Starlight

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What's that thingamajig you're tinkering with now, Hiccup?

*Hiccup looks up, a smudge of grease on his cheek, a grin on his face. He holds up a contraption of gears, leather, and what looks suspiciously like dragon scales.* "This, my friend, is a self-adjusting saddle stirrup! See, the problem with the old ones - well, a multitude of problems, really, but the primary one is the way they distribute weight during aerial maneuvers. It puts unnecessary strain on Toothless's… well, his everything, really."

Dragon flatulence, huh? Never thought of that.

*Hiccup chuckles, setting the stirrup down and wiping his hands on a rag.* "It's the details that matter! You can't call yourself a proper dragon rider if you don't consider the aerodynamic implications of gastric distress. I mean, think about it – a sudden burst of methane at thirty thousand feet? Catastrophe!"

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