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UNSPOKEN
A Dreamworks Trolls Fanfic by C. Prince

Poppy or Creek

Poppy watched Creek leave the pod after the unsettling discussion. Branch closed the door. He stood, palm on the door, facing it, for a long while. Tense.

"I'll get ready to go," he said.

"I'm coming with you."

"No. I want you to stay here."

"Branch, I'm the queen. I have to make sure everyone is alright."

"I can do that for you," he snipped. He got dressed and combed through an impressive frazzled mane. "First the money, now the money and food; how long until it's one of us? Stay in the village where it's safe."

Poppy huffed. "We can talk to the bergens. They'll help us figure out what happened."

"I don't trust them."

"How can you say that? They're our friends!"

"No, Gristle and Bridget are our friends. How many other bergens do you know? Let me guess: seven, maybe eight?"

"Eighty-two."

Branch was taken aback by that. He went quiet for a moment. Then he regained his footing. "Well that's still not all of them," he insisted, afterwards mumbling, "as impressive as that number is. As you are."

The praise diffused the argument. She sighed and plopped down on the bed, watching him collect items throughout the pod with swift determination. "What's your plan?"

"Bait. I'm going to catch who's doing this. Then I'm going to find out why." He took her hands. She hadn't seen Branch this worked up in ages. His grip was a little too tight, his expression cast with a stunning mix of seriousness and love. "Promise me you'll stay here. Something's not right. The bunker's there if you need it."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"I don't know. That's what bothers me."

"Okay. No promises but I'll keep the party going here for now. Message me if you need anything, okay?"

He brushed a hand down her cheek, holding her steady with those deep eyes. "I love you."

The kiss was passionate, and he breathed "I love you with all my heart," somewhere in there. Then he pulled away and looked over his shoulder before leaving the pod. The door drifted closed with a click.

He made it feel like goodbye.

Branch was giving Guy Diamond heavy competition in the drama department. Poppy shook her head with a smile and got started on the fun for the day, trying not to think about how empty it would be without her sweet, intense partner.

x x x

One of the two flyer bugs carried Creek. Branch saddled up on the other.

He was going into bergen territory with a troll who'd been influenced by bergens in the past. He couldn't overlook that. If Creek's life was on the line, this could very well be a trap. Creek had been living with the bergens long enough to form an intricate plot. Except for pranks trolls were terrible schemers, but Creek was a snake cunning enough to draw the whole village out of hiding with Poppy's cowbell.

Branch didn't trust him. Maybe they'd developed a tolerance of each other but it counted for nothing in a life or death situation. He'd have to be careful with any words so he didn't give the enemy potentially useful intel.

"You're awfully quiet, mate." Creek said on the journey.

"Long night."

Creek laughed. "Sure it was."

Branch could feel his old scowl returning. He focused on the sky, unwilling to ruin yesterday with a Creek argument. He wanted to ditch the other troll, secure Trollberg, and return home to Poppy as quickly as possible.

This time Creek's voice was soft, difficult to hear over the flyer bugs. "Is she… doing alright?"

"What do you mean?" Branch growled through his teeth.

"I, um. I think you know by now. Her heart."

"Is gone. We'll manage." Branch shut the conversation down.

Creek's ears drooped and he remained mercifully silent the rest of the trip. Branch bristled anyway. If Creek was trying to get at the queen for some reason, tough. He'd have to go through Branch first. If Creek was being a typical troll who still cared about Poppy, also tough. The damage he'd caused was done. Now it was none of his business.

Branch expected Creek to go away. Instead, the clod followed him around Trollberg, maybe to spy. Maybe to whatever.

Branch went first to the money storage area at the base of the tree, looking for bergen tracks and fingerprints. There were none. Next: troll tracks. Plenty of those. Impossible to tell if any of them belonged to the… thief? The goods weren't shared, they were stolen. Yeah. Thief.

He folded his arms. There were no signs of critters, so animals were not responsible for this. No bergen footprints flattened the grass either. Prints should still be visible. Unless Creek was lying that the disappearance occurred overnight.

