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UNSPOKEN
A Dreamworks Trolls Fanfic by C. Prince

Reignited

"Lifesaver, no! We can't go out there!"

Branch shifted the flyer bug's antennae, but it was no use. Lifesaver had decided to assert her independence and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He threw his arms around her as she bolted forward into Bummer Territory. Into the vultures.

Branch yelled, eyes screwed shut, as flashes of light and dark tunneled around him. Bird feathers blotted out the sun and whiplashed over his skin, leaving a sting. Or maybe that was a beak and he had another second to realize he was dead before his brain shut down.

A hard buck from his steed knocked his eyes open. Lifesaver zigzagged furiously, but she couldn't shake the bird behind them. With a roar Branch lanced his hair at the feathered demon, grabbed it by the beak, and snapped its head upwards.

"You're crazy!" He pounded on Lifesaver's hard shell, furious. "Crazy!"

The bug landed at such an extreme angle he was thrown from the saddle. He blazed a trail through the red dirt before scrambling to his feet. He wasn't finished. "What is wrong with you?! How are we going to get back now? Come here. Come here!"

He uselessly chased Lifesaver around a rock and a scraggly brown pricker tree. She stayed out of reach and flicked hair grabs away with wings. She was too smart to get lured up against the rock. She buzzed off a whole tree length away, landing in the open dust plain. Trying to catch her was futile.

Branch wasted a few more minutes exercising his drama bone by shouting into the void and kicking up dust. Then he huffed and got down to business. How to get out of this one?

He'd been dumped at an oasis of sorts. It had a shade-providing boulder and a single twisting trunk bristling with thorns. A cracked glossy patch at the boulder's base suggested water pooled here when there was any. An unmistakable foot pattern skimmed the dry mud.

He froze.

Hop-step, hop-step, jump turn, step step. It had to be Poppy. Had to be.

He stood still, terrified he'd botched the trail by throwing a fit. The only place that held tracks was the cracked earth beneath the rock.

He got down for a closer look. The indentations were normal, no favoring one leg over the other, no dried blood. He had no idea how old the tracks were, only that they weren't new. Judging by the direction, she came from the border and headed due north, past the thorn tree.

The visible trail end took her very close to the tree. One at a time he combed the twigs with his eyes. Each had the same brown-red gradient with hooked thorns, all but one. The stem was broken, the thorn at its tip crisped in a darker color. Dried blood.

Jumping around and singing without paying attention. He wasn't surprised. It was probably just a scratch, but he checked the ground for splatters anyway. There weren't any.

He spent a good while examining the site for any other evidence until his hug watch went off. The watch – he might be able to pinpoint her that way if close enough. He'd have to pay close attention every time it chimed. So much for muting it to stay hidden.

Branch cupped his hands and called Poppy's name in the direction she'd gone. Lifesaver ambled up, nuzzling around the rucksack on his back for water. He obliged.

"Looks like we might have to take some risks to find her in time. But please, can we not repeat that crazy stunt?"

Lifesaver chirruped.

"It's not funny."

They flew low over the badlands, Branch shading himself and Lifesaver with a hair cover as close a match to the ground color as he could get. The dead red had an unpleasant raspy dry feeling. They traveled like that from oasis to oasis until Branch lost track of Poppy's trail. He flew back to the last reference point and tried other nearby rock and tree outcrops. Nothing.

"Gotta think like Poppy."

Branch shifted his hair into a harp and brushed the strings. An awful out-of-tune clash made him cringe. He adjusted the string tension but it stayed dissonant. Guy made it look so easy.

"Glad I didn't try this at home."

He picked out the flute. It honked a jarring edge of mismatched notes.

"What the?!" His instrument looked fine. It wasn't damaged.

"Crazy desert song go!"

Hey! Now! I can't stand this place
Dirt and dust up in my face

He slapped his hands over his mouth. A voice like that might kill someone.

"Not a word of this to anyone, you hear?"

Choosing not to sing was one thing. Choosing to sing and being bad at it was another. Poppy wouldn't spend two minutes in this discordant landscape.

Branch got the heck out of dodge in the most likely direction: the one holding the most color. He'd make camp in the wilderness. He was going to stay out here as long as possible. Every minute counted.

