough to sense them, and its mouth was covered with a fireproof muzzle. The other dragons had these things too.
Drago, apparently, wasn't satisfied that the dragons, more specifically, the Nadder, couldn't feel the torture instruments that bound them. He kicked the Nadder.
'Wake up,' he growled.
'WAKE UP!' he roared, obviously knowing that the dragon couldn't hear him, but the fact that it was refusing to obey a command- and he hated that, from both human and dragon- was enough to make him scream at it, because he loved screaming, and probably just wanted a reason to scream at a dragon, and possibly, if the Nadder still refused to obey the command, gods forbid, kill it as a punishment.
I just hoped that death wasn't going to be my punishment. Better the Nadder than me.
But instead of killing the Nadder, he knelt down, next to its tail, which contained as many darts as it was covered in, and pulled a spine, unsurprisingly choosing to still cause the dragon pain for refusing to obey a command, although it was not the pain of death.
I wanted to warn Drago of what was going to happen, but I didn't for two reasons; if I dared to speak, he would scream at me, too, or change his mind and give me my punishment right here and now, and, knowing dragons as he did, he probably knew what the Nadder was going to do, anyway.
Instinctively, sensing even through unconsciousness that something was touching its spines, the dragon raised them, and prepared to shoot them at its attacker.
With the quickness that only a man who had been fighting dragons all his life, since he was a boy, and lost everything to them, Drago dodged the spines- well, almost. The point of a spine just glanced off his human hand, and for the few seconds that it had been there, it had created a deep gash- adding another scar to the ones which already covered his hands, face, and arms.
'AAAAAHHHHH!!!!!' he yelped, but despite the pain, still managing to knock out the Nadder again with his metal arm, causing a terrible grin of pleasure at the yelp of pain the dragon shared too, before becoming unconscious again.
He wrapped his hand in his cloak, with the expression of pain replacing the one of pleasure, walking out, and slamming the prison door behind him, with a clang as loud as his yelp of pain- but forgetting to lock the door. He couldn't have done it anyway, as his metal hand could only unlock doors, and his human hand wasn't in any condition to be doing anything, wrapped up in his cloak as it was, let alone locking doors.
Suddenly, inspiration of how I could get out came to me, but I got that thought out of my head as quickly as I could, in case Drago used his apparent thought-reading trick again, or remembered that he hadn't locked the door. The latter was more likely to happen.
Instead, I turned my thoughts and my head to the Nadder, which was lying on the ground, its jaw flowering from white to purple with a bruise, which would soon develop into a scar, as Ziist had taught me.
Feeling saddened by his memory, I touched the Stormcutter medal which he'd given me.
Eventually, my thoughts returned to escape, once again- but I thought about the dragons.
Why was I thinking about them for?! I didn't care what happened to them. Drago could do what he wanted to them- which he'd already done to the Nadder.
Well, I guess I maybe did feel a little sorry for the Nadder. But not for the others. Definitely not for the others.
As if on cue, the Nadder stirred slightly, and with a forked-tongue yawn, it woke up. The other dragons did, too. Their eyes looked so sad, as if they wanted their masters and mistresses, and knew that I wasn't any of them. And their masters and mistresses definitely wanted their dragons, too.
It was then that I made my decision.
I walked over to the Nadder, but, as I was expecting it to, it didn't cower. It would soon learn to do that, if it didn't escape, though.
Looking into the dragon's eyes (which was a mistake, as a dragon's eyes are hypnotic, and I felt dizzy afterwards), I whispered to it, and all of them:
'I will get you out of here.'
As I said these words, sudden ispiration came to me once again, and I got up, opening the prison door as quietly as I could, and walked out, looking around me, in case anybody was there- especially a madman wearing a dragonskin cloak.
Once I judged the coast was clear, I walked along the line of cells containing sad dragons, intending to go to the blacksmith ship.
What I didn't realise, on my way there as I was, was that I should have looked behind me.
For behind me was a man who was silent and sneaky, and hid in the shadows and darkness.
He revealed his face, which he had covered up to avoid being seen by me, which was as covered in scars as ever, and had piercing green eyes.
And his mouth, which was still set in pain from the gash in his hand, released an amused growl from his throat.