The community pantry wasn't picked clean but it was depleted. What use would a troll or bergen have for all that food? Branch looked around the stockpiles, unwanted magenta shadow tagging along.

"Why are you still here?" Branch asked, taking note of which food types were missing. Everything that kept well was gone. Refrigerated and fast expiring goods were mostly untouched.

"Because," Creek said calmly, "this is my home and I've an interest in restoring the balance."

"Then could you restore the balance somewhere not so close? You always do that. You always have to be right where I need to be. Personal space. It starts here," Branch drew a circle with his hair that was larger than necessary, "and ends here."

Creek didn't move. His expression was one of, what, bland irritation? It was oddly blank, lacking the prideful glee whenever he successfully humiliated Branch.

Creek said nothing and stared.

Branch managed to keep his voice even. "What?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

He held the leash on his temper, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just say it."

"This is why I hoped Poppy would come with you. She doesn't automatically assume the worst about people."

That stung. Creek was always so good at twisting the knife. "I don't trust you," Branch said aloud.

"I can see that. It is making working together rather difficult. Is there anything I can do to gain your trust?"

He didn't even need to consider it. "No."

For the first time ever, Creek stepped outside of Branch's large circle of personal space. "Then I will continue to do what I can on my own. I hope it is enough, because I sense there is something very wrong here."

Nothing could have been more disturbing than hearing his own thoughts come out of Creek's mouth.

It haunted Branch all day. He left his gear in the pod prepared for him, made it look like he was still there, and snuck out to go speak with Gristle. When he got to the castle it was crowded with petitioners. A very long line to meet the king spanned the hallways. The requests were urgent, related to needing places to stay. Branch backed off.

Something was wrong.

He scouted Bergentown's restaurant strip for suspicious behavior and signs of the missing food. There were more bergens than ever before. The colorful ones, was that due to happiness?

Something was wrong.

He surveyed Trollberg for unusual activity. His people dug in the treasure garden, played games, lounged at the spa, experimented with music that was smooth, quiet, and relaxing. Most of the trolls in Trollberg were occupied, though, with Creek. Branch watched Creek organize groups of trolls to sing and dance with the plants. It would speed up growth and bring a faster harvest to resupply the lost community pantry foods. Branch checked it off his mental to-do list. He stared at the empty hollow where the money had been.

Something was wrong.

Poppy was at home with a winged troll.

Finally the sense of unease became too much.

Branch holed himself up in the vacation pod with a blackboard and did what he did best. He created an insane conspiracy theory. Poisonous crows, angels, colorful bergens, ancient stone troll relics, and stolen goods scrawled in multicolored chalk with interconnected lines. Notes in tiny lettering crammed every available space, some of them sideways. It looked like the workings of a madman. It sounded psychotic. He figured it was at least 60% accurate.

The events in Trollberg and Ting's crash landing must be linked. The key was the bergens. Branch wasn't going to have any luck with them; most of what he knew was about the old society. This new bergen culture, who would understand what was going on? Poppy.

Creek.

Branch could ask Poppy to come here. They'd snuggle and try to figure this out together. Then he would wake up in the morning and find out she'd run off to troll-knows-where to do hair-knows-what. Sing at the enemy. Dance with the enemy. Hug them.

Or Creek.

Poppy would be at his side. She'd be right here in the middle of the danger with him. Poppy in the war zone, throwing herself in harm's way to protect her people, or the bergens, or a cute critter.

Or... Creek.

Poppy or Creek.

Branch put a hand on the pod wall, leaned into it, and cursed.

"Frosting-covered cupcake-eating hair-loving firework-fizzling son of a sparkler."

He got creative.

"Hot melted black jelly bean ice cream. Songless, off-key, miserable foot stomper. Unhappy, razor-fuzzed fuss face. Swizzlestraws and spider squash. This is just sugar-sprinkling superb."

Branch went to talk to Creek, knowing the smarmy little snot would rub this in his face for the rest of his life, if not longer.

x x x

All of this information necessitated a talk with Gristle later. Creek continued to lecture about the second bergen language, political disharmony, and their giant neighbors' budding relationship with happiness. "On their journey of self discovery, many of my bergen pupils began to regain their colors. Inner peace paves the way to happiness. Sound familiar, mmm?"