For days he searched, sticking to water sources, trying to navigate the labyrinth of Poppy's mind. She wanted to go to the other side of Bummer Territory but couldn't tolerate going through it, so she went around. By sheer dumb luck he came across a campfire along a stream. She needed water. She'd have to come back to water every now and then.

He called her name. He played music. He set off flares and hid from the unusual critters the light and sound attracted. He was way beyond his comfort zone. There were too many unknowns in this area, but he was desperate.

Branch chewed through his last high density ration. He was torn between staying in the field and restocking at home. If he went back there might be more news, and it'd save the time and risk of foraging in unfamiliar territory. Lifesaver was fast. They'd lose maybe two days if the pace was brutal. One there, one back.

"Poppy, if you can get back up again, I really need it to be now."

x x x

Poppy quit counting missed hug times.

She slept a lot so she didn't have to exist as much. Existing meant misery. Chills, fever, cough, congestion, and thirst. So thirsty. Her mouth was a tarry desert. Hunger. But she knew if she ate the thirst would get worse.

Before, she considered using a firecracker flower flare. But people had to be looking for you to be found. That wasn't going to happen. She'd made sure of it.

Too clever for your own good, Poppy.

Too proud, too clever. A mistake was a mistake. It was in the past now.

Another day. She wasn't thirsty anymore.

She appreciated the beauty of the glowing flower on her wrist, the way its spritely pink petals swirled out and lifted fuzzy center feelers to the world. Hug flowers bred by connection. If you pressed two face-to-face and waited for them to close, they'd form a pair that became fruit and seeds for new flowers. The flowers thrived on joy. Without it, they withered away.

When she stopped, her hug watch would, too.

The flower on her ukulele wasn't the same. She wondered if it would bloom for anyone else, or if its existence was tied to her as well.

The cloud layer was lower today, hints of gold shimmering along white puffs. Sometimes she could hear music. It was far away in the sky, and it was weird, as Cooper would say. There wasn't any singing, only sound. Weird, amazing sounds.

Maybe the music was thunder and there would be rain. It could happen.

It was boring to lie still. She sat up.

click clack

Whoops. She might want to empty her hair if she couldn't hold things in it anymore.

Poppy picked up Branch's photo.

He hadn't wanted his picture taken, first because he insisted he couldn't smile, and then because it became a game of scowling whenever she tried to get one. It was a challenge, but she eventually snapped a genuine photo by being sneaky.

She could unfold the collage and she knew what she'd see: the smiles of all her friends. Silly, sly, cute, happy, lively. But Branch was different. His was a smile of affection.

She'd waited for his cuddlepup love to end. It didn't. The more he grew, the closer he seemed to be. Somewhere along the line he'd won her over, not with smooth talk or elaborate gifts, but just by virtue of being who he was. Strong and steadfast. Intense and passionate. A fighter, and a lover.

If he saw her like this he'd be devastated. She was being pathetic.

She was being pathetic.

Poppy started to wake up. There was a chance he could find her. For that to happen she had to live.

Water. Being sick might kill her, but dehydration definitely would. She had to find, get, or create water somehow. And no, drinking sweat or anything along those lines wasn't an option. Dr. Moonbloom had been firm on that.

She needed to survive.

Beyond optimism, beyond despair, she found at the core of her being a power she didn't know. The flowery prettiness of her environment dropped away and she looked at the situation as pure reality. Not what had been or could be, but what was there right now. She remained still to conserve energy while she perused a mental list of what she had with her. She thought about the ground she was on, the hollow she was in, the critters here, the egg orb structures, the weather at the moment.

Inspiration struck like musical lightning. She felt stupid, or silly, wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead she took a bowl from her gear with a shaking hand, threaded her hair into the clouds, and swished it around.

It came back damp.

She wrung the water out.

She wanted to learn to stand on her own? Now was the time. She drank and ate slowly, recovering the strength her body needed to fight off the illness. Then, when it was over, Poppy collected her gear and started walking. This time she didn't play any music. All of her skills razor focused on one goal only: to get home alive.

If Branch didn't find her, she would find him.