DreamWorks Dragons

This changes everything.

These Buttercup Poppies will assimilate perfectly

into our topiary salute to the current "Changewing Migration."

Oops.

No, no, you go ahead, girl. I'm right behind you.

Please tell me I'm not leaning on a...

Changewing!

Oh, boy.

Stormfly!

Ha!

Astrid's impossible to get.

But I know who's not.

How much trash do you two make in a week?

Pfft.

This is just Tuesday, boyo. The rest is out in the back.

Oh, my Thor.

Come on! Better get a move on.

That trash is not going to dispose of itself.

Fine!

You're welcome.

Oh, whoa!

Ow!

Ouch! What are you doing?

What am I doing?

What am I doing?

You know how much I enjoy my role in the Changewing migration.

I do this every year.

And I hate it every year!

It seriously creeps me out when you creep up on me.

Duh. Isn't that the whole idea?

You know what? Take that weak sauce somewhere else

before you get yourself killed!

Oh, here's an idea. Go scare Snotlout!

He's an idiot. He'll fall for it.

Excellent idea. Ah!

A-creeping I shall go.

Ugh.

Ahh!

Come on, Tuffnut, do you really think I'm in the mood

for your childish Changewing games?

Well, I'm not.

Ooh, a roar. Scary.

That was actually a pretty good roar.

Very specific.

Ow, that feels like a real claw.

Do not ask, because I do not want to talk about it.

Huh? Do you have any idea what I've been through?

This Changewing migration is going to be the death of me.

Snotlout, if you just leave the Changewings alone,

they'll move on in a couple of days

and you won't have to worry about them again.

We go through this every year.

You're agitating them.

All that ranting and screaming and stomping around

just makes them madder

and makes them stay here that much longer.

Wait. So now it's my fault?

I'm a Changewing!

Changewing, out!

Are we expecting visitors today?

Throk.

Uh, did we have plans?

I am on your shores today to fulfill a mission that is most personal

and of the utmost importance.

Okay. How can we help?

You can point me in the direction

of the fragrant savior of this man's very life...

Ruffnut Thorston.

I am here to lift her off her feet.

Um, do you mean "sweep her off her feet"?

No. I will lift her from her feet,

put her over my shoulder, and return with her to my island,

where she will live out her days as my trustworthy wife.

What?

Um, does she know about this?

Is that important?

Are you kidding me?

Hey, hey, hey, hey, calm down.

Okay, Throk, we do marriage

a little differently around these parts.

Say no more. Say no more.

Sadly we, too, have gone soft over the years.

Losing the club has made the retrieval of the bride

much more of a struggle.

Hey, Fishlegs,

this is more your area of expertise.

Why don't you take it?

Can't wait to hear what you guys decide!

Oh, no, no, no, no! No! Oh!

Hey, watch it!

You see, Throk, in today's busy archipelago,

the modern woman commands a certain amount of respect.

She has a mind of her own.

So the whole "stake a claim" speech, not so much.

- But it's so much simpler. - That may be.

However, we've found that asking for a lady's hand

is much more effective.

Then her hand would be a symbol of her eternal devotion.

Exactly.

Would she then wear a hook or a claw?

Let's go back.

You need to start by getting Ruffnut interested in you

in a romantic, nonviolent way.

Hmm. I don't see it.

Perhaps you would assist me in my endeavors.

Okay. Uh, how about this?

Why not start with an icebreaker?

Something that speaks to your affection for her.

Go ahead. Pick anything you want.

By the Ancients.

Whoa! Shrub to the face.

Yep, always a surprise.

I suppose a little more roughage in the diet never hurts.

Ruffnut loves a fresh shrub.

What are you up to, Throk?

Okay, here we go. Ready?

A poem for the modern woman.

Hair, it smells of flounder.

Skin, rough like the coral of a thousand-year-old reef.

Lips, dry as jerky made from the giant clam.

No hand will be severed from this woman,

for she is modern.

She is Ruff. She is Nutt.

She is Ruffnut.

That was...

beautiful, Throk.

And so me.

Ruffnut, will you join me in returning

to Defenders of the Wing Island

as my permanent guest?

Sure.

Let me check with the other Nutt.

You misunderstand me, dear Ruff.

This is an invitation for but one Nutt.

Oh. Yeah, no can do, Throkie-Poo.

You see, we're a package deal. You wouldn't understand.

Then help me to understand.

Oh, it's simple. Born together, live together, die together.

Grace of the Ancients.

"Born together, live together, die together."

Ha! I mean, is that great or what?

You should've seen the soul-crushing look

on old Throk-a-dilly's face.

Wow.

I just never thought you'd do that to your own sister.

- Do what? - Get in the way of her happiness.

If Ruffnut really has feelings for Throk,

it could mean she's passing up

a chance at a lifetime of love and happiness.

And same goes for you.

Don't you ever want to meet a beautiful Viking girl

and have a family of your own?

Of course.

And what would happen if Ruffnut stood in the way of that?

She would never. She's too good of a sister.

I'm a monster!

Oh, you think I don't know that?

I mean, you think I'm not aware this is an impossible situation?

Oh, how do I know?

Come on, stop shaming me. I'm only human.

Oh, no.

She's breaking his little Defenders of the Wing heart.

What have I done?

Agreed, Chicken.

Something must be done.

She won't allow herself to be happy

as long as these perfectly manicured feet walk this earth.

It's nail fungus.

What you need, my friend, is a manicure.

My brother is a genius with that.

I cannot stay another moment.

The sadness is too much to...

Tuff?

Tuff!

Those are Tuffnut's clothes.

He's never taken those off, ever.

Ugh.

He always said that the only way he'd come out of them

is if he was...

The Changewing ate my baby brother!

Hear ye, hear ye!

Peoples of the Edge

and all creatures far and near...

we are present to read the will and last testament

of one Tuffnut Laverne Thorston.

"First item: One half stuffed yak."

Hey! Half that yak is still mine!

Yeah? Which half?

It's so obvious that the back half is his.

Can none of you see that?

To me, nothing could be more obvious.

"Next item!

Sixteen pounds of properly pinched salt."

Rest well, my salt-encrusted friend.

Rest well.

Why?

Why, Odin? Why?

You should have taken me!

No, Meatlug, I'm not ready to go!

This is the last time I'll see him!