All of these things; his silentness and sneakiness, his hiding in the shadows and darkness, his piercing green eyes, his growling, all of these things, were things that he had, terrifyingly, in common with the dragon whose skin he was cloaked in.
And I didn't know it at the time, but a dragon which was the same species as the one which was now a cloak, had a rider on its back. And that rider, and all the other riders, who had lost their dragons, were coming to save what was rightfully theirs.

I scurried along the circular, planked boardwalk around Drago's fleet of ships. There was a ramp leading down to each ship, one of which was metal and fireproof- this lead to the blacksmith ship.
My boots made a lot of noise as I walked along the metal plank, which made my stomach jump with terror after every step. Any second now I might be grabbed by a metal, clawed hand, and I would hear a growl of disapproval.
Thank the gods, this didn't happen.
I knocked on the door- this was also metal and fireproof- of the little cabin on the ship which served as the forge.
The blacksmith didn't come to the door. Instead of hearing footsteps, I heard a hammer banging against metal.
I inhaled, and shouted as loud as I dared.
'HEIMIIK!'
My voice echoed terrifyingly around the camp.
Finally, I heard the sound of hammer ringing against metal stopping, with one final, loud, clang, and heavy footsteps coming towards the door.
I swallowed hard.
Relief washed over Heimiik the blacksmith's face, as he opened the door to see that it was me, not Drago. This look was quickly disguised by sternness, and he snapped:
'What are you doing here, boy? Don't you know what Drago'll do to both of us if he catches you out here?! You're meant to be looking after the thieves' dragons!'
He ended this sentence by yanking me inside the forge, and once we were inside, he drew himself up to his full height, which was as tall as Drago, glaring at me sternly.
For a second, his sad, tired face, scarred from sparks from the forge, morphed into Drago's.
'Uh... well, Heimiik, I've come to get... a needle and thread.'
'Fine.' he grunted. 'Look through the drawers on the worktable. I've got ten more dragons' armour to make by tomorrow!' he finished, going back to his anvil.
'Right.' I replied. I made to go over to the worktable, and look through the chests of drawers, as he'd said, but I just couldn't help but look around the forge instead.
Dragonskin covered every surface in the forge, although everything was fireproof anyway; Drago couldn't afford for this place to burn down. The forge was the place where everything in his army was made; weapons, dragons' armour, war machines, everything. I understood why Drago pushed the blacksmith so hard.
'How many dragons were murdered to ensure that this forge was completely fireproof?' I wondered.
'Too many to say. I watched them all die.' I expected there to be bloodthirsty, vicious glee in Heimiik's tone, but there was only sadness.
'Oh.' I said.
I walked over to a Stormcutter skin, and examined it.
'That,' Heimiik informed me, without turning around, 'is the skin of the Stormcutter that murdered the last leader of the trappers. The story of how he died has sort of become a legend; but when you came, everybody stopped talking about it.'
'Why?'
'Why? Because Drago ordered everyone not to, of course. He does that every time a new trapper comes to replace the murdered one. And sometimes... the trappers aren't murdered by dragons...'
'Who- or what- are they murdered by, then?'
'You ask an awful lot of questions, boy,' Heimiik grumbled. 'Better not let Drago catch you asking them. Anyway, sometimes Drago murders trappers.'
I gasped. 'Why would he do that?'
'For returning empty-handed, being traitors, things like that.' he answered.
'And why does Drago order everyone not to talk about when a trapper was murdered when a new one comes?'
'Because, if they were murdered by a dragon, the legend would probably scare a new trapper... like you, for example. And if they're murdered by Drago, he makes sure that it's very secret... done so that nobody knows... because if they did, some of the less loyal members of his forces might start a rebellion, a munity.'
'How could they do that?'
'Think about it, boy. There's probably more less loyal members of Drago's forces than he thinks... which would include dragons. He's trained everybody, human and dragon, to kill... so they might kill him.
'And I, for one, don't have a problem with that. "Join me, and you will make the weapons that will destroy the beasts that took so much from you.", he said. What I didn't know back then, was that I would actually be making the things that would protect them, not destroy them.' Heimiik seemed to be talking to himself now, angrily.
'Anyway, speaking of murdering people... what was the last leader of the trappers' name?' I asked.
