How to train your dragon Read Online Free Page A
Author: by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III; translated from the Old Norse by Cressida Cowell
Tags: General, Humorous stories, Historical, Children's Books, Juvenile Fiction, Medieval, Animals, Dragons, Mythical, Vikings, Fairy tales; folk tales; fables; magical tales & traditional stories
yourself. This will be a test of the force of your personality. You will assert your will over this wild creature and show it who is Master. Your dragon will be expected to obey simple commands such as "go" and "stay," and hunt fish for you in the way that dragons have hunted for the Sons of Thor since anybody can remember. If you are worried about the training process, you should study a book called How to Train Your Dragon by
36
Professor Yobbish, which you will find in the fireplace of the Great Hall."
Suddenly Gobber looked very pleased with himself. "I stole that book from the Meathead Public Library myself," he said modestly, regarding his very black fingernails. "From right under the nose of the Hairy Scary Librarian . . . He never noticed a thing . . . Now THAT'S burglary for you. . . ."
Wartihog put up his hand. "What happens if we can't read, sir?"
"No boasting, Wartihog!" boomed Gobber. "Get some idiot to read it for you. Yout dragons will begin to go back to sleep, because this is still their hibernation time" -- some of the dragons had, indeed, gone very quiet inside the baskets -- "so take them home and put them in a warm place. They should wake up in the next couple of weeks.you will then have only FOUR MONTHS to prepare for Initiation Day at the Thor's-day Thursday Celebrations, and the final part of your Test. If, on that day, you can prove that you have trained your dragon to the satisfaction of myself and other elders of the Tribe, you can finally call yourself a Hooligan of Berk."
37
The boys stood very tall and tried to look like proper Hooligans.
"HEROES OR EXILE!" yelled Gobber the Belch.
"HEROES OR EXILE!" yelled eight boys fanatically back at him.
Exile, thought Hiccup and Fishlegs sadly.
"I. . . hate . . . being . . . a . . . Viking," panted Fishlegs to Hiccup as they stumbled back through the bracken to the Hooligan village.
You didn't really walk on the island of Berk, you waded -- through heather or bracken or mud or snow, which clung on to your legs and made them difficult to lift. It was the sort of country where the sea and the land were always falling into one another and getting mixed up. The island was shot through with holes burrowed by the water, a maze of criss-crossing underground streams. You could put your foot on a solid-looking piece of grass and find yourself disappearing up to your thigh in black, sticky mud. You could be making your way through the ferns and suddenly find yourself fording a river, waist-high and icy cold.
The boys were already soaked to the skin with
38
seawater, and now the snow had turned to horizontal driving rain, blowing in their faces with the strength of one of the gale-force winds that were always shrieking across the salty wastelands of Berk.
"A narrow escape from horrible death first thing on Thursday morning," complained Fishlegs, "followed by complete rejection by the junior half of the Tribe . . . Nobody's going to talk to me for YEARS after this -- except for you, of course, Hiccup, but then you're just a weirdo like me -- "
"Thank you," said Hiccup.
"And on top of everything," continued Fishlegs bitterly, "a two-mile run carrying a deranged dragon on my back" -- the basket on Fishlegs' back was plunging wildly from side to side as the dragon inside tried
39
manically to get out -- "and only a dinner of horrible limpets to look forward to at the end of it."
Hiccup agreed that it wasn't a delicious prospect.
"You can have this dragon back if you like, Hiccup. I warn you, they're filthy heavy when they're wet and angry," said Fishlegs, miserably. "Gobber is going to go off like a typhoon when he finds out you haven't got a dragon."
"But I HAVE got one," said Hiccup.
Fishlegs stopped and began to take the basket off his back. "I know it IS yours REALLY," he sighed wearily. "I think I'll just go straight past the village and keep on running till I reach somewhere civilized. Rome perhaps. I've always wanted to go to Rome. And I
36
Professor Yobbish, which you will find in the fireplace of the Great Hall."
Suddenly Gobber looked very pleased with himself. "I stole that book from the Meathead Public Library myself," he said modestly, regarding his very black fingernails. "From right under the nose of the Hairy Scary Librarian . . . He never noticed a thing . . . Now THAT'S burglary for you. . . ."
Wartihog put up his hand. "What happens if we can't read, sir?"
"No boasting, Wartihog!" boomed Gobber. "Get some idiot to read it for you. Yout dragons will begin to go back to sleep, because this is still their hibernation time" -- some of the dragons had, indeed, gone very quiet inside the baskets -- "so take them home and put them in a warm place. They should wake up in the next couple of weeks.you will then have only FOUR MONTHS to prepare for Initiation Day at the Thor's-day Thursday Celebrations, and the final part of your Test. If, on that day, you can prove that you have trained your dragon to the satisfaction of myself and other elders of the Tribe, you can finally call yourself a Hooligan of Berk."
37
The boys stood very tall and tried to look like proper Hooligans.
"HEROES OR EXILE!" yelled Gobber the Belch.
"HEROES OR EXILE!" yelled eight boys fanatically back at him.
Exile, thought Hiccup and Fishlegs sadly.
"I. . . hate . . . being . . . a . . . Viking," panted Fishlegs to Hiccup as they stumbled back through the bracken to the Hooligan village.
You didn't really walk on the island of Berk, you waded -- through heather or bracken or mud or snow, which clung on to your legs and made them difficult to lift. It was the sort of country where the sea and the land were always falling into one another and getting mixed up. The island was shot through with holes burrowed by the water, a maze of criss-crossing underground streams. You could put your foot on a solid-looking piece of grass and find yourself disappearing up to your thigh in black, sticky mud. You could be making your way through the ferns and suddenly find yourself fording a river, waist-high and icy cold.
The boys were already soaked to the skin with
38
seawater, and now the snow had turned to horizontal driving rain, blowing in their faces with the strength of one of the gale-force winds that were always shrieking across the salty wastelands of Berk.
"A narrow escape from horrible death first thing on Thursday morning," complained Fishlegs, "followed by complete rejection by the junior half of the Tribe . . . Nobody's going to talk to me for YEARS after this -- except for you, of course, Hiccup, but then you're just a weirdo like me -- "
"Thank you," said Hiccup.
"And on top of everything," continued Fishlegs bitterly, "a two-mile run carrying a deranged dragon on my back" -- the basket on Fishlegs' back was plunging wildly from side to side as the dragon inside tried
39
manically to get out -- "and only a dinner of horrible limpets to look forward to at the end of it."
Hiccup agreed that it wasn't a delicious prospect.
"You can have this dragon back if you like, Hiccup. I warn you, they're filthy heavy when they're wet and angry," said Fishlegs, miserably. "Gobber is going to go off like a typhoon when he finds out you haven't got a dragon."
"But I HAVE got one," said Hiccup.
Fishlegs stopped and began to take the basket off his back. "I know it IS yours REALLY," he sighed wearily. "I think I'll just go straight past the village and keep on running till I reach somewhere civilized. Rome perhaps. I've always wanted to go to Rome. And I
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