Away From Home

 

A/N Unedited, just playing around with thoughts now.

He was running like he’d never ran before.

The evergreens reduced to a blur of soft forest green, the skies yawning above him in a windswept blue, clouds dotting its surface. The thick tangled wires of the undergrowth stood out as potential hazards in the boy’s eyes. Pine needles were scattering over the bedding of the forest floor as his feet rushed forward meet them, and he gave a yelp as he tripped over a protruding tree root.

With a dazzling efficiently and quick thinking and reflexes he flipped onto his back, caressing the small, frail body close to his chest. His eyes widened at the thin cut on her forehead leaking tiny splatters of red blood onto his clothes. Panting heavily, he adjusted his elbows so that he could wipe up the dripping mess with the edge of his vest. “Shh, it’s going to be alright,” he soothed her gently. Then he took the liberty to check the condition of his clothes and the small bag he’d carried with him. Dirty, with needles stuck in between, a few drops of blood and soaked with moisture.

The child coddled in the crook of his arms started to whimper, and he had to stroke her head to calm her down. “Calm down...girl,” he faltered, remembering that she had no name, no identity. He himself felt as if he were a ghost to his parents, to the village, even to the children he often played with. He relished this thought slightly. No one would notice him gone, and he bet in a week they would all but forget everything about him. This triggered a trace of bitterness inside him, and his hand instinctively curled up into a fist.

“I will...I will give you a name,” he whispered to the silent girl, feeling her heartbeat against his chest. Even if it’s just a name, he thought to himself, it still has meaning.

This girl was all he had left of a family now.

Born premature at eight months, she was taken care for, up until the age of one. He called this the turning point, when his parents couldn’t care less about their own children anymore. She was malnourished and hardly given bathings; he could feel how fragile her bones were with lack of nutrition.

Her father, the same father he shared with her through bloodlines, was one of those Vikings you would never want to meet. Most of the times he was not at Berk; and he dreaded the days he came back.

He would take his beloved "dragon-stabbing stick" and whip him and his mother, hard, on their backsides. This had made his mother harsh and cruel, and he recalled one time she had wanted to trade him off and twenty sheep for a "stone of good fortune". And at that time, he might have protested, but now that he thought about it, he would comply. Perhaps with good luck his parents would not be disgraced with two defects like him and his sister.

This physical abuse of his dear father's was what he liked to call his guilty secret. No one knew about it; certainly if they did, no one would care. It was just family matters and common quarrels, right?

False.

If his father - he didn't even want to call him that anymore - acted more like a nurturing, caring parent, say the chieftain of Berk, as an example, he wouldn't have turned out this way. Maybe he would be happier, smarter, braver.

Maybe he would've been more like Hiccup.

Maybe he would be the respected one, instead of a mere stepping stone.

The girl stirred in his arms, blinking open her gleaming brown eyes. He looked down at her, propping up his elbows more and leaning against a tree trunk. She wriggled around his loose grasp and cooed faintly, the tinkling sounds of water trickling down a stream joining in harmony. "You okay? …R...Rúna…"

She had a name now. He rolled the ‘r’ around his mouth, playing with the delightful sound it made. At least she had him as company. The only friend he had ever had was his dragon, Fanghook. They had shared a close bond with each other, and he had looked forward to their time together. But everything had a nasty habit of moving on, and one sunny day when he had whistled for the Monstrous Nightmare to come, the dragon didn't, and he was left alone, waiting, until his spark of hope was extinguished and he had to go home.

Nothing ever went his way. And that was how he found himself here. After hearing that his father was on his way back, he just couldn't stand it anymore. He was fed up with the beatings, fed up with his parents, fed up with life. His one last drop of patience and loyalty towards his mother ran out like a well drying up in the noon sun. And he couldn't bear to see what would happen to his sister if she lingered around. That was why he ran as fast as his skinny legs could take him, hoping that no one was following him to take him back.

He didn’t want anymore of ...this.

"I'm going to start a new life," he stated to whomever could hear him, "and no one's going to stop me."

cometotheberkside

03 Aug 2014, 02:02

As you probably know, I'm currently working away at my main fic, but suddenly I have this idea, and I don't know if I should continue it (maybe a few chapters) because a. I'm afraid it would distract me, and b. I have no plot planned out whatsoever. If I do decide to continue it, it would be a small sideproject, and it may have to be one of those stories where you just write and see where the plot leads you. Also if I write it I can't promise regular chapter updates, but I can do small section updates. So should I write it, or not?