'Horvutah.'
I suddenly remembered something that Ziist had said; about how it was a sort of trappers' tradition for the second-in-command of the trappers to wear a disc depicting the dragon species that had killed his leader. But why would this be a tradition?
I asked Heimiik this.
'Drago makes the second-in-commands wear the discs, because he wants to keep the hate going. Hate for the dragons; hate for the beast that murdered their leader. That emotion is the reason he started this whole army anyway.
'It's the guiding force behind his plan. If there's no hate for the dragons, then he can't make people unite in the hope to get rid of it. Of course, I don't believe that, anyway.'
I desperately tried to change the subject, in terror that Drago would hear.
'I've heard a bit about the legend; the Stormcutter that murdered Horvutah had a son, didn't it?'
'Yes, and it was captured, and served in the dragon army for a while. It was sent out on a mission... but it decided to run away in the course of it.'
'Where did it go?'
'We don't know. Don't you think that if we did, Drago'd be sending out practically everyone to go and look for it?'
'Well, yes, but-'
'I think it's good that it's run away. Hopefully, now it won't have to worry about being re-captured ever again. Wish I was as lucky as that dragon.' he sighed.
Suddenly, we heard footsteps approaching the forge.
'Quick, boy!' Heimiik yelled in a strangled whisper. 'Get the needle and thread, and go!'
I grabbed the items from one of the drawers, finding exactly what I needed in my terror- but I wasn't able to stuff them into my furs.
The reason for this walked into the forge, and went over to Heimiik.
'What were you telling him to go for, blacksmith? Why would he need to get out of the forge quickly? Is it because he was... running away?' Drago's green eyes lit up with evil triumph. He walked over to me, apparently satsified with his questions for Heimiik being left unanswered.
'Well? Was it?' he persisted. He caught sight of the needle and thread, clutched in my hand.
'What's that?' He snatched it.
'A needle and thread, Drago.' I told him helpfully.
His eyes narrowed, but then lit up again.
'Maybe you will learn to watch how you speak to your master once you have had your punishment.'
'You're not my master.' I protested.
This time his eyes did not light up, but stayed narrowed.
'I am your master, boy, because you are working for me. A slave calls the person he works for his master, so why should that not apply to dragon trappers?' His eyes lit up for the third time, mocking me, challenging me, daring me to argue back.
'And blacksmiths.' he added cruelly.
'But I have more important things to do than argue with you, boy. Like giving you your punisment.' he smiled.
My stomach dropped at the mention of this.
He walked over to a rack, which had several small metal things hanging off it, and grabbed the last of these things. Walking over to the forge's fire, he placed the object into it, until it began to sizzle. The sound made him smile, as if he was already imagining that that was the sound that it would make on my skin.
He took the object out of the fire, and placed it onto the worktable, looking back at me, and smiling in the way that he would do, five years later, when he and Stoick the Vast circled each other, before their fight, as if waiting for my horror at what this object was to fully unfold.
It was a brand, in the shape of one of the emblems on the sails of Drago's ships.
He growled at satisfaction at my terror, and wrapped the still-burning brand inside his cloak, but not enough so that the fire would be extinguished.
'But, back to my question. What is that needle and thread, as you told me it was, for?'
'Uh, um... it's t-to s-sew up t-that r-rip in m-my furs that you gave me with your claws.'
Please, gods, buy it, please, I prayed.
He growled in suspicion, and whacked me with his metal arm, in such a way that it almost required me to repair a second rip in my furs, but, thank the gods, it looked like he had bought it.
He grunted at me to follow him out of the forge, which I did.
Our entrance out of the forge, and into the shipyard, was greeted by a growl of thunder. Drago repeated the sound.
Suddenly, a look of vicious glee entered his eyes and his face.
He turned to me, pulling the brand out of his cloak.
'Time for your punishment, boy...'

---

'Remember, boy,' Drago snarled, as he held the brand near my chest, 'Drago Bludvist never forgets. He does not forget to ask a question, and he especially does not forget one of his trappers' failure to bring back a Monstrous Nightmare to its master.'
A flash of lightning lit up his scarred face, as he finished saying this.
That was the last thing that happened before he pressed the brand onto my chest.