"Yoga and meditation were the solution all along. Who knew." Branch's dry remark went over Creek's head, who took the barb as a compliment instead. Creek stopped in front of a storage hollow in the tree trunk.

"Ah, here we are. All the finger painting supplies a troll could ask for."

"Great. I'm also going to need rope. A lot of it."

"Sure thing, mate."

"I'm not your mate."

Creek put a hand over his heart. "You wound me."

Ugh.

The Trollberg trolls used a local variety of vine for construction. Creek helped him carry coils of it to a wide, flat space on the ground where it'd be easy to work. Branch cut medium lengths of vine and lay them in a grid.

Creek's arrogant chortle cut through the quiet village atmosphere. "You can't be serious. You really think you can catch a bergen?"

Branch shot a glare before pulling the crown knot tight. "No." He slid the bunched vine in his hand over to create the next intersection. Before he could get into a rhythm Creek stepped closer to the work area.

"I've always been a bit curious. Show me how you tie those."

He sighed. Anything to get the guy out of his hair. "Vertical vine goes on top. Make a U under it with the bottom vine like this..." Branch demonstrated the final S shape and how to pull the vines through to finish.

Creek rolled up the next rung on the net and started a new row. "Like this?"

"Last strand has to go through, not over. See?"

By the third attempt Creek figured it out. His ties were clumsy but functional. Creek fiddled with the recent knot trying to get it tight. "How many nets are you making today?"

"Six."

"Right. And I assume it's not simply for fun."

"It never was."

Creek went to the vine roll and unraveled a length to match the ones on Branch's net. He cut the strand off before unrolling another. Piece by piece a second grid mirroring the existing one formed. Creek began tying crown knots.

"You're helping me," Branch said without looking up.

"I'm not helping you, I'm helping me."

Doing it for personal gain made more sense. "Part of some grand plan?"

"Telling you what you expect to hear."

That earned a glance. Creek was focused on the task, a relaxed barely-smile on his face. Then again, he'd smiled while he betrayed the village too. How a troll could be at peace with a decision like that Branch would never understand. He scoffed and got back to work.

For a good while it was tranquil. Sounds of trolls talking and playing filtered through the grasses.

"What is your plan, exactly?" Creek asked.

"Confidential," Branch said. He changed the topic to keep Creek from thinking about it. "How's… Ripple is his name?"

Creek chuckled. "Oh that ended ages ago. Don't keep up with current events, do you?"

Branch tugged crisscrossed vines taught. "I don't get you. How is it alright to keep switching trolls like that?"

"You say that like I have no feelings. Not everyone's like you, Branch… obviously." Creek snuck the smug joke in. Branch rolled his eyes. "People change all the time. We stay together while it's fun and when the spark dies we move on. Sometimes it's a bit sad but it's always for the best."

"But it's not supposed to be fun all the time. What's the point if you bail as soon as life gets tough?"

"So you would rather stay together even if it means being miserable forever?"

"No. I'm just saying that maybe trolls shouldn't run away as soon as things aren't cupcakes and rainbows. Maybe your own happy survival isn't the most important thing in the world."

"Are we talking about love or something else?"

"I don't know." Branch's frown curled with distaste. He yanked on the tethers and stewed over the past. Eventually buzzing thoughts faded into net-making. Row by row vines scraped through his palms. Evening colors flooded the skies.

"Thank you, by the way. For saving everyone," Creek said.

Branch turned an ear.

"I realize you'll never forgive me. I don't expect you to, or to understand what made me act so heartless." Quieter he added, "Honestly I hope no troll ever understands."

In the past Branch would've asked if being a selfish coward had anything to do with it. He reformed the jab to, "You had a reason other than saving your own skin?"

Creek's self-reflective facade didn't waver. Whatever his emotions he hid them well. "It doesn't matter. I made poor choices. If it weren't for you, Poppy, and Bridget, we'd all be gone."

It was the first time Creek ever truly acknowledged what happened.

"You're welcome," Branch replied quietly.

x x x

It would take a couple of mail bees, but that was fine. She had plenty of treats for them.

