第二十五章：我不觉得我死了...(5)

seeping through his sandals, the cold of the underground glass tunnels penetrating right into his heart. ‘Put your hands over your head, Fishlegs,’ whispered Hiccup. (He didn’t know why he was whispering – the Monster was dead but it was SPOOKY down there, in the dark, in the cold.) Chunk! Chunk! Two more swings of the axe and the glass column encasing Fishlegs fell away. His friend was standing there, curled over in a slight ball, his hands over his head. Slowly he brought down his arms. It was as if Hiccup was bringing a frozen statue into life. A bedraggled, weary figure he was. Tear- stained, rags flapping around him like the tatters of a scarecrow ripped to shreds, nearly blue with cold, his smashed glasses falling off his nose.

Hiccup was the very mirror-image of him. Neither of them were Vikings now. Lost Tribes, lost dragons, lost everything. Hungry, thin as brooms, the Slavemarks proclaiming their slavedom, both runts, the two boys stood looking at each other, swaying on their feet. Fishlegs was cold as ice, and Hiccup rubbed his purple arms, trying to get his circulation going. ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Fishlegs through chattering teeth. ‘Looking for you…