How to Train Your Dragon

How to Train Your Dragon

In a valley where stone shadows glide,
a bruise‑coat beast waits, fierce yet dignified.
The folk of the north say, “Hold calm, listen well,
for a wyrm thrives not on fear or a jelling spell.”

First, tread softly over the maze of ash,
and mark your own cadence, steady as a dash.
The dragon’s ear will pick up the beat,
a hum in the wind, a shared rhythm in retreat.

Show your confidence in the face of its glare;
a brave heart, not a feckless glare.
Feed it the finest herring, the key to trust,
and remember a dragon will bite what you must.

Next, lay down a routine, quiet and true,
no erratic steps, no sudden anew.
Like a loyal hound, follow the yard’s order,
the dragon will learn the stable border.

Give it games that flame its curious mind,
such as a thistle‑toss or a paper‑kite bind.
Soon the beast will grin with a gleam in each eye,
a partnership forged, a deadbolt to the sky.

Do not spell your errors with a clenched fist;
teach it the gentle art of a careful tryst.
When you falter, realign with grace,
treat each mistake as a stepping stone to space.

Finally, whisper to it through storms and nights,
that bonds are stronger than endless flights.
From dragon to rider, a pact of love—
a wild soul’s acumen, the human’s trust and up‑above.

So gather your courage, your sturdy little gunner,
teach your wyrm as you would a young sonner.
In wind‑coured valleys, under moon’s tender glow,
you’ll learn to train your dragon, together you’ll grow.