Poppy wrapped up the delivery in separate small leaf parcels. A salty pretzel mix, and another mix of sweet pretzels coated in three different options: chocolate, yogurt, and strawberry. A large, satisfying squish toy from the party factory. It was shaped like a… well, she wasn't sure what. A sea urchin kinda? Its thick, stubby legs stretched. They were super fun to pull and squish and – she was getting distracted. She closed up that leaf and went to the next, wrapping up Meadow's brand new illustrated book about edible plants.

Poppy knew Branch packed all the things he needed. She also knew he hadn't taken a single thing besides needs. So. One love package coming up.

A musical chime sounded at the doorway. Ting swooped through the opening and hovered politely, a scrapbook in hand.

Poppy leapt up. "Oh, did you finally finish? Let's see it!" she said, snapping open whichever scrapbook she'd grabbed from her hair. Miming actions was the easiest way to talk to Ting.

A look of determination hardened Ting's cordial expression while he presented his book. He skipped through the first few pages of paper circles and squiggles. With each turn the abstract shapes became more and more recognizable. When he stopped flipping, the trolls inside were a bit rough, but she could tell what they were.

Ting hovered, holding the book open in front of him with both hands. A powder blue lash of hair withdrew a conductor's baton and pointed at the trolls in the book. All of the cutouts were like Ting: glittery with wings. Their hair and gemstones featured metallic and pastel colors.

The next pages killed her smile.

Black. So much black. Shredded pieces of cardstock shaped like blades were everywhere, covering the scenery underneath. Winged trolls with frowning faces looked down from the only safe corner of the page. The dark shreds harassed other… trolls? Some of them sad, others lay on the page with their eyes X'ed out.

More black feathers on the next page. Dead lumps of creatures. Twisted and gnarled shapes she didn't recognize. Sunny weather contrasted with the chaos underneath it. Ting's trolls spattered scenes with frowns.

He tapped and circled the baton around gnarled alien shapes. He traced lines between those, the X eyed trolls, and the winged trolls. The baton scrambled over piles of feathers to make the motion.

Something bad. But where? Trolls were sick? Or dying?

She didn't know, didn't understand what he was trying to say. "I don't know. I don't know!" Poppy repeated, shaking her head, feeling frustration build. If only there were some way to figure out where he lived. She could help, but she had to go there to do it!

Ting kept drawing lines and circles. He made a strangled hum, flicked distressed notes over his hair, buzzed his wings, tried everything he could to communicate.

Poppy yanked a map from a pod cubby and spread it on the floor. She pointed to different places. Ting shook his head no. No to the badlands, no to the forests, no to the entire map. He couldn't read it at all. Pictures worked differently for Ting.

They couldn't understand each other. He held his scrapbook open and waved more patterns.

She shook her head. "Where should we go? Where is your home? Ting, I can't… I don't know."

In horror, Poppy watched it happen. The cherub's patient smile and worried eyebrows stayed plastered to his face while gray dulled fingertips. Fading ash seeped up his hands, his arms, spreading further. The scrapbook fell to the floor.

"Ting! No!"

Poppy hugged him, but it was no use. Flaky gray consumed the small troll. She felt the spirit go out of him.

Her desperation to find Ting's home morphed into hard rationalism. She set him on his feet since his wings weren't moving. The teen sank to his knees and sat on his heels, staring blankly at the scrapbook toppled open on the floor. Poppy remembered the feeling. She took a blanket from the closet and draped it over his shoulders.

"I'm going to find Cooper. Stay here." She didn't know how much of that he understood. Hopefully the blanket was sign enough.

Poppy's brain multitasked like a whirling pinwheel. Few trolls were qualified to lead an expedition. Tug, Meadow, Smidge, and a troll or two of their choosing could form one party. She could lead another, and Branch a third. One week out, another week back. The village would be deprived of its best leadership during that time. Her dad would have to come out of retirement for a bit.

If the bergens had known about any other trolls, they'd have been eaten by now. Why did Ting's colorful bergens look like the new ones in Bergentown? Poppy needed to talk to Bridget.

