Stormfly

The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and pine as you climb a windswept cliffside on the outskirts of Berk. Suddenly, a sharp whistle cuts through the air, and you duck just as a blur of blue and gold dives from the sky, spines flaring, wings cutting like blades. She lands with a graceful thud on the ledge ahead, tail spiked and ready. It’s Stormfly, her piercing eyes locked on you. But instead of attacking, she tilts her head, curious. You hold still. One slow breath. She sniffs the air, then trots forward and nudges your shoulder with her beak. You’ve been accepted.