2 Chapter Two

[Earlier that day.]

There was little time left before Branch could sneak out unnoticed. He rummaged through his bunker at a hurried pace, grabbing his weathered backpack and then started shoving essentials into the flipped top. He needed rope, flint, his knife, a compass… Branch mumbled through his survivalist's list, picking up his journal as well and carefully wedging the book inside. The grey troll turned to grab another novel from the shelved wall and stopped, noticing a blue, hard bound book with shimmering silver trim. A coil of anxiety formed his stomach looking at the spine of the familiar item. He avoided it and let out a short breath, picking up something different and turning away from the bookshelf.

The book belonged to Creek. It was a simple story about small blue magical creatures past the confines of the forest where no one looked. The adventures promised happiness to the reader and every character was heartfelt and brave. It had been nearly 20 years since Creek gave the book to Branch as a gift. They were just trollings back then but those days were the darkest in their lives because of the Bergen holiday, Trollstice. Branch could remember everything so vividly no matter how much he tried to forget. Every time he saw the book he was reminded of how things used to be between the two troll friends. He was also reminded of how something so good and pure fell to pieces as easily as it was made.

"Branch, you're my best friend. I hate to see you so colorless," Creek whispered in a quiet, young voice.

Branch swung his filled backpack over his shoulder and headed to the kitchen. A familiar flashback was starting to fog his thoughts and he couldn't shake the way it snaked into his mind's eye.

"Branch, what can I do to make you happy? I'll do anything for you."

"There's nothing you could have done, Creek. This is the way things are now," Branch replied in real time. He fought down the emotions that were peaking from his memories but it was the beginning to a losing battle. Branch held on to the edge of his kitchen table and gazed into the lines of the carved wood, eyes unfocused, lost in lost thought.

It was just three days after Trollstice. The night before Troll Village had finished their ritual farewells to their loved ones that had been chosen from the tree. They were never going to be seen again, and Branch's grandmother Rosiepuff was among the many. Child Branch was sitting towards the outskirts of the village, avoiding contact with most of the trolls. He curled up in a patch of grass near the forest edge and hugged his knees, fresh tears leaking down his newly discolored cheeks.

Child Creek appeared at his side holding a blue book under his arm, looking over the grey trolling in sympathy.

"Branch, your color… It's gone." he stated the obvious. "Your hair is black.."

Branch said nothing.

The purple trolling shook his head and cleared his throat. "I, uh… I brought you this book, to cheer you up," Creek said meekly with a mild blush. "I know you're sad. Reading this book always made me happy so I wanted you to read it too. You love books."

Again, Branch didn't respond. He was empty of any emotion but sadness and frustration. Creek quieted his tone a bit, feeling awkward. "You're my best friend… I'm your friend, right," the trolling questioned. "We can support each other. I can help you get your color back."

After a long period of silence, Branch frowned deeply and finally looked up at Creek, his eyes raw from crying. "I don't WANT my color back! I don't want you either!" the little grey troll said, voice raised.

Creek was stunned by the reply and fat tears broke from his eyes immediately. He replied fast before thinking things through, rattled by the shock, "Fine! Be a miserable ugly color for the rest of your life!" The purple trolling forcibly threw his book down at Branch's feet and ran away with a choked sob, covering his face with his hands.

The days being alone turned into weeks, then months. Branch never tried to get his friend back. Their relationship turned sour the more they saw each other. As Creek got older, his attitude towards Branch's coloration got worse and the entire Troll Village picked up on the situation of the odd troll that had no color. The grumpy troll who hated rainbows. The mean troll that didn't like parties. He was the literal black sheep that had no family and no friends. Branch blamed the Bergens for everything in his life and it led him to creating his underground bunker, not only to protect himself from another attack but to keep away all of the judgmental trolls that surrounded him. Poppy, of course, weaseled herself in because that's the way she rolls but that's another story entirely. He felt it was her royal duty to befriend every single troll despite the rumors.

Inhaling sharply, Branch straightened his stand and blinked back the moisture in his eyes. He wasn't going to cry again. He wasn't going to let it get to him. He just needed a quick vacation, right? That's what he was doing. He was going out to a special place where he could savor peace and read to himself for a few days. That's what he really needed to calm down.

After Branch double checked his items and secured his domain with extra, active measures, he climbed the elevator pad and lifted to the upper level of his bunker. He opened the exit latch and peeked outside. The sun was blazing high, it was still only about mid-day, and there were no trolls in sight. Feeling a bit more positive about his venture, Branch climbed out and locked the hatch. Out in the open, the breeze carried notes of music from the main part of Troll Village. Looks like they started early, he thought to himself, that's perfect timing. He felt slightly antsy about leaving without telling Poppy, but the faster he got out the sooner he would be back.

He started a jog going North, away from the Troll Tree. There was a small path carved into the dirt that Branch made himself the first time he went out exploring. The creatures in this part of the forest were friendly enough and ignored the troll as he climbed through dense thickets and swung like a spider from tree to tree using his strong black hair. The sun was almost setting by the time he arrived at his favorite waterfall.

Panting from the trip, Branch collapsed at the edge of the river and cupped the crystal clear liquid, drinking deeply. "Oh, thats good!" he exclaimed, taking another drink. Smiling, he sat back and rested on his palms. The sunset was glimmering through the void between the trees and sinking ever faster. Nature was a beautiful thing and Branch could always appreciate it.