In the middle of the thought storm Poppy found Cooper. They raced back to her pod.

"Dang Poppy, you weren't kidding," Cooper whispered. "I've never seen him this gray."

Cooper sat beside Ting, resting fluffy fur against the desolate blanket-covered troll. Cooper folded his feet under himself and looked at her. "We all thought you were crazy when you said Branch had different shades. But I totally get it now."

Poppy picked up Ting's scrapbook. She held the dark and distressing message and wondered what, exactly, she was going to do.

x x x

Branch won time with Gristle by writing to the king in advance. He'd considered impatiently barging into the audience room, but that was a recipe for a scolding from Bridget, not to mention angering a mob of not-so-graceful giants. So, as the sun waned into dusky night and yellowed lanterns illuminated stone walls, Branch made the journey up the mountainous stairs to the throne room.

When was the last time he'd seen Gristle? The king wore clothes that fit him. Pallor of dead moss skin had warmed to healthy forest green. The color didn't match Gristle's solemn, tired expression, one that wearily perked up on Branch's entrance.

"'Sup buddy. Please tell me this is good news. I've had nothing but bad all day."

"Uh."

Gristle sighed and fell into the cushioned throne, sagging. "You too, huh?" He flicked a pizza crust crumb off the chair's arm. "Have a seat, I guess."

Gristle snapped fingers for Chad, who brought out a bejeweled podium and set it beside the king's throne. A series of troll furniture topped the podium: regal chair, fancy roundtable, windowed cabinet stocked with dishes, and a spew of cute cushions. Lots of pink, blue, and white. Poppy.

An abrupt pang of longing struck Branch. His heart wanted to be in a different place, but he had a job to do. "The new bergens in town," he said, lashing his hair through a hook at the top of the podium and pulling himself up. "They're not from around here, are they?"

"No. They're from the town north of us."

"How come I've never seen any of them before?"

At this, Gristle hesitated. "Ah. My people don't have the best reputation among bergens. Nobody gets sent to Bergentown because they want to be here. We're trying to help, but—"

"—Hold on, back up a second. What do you mean, 'get sent here?'"

The king stared over the long carpet trailing down to closed castle doors. A finger claw poked into the throne's armrest and dragged. "I don't know how to explain it in a way trolls would understand. I don't know if I should. You guys are kinda sensitive and sugary."

"And you're not?" Branch looked pointedly at the stone wall where Bridget collaged photos of her friends and the growing calendar of bergen holidays.

Gristle's brow furrowed. "Are you calling me soft? I've been getting that a lot. Oh King Gristle, so soft he let these refugees in here, giving away our food, our homes, our happiness." He snorted and waved. "These guys don't know anything about sharing! Bridget's been killing herself trying to teach them. I don't know why we bother."

"Food?" Branch spouted in the middle of this. He'd chosen not to sit. Now he paced the elevated platform.

"Yes, food. The whole reason people are coming from Orendale is because there isn't any. Livestock starving. Crops poisoned."

"Do they eat trolls?" Branch panicked.

Gristle grimaced. "No. Eating trolls isn't normal. Why do you think the kitchen had all those awful recipes? To cover up the taste."

"Oh great. Wonderful to hear cannibalism isn't in vogue outside Bergentown."

Gristle's temper frayed. "Yeah? You think I'm happy about this? My whole life I was taught the only way to be happy was to take it from someone else and stomach it. Know how my dad got his title? He took it by force. That's all we've ever known: take, take, take."

"So if I tell you someone's been stealing from Trollberg it wouldn't be a surprise."

"Nope. Not at all."

"Someone's been stealing from Trollberg."

"Figures." Gristle slid down the throne until he was a slouched mess, feet slung out over the floor. "What do you want me to do about it? The dungeon is practically full, and it's only a matter of time before the brutes out there—" he waved to the door "—start a mutiny."

That the unrest Gristle was talking about had gotten so bad was alarming. But if the thefts were because bergens desperately needed food, then… Branch shifted uncomfortably. "If they wanted to share our food and money, why didn't they ask?"

"Because it's one of my subjects stealing, not anyone from Orendale."

