HTTYD: Monsters of the NorthMy mother told me of them, before she died. "There are monsters", she whispered, "here in the far north."HTTYD: Monsters of the North
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She drew me close, comforting me, before telling me of the horrible sounds they made. "Their screeches can deafen you before you know what's happened," she said. "They attack in swarms, trying to single out the weakest." Her green eyes, the same shade as mine, bored into me with concern and caught me close. "Never," she whispered, "Never be the weakest."
I tried to hold my head up proudly at that. Weakest, she'd said, not smallest.
But still, to be small is to be weak, and to be small and be of our kind is to be all the weaker for it.