Das ist Berk. Wir haben neun Monate im Jahr Schnee und drei Monate Hagel. Was hier wächst, ist zäh und hat keinen Geschmack. Das gilt vor allem für die Leute hier.
This is Berk. Boasting the kind of balmy, fun-in-the-sun climate that will give you frostbite on your spleen.
Oh, perfect. And while I'm busy, Hiccup can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, lots of time to himself - what could possibly go wrong?
Gobber
Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have stubbornness issues.
Trolls exist! They steal your socks! But only the left ones - what's with that?
Gobber
It's only fun if you get a scar out of it.
Astrid
Winter in Berk lasts most of the year. It hangs on with both hands and won't let go. And the only real comforts against the cold are those you keep close to your heart.
Stoick: "When we crack this mountain open, all hell is gonna break loose."
Gobber: "...in my undies. Good thing I brought extras."
Gobber: "...in my undies. Good thing I brought extras."
Gobber
Hiccup: "I'm way too muscular for their taste! They wouldn't know what to do with all... this!"
Gobber: "Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?"
Gobber: "Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?"
Gobber
Excuse me, barmaid, I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring! I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fish-bone!
My name's Hiccup. Great name, I know, but it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that.