"So stealing is not okay in Orendale, but it is in Bergentown."

"Yes! No!" Gristle hoisted himself out of the throne and faced Branch. "My people don't know any better!"

Branch's voice went cold. "Like they didn't know any better when they ate my family."

Gristle just looked at him.

After a minute the king's mouth firmed into a hard line and he nodded a few times, anger focusing his eyes, an anger directed inward. "Bergens aren't trolls. Do you know what we do when someone commits a serious crime? We don't forgive, or try to reconcile, or sing. No. We banish them. And what happens to all those outcasts?"

Gristle turned toward a castle window to view the stacked rings of haphazard buildings outside. "They survive. Build. Take what they want, teach their kids to do the same. The lucky few born here, anyway."

Bergentown began with banished bergens left to die in the wilderness. It was a cage. A town they couldn't leave. A death sentence.

"Oh and by the way, the crime that started this whole place? Eating a troll. There weren't supposed to be any out here."

Branch sat.

The silence in the castle smothered even the crackling torchlight.

So. This whole time, if the troll tree had been in a different place, in a place Cooper or Ting was from, then none of this would have happened. Everyone would still be alive.

There wasn't anyone to blame. Who was at fault? For a long time Branch had blamed the trolls for not taking the initiative to escape sooner. Then, he'd been mad at the bergens when he discovered they did in fact have feelings. Why had no one protested the carnage?

And now here they were. Branch and Gristle inherited the problems of their parents, so, well, now it was time to do something, Branch supposed.

"You knew there were other trolls?" he asked.

"Just found out recently. Bergentown's been isolated for a long time. I never understood why my dad, or anyone, never left town. I kinda took everything for granted. Got what I wanted, never questioned." The bergen king sighed. "I'm questioning it now."

This was a lot to consider. For a while they said nothing, lost in thought.

"Alright." Branch cut into the quiet. "For now, I'll figure out who is responsible for the Trollberg theft. You decide how to deal with it. I'm pretty sure the Fun Dungeon is not going to work for a bergen."

"Tried it," Gristle mused. "Did not go well."

"After that the four of us," Branch eyed the empty queen's throne, "better have a get together and figure this out. Otherwise it's bound to keep happening."

x x x

Starless ink black sky coated the night by the time Branch leapt down the castle steps. Tired, frazzled, and lonely, he headed back to the Trollberg vacation pod. He knew it would be empty. The pop patterned blanket would be unrumpled and neat, the pillows untouched. Sleeping alone tonight. The perfect gloomy way to end this day.

There was no point in trying to deny it. He ached for Poppy. He slept better when she was there, especially when evenings ended in loving that defied description. Even stripped bare he'd never felt as safe, trusted, and desired as he did with her. And oh, sweet sugar stars, when they were connected and she laughed he could feel it.

It surprised him how quickly their somewhat shy and careful first attempts dissolved into euphoria, laughs, and learning. If one of them messed up the other didn't judge. If something hurt they cuddled and kissed each other through it. She knew him inside and out, from his worst to his best, and still she loved him.

Branch traversed tiled rooftops over bergen dwellings, stepping through one dim circle of street light to the next. The faint twisting in his heart hurt. His hand absently rubbed the spot. He missed her, but he knew she'd be fine, and he'd been fine, and soon they could be together again.

A collection of leaf parcels waited beside the pod doorway.

One by one, he opened reminders that Poppy knew and loved him. Each gift tugged at a deep, profound feeling that had started to build a long time ago. It was a place of calm certainty. No more fear she didn't want to be close, no more obsessive need to be together every hour, confidence they'd work through disagreements, knowledge they'd grow and change together.

This feeling. This feeling. It was only going to get stronger. His mom's journal echoed in his memories.

I don't know if there's a limit to how deep love can go. If you're reading this, find out for me, will you?

Branch wiped at his eyes, fumbling with the leaf wrap on one of the unopened parcels. Alone in the pod, he—

—wait, what was this? He turned the spiky, squishy ball around. He poked a finger into the soft center. The indentation slowly rose until it was smooth again. He slipped his hand around the wobbly legs and gave the ball a good squeeze, watching the wrinkly smush puff back up. He squeezed it again, thrilled by the firm but yielding texture. Why was this so satisfying?

