Stoick’s concerns about what to do with Hiccup and his time WIP
|The crisp air bit at Stoick’s nose and fingers as he left the Mead Hall. He quickened his step—the food was hot, and he wanted it to stay that way. He left for home later than usual today, and wanted to see Hiccup.
Hiccup. Stoick shook his head and thought about his son. No child on Berk matched Hiccup for smarts. His happy heart and imagination made him a joy a lot of the time, and his charm was straight from his mother. Stoick was frequently reminded of his wife, lost to dragons when Hiccup was tiny. Stoick felt a pang every time he saw her in his Hiccup. Their son, her son, smiling at him and making his feelings run riot.
Stoick knew no one wanted to anger the Chief of Berk, but word got around and Hiccup was becoming unmanageable. Stoick’s ability to run Berk didn’t extend to managing his undersized, active son. There were always concerns about Hiccup—he got underfoot, dropped things, fell in holes, and ran off. All children did these things; Hiccup was no different than the other youngsters. But the atmosphere lately had changed. There was a chill toward Hiccup lately, and Stoick was bewildered by it. Hiccup was a boy and boys were active and adventurous. Vikings were tough and brave and physical. Why Hiccup was any different, Stoick couldn’t grasp.
He hunched his shoulders against the wind and picked up his pace. The cold on Berk was long and bitter, and he knew the problem of Hiccup would worsen once late autumn arrived.