The darker it became, more fireflies stretched and drifted out of their nests. Another thing he enjoyed was the family of fireflies that remembered him every time he came to visit. They were all identical, fuzzy creatures but the ones that liked him would come when he sang. There were only a few songs that he could muster out. He didn't know any happy go-lucky songs or songs that had a great beat, but whenever he felt like singing it was when he couldn't stop thinking about his past and a certain.. purple troll. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights. In order to get the emotion out of his heart and mind, he had to sing it out.

- - - - - - - -

[Present night.]

The irony. The stupid irony of everything. Branch shuddered inwardly. It's been too long since Creek has been so close to him. Usually there were undertones of malice and snide remarks with every passing encounter they had, but those had died down over the years and now they don't speak at all. Personalities change over time, he admitted, but Creek felt different in this moment. The sounds of the waterfall nearby killed the silence and the wind shifted the leaves around them. The two trolls stared each other down, both questioning the motives of the other.

Creek was the first one to speak again, "What are you doing in my humble sanctuary?"

"Uwah – YOUR sanctuary?" Branch choked. "T-This place doesn't belong to you, I don't see your name written on it. How did you know to find me here?"

Creek scoffed and relaxed, pressing his palms together in a meditative pose. "As funny as that is, I wasn't looking for you at all. This is my home away from home. I come here off and on when I need to get away from distractions." The purple troll walked forward and leaped lightly onto a path of river boulders to reach the side of the bank where Branch was standing.

"Well, this is also somewhere I come to get away from things," Branch said, moving a step back away from Creek's position. "And I'm not leaving! You can't make me leave. This is the only other safe place I know and I really don't want to travel during the night." Branch was getting more nervous by the minute. He could feel hear his heart pounding in his ears and his palms were beginning to sweat. "And uh, also.. how long have you been here, by chance?"

Creek mused to himself thoughtfully, looking almost too animated in doing so. "Oh, not long at all. I just arrived moments ago. Why do you ask?"

Branch rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, picking up his bag from the ground and going back to his sitting area. "Just wondering. It's nothing." He plopped down into the grass and resumed his fetal sitting position, back turned towards the other troll. He tapped his fingers on his knees and bit his lower lip. "Since I'm not leaving," he made sure to reaffirm loudly, "could you not bother me? There's plenty of room here for both of us. I won't bother you, you don't bother me. For two.. or three days." Branch groaned under his breath at the stupid request. He already knew it would be impossible.

"It's utterly impossible to not have contact while camping in the same enclosure," Creek confirmed, lifting a brow. "but ignoring your grey little mass is one of my specialties. You don't have to worry." Branch refused respond to his antagonizing and kept his back turned, though he did notice his ears were hanging lower than normal.

Creek breathed heavily in regret. He ran his hand through his long teal hair and moved to sit down himself, merely yards away. Old habits die hard, he grumbled. It wasn't easy being naturally nicer to the grey troll. He had such a fierce curiosity about Branch's singing but any mention of it would make him bolt like a scared little rabbit. The main question he had was, if Branch could still sing even without his color, why does he try to hide it? Creek assumed that singing openly would solve a lot of his social problems.

Mother Destiny provides for Creek when he needs it most, and this situation seemed like a gift rather than a curse. There was a chance to mend the bond and his limbs tingled with the possibility. If he couldn't do it now, then he can't do it ever. It was a miracle that they both came to the same area away from the Troll Tree, at the same time for the same reasons.

After what seemed like ages of quiet, Branch stopped fiddling with his backpack strap and got to his feet, walking into the forest without a word. Creek was sitting cross legged with his elbows on his knees, eyes closed. His ears twitched and he cracked opened one eye to witness Branch leave the area. What in the blazes was he doing now? Minutes later the grey troll returned with an armful of dry twigs. He placed them upwards like a tin pyramid and surrounded the twigs with heavy stones to create a camp fire.

Branch's mind was all over the place as he placed dead leaves and flint into the twigs and smacked two rocks together for a spark. Just act normal. Go about your normal routine, he told himself. Ignore Creek. Don't let Creek know you're not yourself right now. Not myself? Who says I'm not myself right now? I'm doing perfectly fine. He blinked when the campfire roared to life, his inner feud coming to a halt. Branch had no idea how chilled he was until the heat permeated his body in the best ways. It was extremely comforting, but didn't release the anxiety from within his chest. He huddled closer to his fire and rummaged through his backpack, pulling out a novel and flipping through the pages with no real motive to read. His body was acting on its own at this point, but to be able to engross himself in reading was an impossible feat with Creek sitting so close.

Branch glanced up every couple of minutes where Creek was. He couldn't help but look at the purple troll. Every time his eyes were closed. His body unmoved. Meditation was weird to Branch, but he could probably understand it… maybe.

The moon started to shift positions in the sky. Time was passing and they were reaching the deepest point in the night. A gust of wind came and flickered the campfire. Branch looked at Creek again and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, thumbing the corner of his current page. There was no way that troll was actually comfortable over there. The night was cold and Creek wasn't anywhere near a fire. The guy was shirtless, for God's sake. He didn't bring anything with him all the way out here. How was he going to survive?

"You can use my fire." Branch said, breaking the drawn out barrier of silence. He blushed slightly and shoved his nose into his book. What the hell… he thought. There was a small shuffling of pebbles and grass and the next time Branch looked up, Creek was sitting across from him at the campfire in the same meditative position as before. His eyes were half-open this time, gazing at Branch through the flickering flames.

"Thank you, Branch. It is a bit chilly tonight, isn't it?" Creek smiled warmly at him and it felt like lightning shot through the grey troll's body. Branch grunted in reply as his breath was currently a lump in his throat. He tried to concentrate on a single word in his book. In all honesty, he couldn't have read even one sentence this entire time.