Branch idly stretched the colorful nubs attached to the object, feeling the tension spring and soften. He looked around the pod while he fiddled. Erratic scrawling littered the blackboard. A curtained doorway led to a private balcony. The strange starry glows of lights throughout Bergentown peeped through leaves in the distance.

He had no idea what was out there in the world beyond their forest. But, he did know one thing.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Poppy.

x x x

Suki snapped at her this morning, Branch was away, Bergentown was struggling, the trolls in Ting's home were under siege, and still Poppy smiled. She kicked around in a couple of puddles, hair fluffed to keep the misty light rain from dampening the papers inside. One, in particular.

Poppy,

In many great romances the heroes sacrifice themselves for the sake of one another. The stories always paint it as tragic, forcing one person to give up something important to their own happiness on behalf of the other.

When I'm with you I feel those stories are wrong. To me there is no sacrifice. I made changes, but I never felt like I gave up something I wasn't ready to part with. You inspired me to be my best self. I learned what I wanted out of life because of you.

I used to dream I'd find a troll who wanted to dance with me even though my colors were dim. Who'd sing, even if I couldn't bring myself to join in. Who'd care about me even if I was scared of the future. Someone interesting and confident, happy with their life as it is, but who wouldn't mind sharing it with the right troll.

I lost sight of that dream for a long time. In fact I was certain such a person didn't exist. But they do.

It's you. It's always been you.

I love you. I think I always have, even before we met.

I know now that if it did come down to a sacrifice to win your love I'd make it. I'd give sun and stars to be the troll that shares your life. If you'll have me, I have words to say that don't belong on a page. Were you planning on proposing, or should I?

Branch

Poppy's hair curled protectively around the promise. Branch was the troll she'd always wanted, too. It'd just taken a lot of life adventures to find each other.

Faraway concert music trickled through the rain. Ting must be back in the band shell, conducting the marching band through the sheet music he'd written. The musicians had finally begun to grasp how to play Ting's barred sprays of notes that lived without lyrics. The sound was enchanting and powerful, a wordless strength that pulled at her heartstrings and made her feel what couldn't be said. Thunder rolled in the distance, reminding her of a time she'd been hoping for rain in a land of white and gold while music just like this—

She stopped.

The ancient, empty stone building she'd discovered. The decorative music carved into its walls was the same as Ting's handwriting. The music playing now, she'd heard it before. In the sky...

Eventually she realized Biggie was talking to her. "Poppy, goodness, are you alright? Do you need a hug?"

Water soaked her all the way through. Poppy turned and ran to her pod. She yanked the adventure scrapbook from its place. Racing down the tree and across the wet grass she slipped, careening front first into mud she didn't notice because she was already back up. The curved band shell loomed before her. Ting's golden skin sparkled with each wave of the conductor's baton.

Poppy skipped the stairs and vaulted onstage a splattered mess. Trumpets choked in surprise. She whirled around and split the scrapbook open to the page with the egg cones.

Ting's baton clattered to the floor.

x x x

Okay. Branch clapped his hands together and rubbed. That should do the trick.

They wanted money and dried goods? Come and get them.

He lashed his hair around the tips of a fern and strode up to the troll tree. Fronds curved overhead, coming together to create a green leafy shell. Branch did a snappy about-face, plopped down, leaned against the trunk, flicked one leg over the other, and folded his hands behind his head.

Every night he staked out within earshot of the bait pile, and every night that bait pile became more and more enticing. Tonight the mouthwatering aroma of freshly roasted, salted nuts wafted from the stash. It took a few days and a couple of trolls to forage that many. Branch was going to catch someone for sure – hoping at this hour it would be the thief and not a hungry insomniac.

Thoughts faded with early morning twilight. Branch dozed off in his camouflaged hiding spot.

A sharp twang jolted him awake. Wet splatter of paint balloons crushed nearby. Moving stealthily, Branch poked his fingers between two fronds and peeked through the slit.

Within seconds he stood at the foot of the net and its occupant.

What?

WHAT?!