[ Hiccup gave a slight shake of his head that's met with a slight downturn of his lips. There's certainly plenty of people to see, but in the same way the seeing doesn't give many answers. Their white clad companions come in all different shape, sizes, and ages. The soldiers that stand guard may take off a ritual, but give little more to understand. ]

Conversing would be great. Too bad those guys over there only understand 'get out of me', perpetual silence, or using a whip. [ It's said wryly, but with little humor — He's experienced all of it in form. Mostly from asking questions or pushing the boundaries of their place just a little too far. ]

[ It's the secondary question that causes him to quiet, fingers digging into knee cap as he bores a hole into the sketch on the ground — a map from his direction in the mountain to here as best as he can remember. Senseless violence. He agrees, always would. He wants to believe there are ways to end things without, but the hard truth — a truth he'll forever struggle with — is that it's not always the case. ]

... They're scared of us. When people are scared it doesn't matter, sometimes there's no talking to them. And these guys don't want to be talked to.