-O-

Taming Branch

By Dreamsinger

Chapter 16

Into His World

Deep underground in the secret home of her reclusive forest friend, the young princess suddenly recalled an odd comment Branch had made earlier that had made him laugh. He'd refused to explain what he'd found so funny about it, but now she snapped her fingers and let out a laugh of her own. "'Living under a rock!' I get it now!"

Branch made a sound of wry amusement and started to say something, but got distracted when he noticed that a tower of jars was leaning precariously to one side, ready to fall. As he hurried over to re-stack the jars, Poppy took the time to glance around.

The earthen chamber was dim and cluttered. Most of the walls were covered with what looked like supplies of one type or another. Dozens of stacked barrels, boxes, and corked pottery jars. Large-sized fruits, nuts and other food items were stored in wall nooks, or just in piles that spread out into the main room. A halfhearted attempt had been made to create a little living area at one end, with a tiny stone desk and stool.

The chamber smelled of earth and stone; a cool, shady sort of smell that lacked the damp, musty odor she would have expected. When she took a few steps into the room, she caught a whiff of a faint, sweet scent that made her sniff the air deeply. Vanilla, gingerbread, cinnamon. Mmm. Looks like Branch been doing some baking recently. The delicious scents made her mouth water, and Poppy realized that she was famished. It was only about eleven o'clock, but they'd had a busy morning. With all the party food she'd brought gone, she found herself hoping that Branch had also made some treats for them.

She closed her eyes and inhaled again, enjoying the savory scents as she tried to guess what made them. Cookies, maybe? Then she caught another scent, and lifted her nose into the air, sniffing like a cuddle-pup. Fresh air, this deep underground? I wonder where it's coming from. She started to ask Branch, but just then she noticed an odd assortment of open-ended pipes attached to the walls near the desk. The pipes all went up into the ceiling. Maybe that's how he gets fresh air?

More curious now, she studied the rest of the chamber more closely. The longer she looked, the more dismayed she became. The room was barely lit. What few glow-shrooms there were gave off dim, yellow light, leaving most of the chamber shrouded in shadows so thick she could easily imagine getting lost in them.

Tools hung in the few empty places on the walls. There was no art, no bright colors, no ornamentation. Even the curtains covering some of the wall nooks behind the desk were dull-colored. There was nothing pretty or interesting to look at, other than several scrapbooks in one of the wall nooks that she recognized as her own work. Her belly clenched, and her lower lip began to tremble. This… This is awful. No wonder he isn't happy. How could anyone be happy living in such a grim, gloomy place?

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a flash of vivid orange. With a feeling of relief, she whirled around to see-

Something incomprehensible. She stood there, blinking, trying to sort out what she was seeing. Then something clicked. She gasped aloud and took a step back.

TEETH IN THE NIGHT

RUN

NO

EATEN

BEWARE

HUNGER

BERGENS

EAT US

A jumble of words. A riot of scribbled pictures. Fierce monsters! Razor teeth! The slash of orange lines connecting an insane wall collage made by a scrapbooker gone mad with fear!

Oh. My. Gosh.

The gray troll had scrawled warnings about the bergens on the walls of his own home. No, not just warnings. Outcries of panic, of sheer primal terror, spilling out in a gush of paint and emotional agony. Splattered across the walls like thought vomit. He'd even carved warnings into the boulders and support posts. It was utter horror.

Poppy was in a cloud of horror herself, staring and staring at the terrible, obsessive fixations that had come from the mind of the troll she called her little foxfluff. Only this foxfluff wasn't cute and cuddly; he was wild, feral. Hunted.

She'd never seen anything like this. Never even knew such terror existed. Yet it matched the Branch she'd met months ago, whose first response when she surprised him was to threaten her with his hair. So wary, so cautious; always on alert. Unable to trust anyone. Not even her.

No wonder it took him so long to accept me. In fact, I'm surprised it only took him three months. My gosh, looking at that - that Fear Wall every single day – it's a wonder he's still sane.

"Okay, Poppy, I-"

She spun around to see Branch standing there, his face unreadable.

Suddenly she had the feeling that she shouldn't have seen those messages. Even though it was literally impossible for anyone not to. She put a hand behind her head and attempted a weak laugh, desperately trying to think of a way to put a positive spin on things. "The, uh, the orange is very…bright. Very appropriate for warning messages. Definitely catches the eye."

Branch wasn't fooled. "You think it's creepy, don't you?" he said flatly.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Poppy looked away from Branch's hard stare. No wonder he never wanted me to see where he lived. She felt every bit the invader here. Poppy waited for him to tell her to get out, only to be surprised when Branch did what he was good at and ignored all the feelings in the room to focus on practical things.

"Well, anyway, forget about that, Poppy. We need to take out that splinter before your hand gets infected. Follow me."

He began to walk away. Poppy took a few steps after him and stopped, involuntarily reading a new rush of messages shouting for her attention. Branch walked a little further before realizing he was alone and turned to see her staring up again.

A look of challenge settled on his face. "Unless you're scared, that is."

That did it. Poppy scowled at the smirk on his face and determinedly walked forward. Branch was the scaredy-troll here, not her!

The gray troll led her down a shadowy, twisting passageway until they reached a reassuringly normal-looking bathroom. Unlike the rest of the bunker, it was fairly well-lit. It had a stone bathtub with a shower head, a lidded toilet, and a large cabinet with a sink set into the top. Her eyes widened in delight. The cabinet was made of large rounded river stones held together with cement; something she'd never seen before but instantly liked. The floor was even better – a mosaic of tiny ceramic tiles forming a series of beautiful, curving arches.

"Oooo…" The scrapbooker in Poppy couldn't help but turn in a slow circle to admire the effect. Everything was in soft, pretty colors – peach, blue-gray, mauve, mint green, soft pink. She whistled to show her appreciation. "This is really beautiful, Branch."

His face lit up. "Really? You like it?"

Poppy beamed at the sheer delight on his usually serious face. "I love it." She twirled in a circle, her arms in the air as relief spread through her. This was the sensitive Branch she knew. "You're so creative and artistic, Branch."

"I am?" Adorably, he blushed. "Thanks, Poppy."

The pink troll was tickled to see that the lavender in his cheeks looked much brighter than usual, here in the warm yellow glow-shroom light. Or was it brighter because he was happy to hear her praise? If that's the case, I can certainly oblige.

The princess spoke admiringly of his choice of furnishing. There was a handsome oval mirror on one wall with a polished golden-oak frame, a matching oak towel rack, and a wicker laundry hamper. The opposite wall had several recessed wall nooks containing folded washcloths and towels, plus small jars and bottles of what she assumed were toiletry items. In front of the bathtub was a small braided rug in light blue, navy and purple. Everything was neat and spotlessly clean.

Finally she turned back to Branch, who was watching her with a small, proud smile. "So this is what you do for fun," she said, her tone warm with approval. "It's wonderful, Branch!"

"Fun?" Branch looked surprised, then thoughtful. "Huh. Maybe. I guess so. I never thought of it like that."

Poppy beamed at him, delighted to have learned another new thing about her friend. "You're so talented, Branchifer," she told him, wanting to see that proud smile again.

This time he did more than smile. Tilting his head, he gazed at her with half-lidded eyes, and then actually winked at her. "Not bad for your little foxfluff, eh, Poppifer?"

Mouth open, Poppy watched him walk away from her toward the wall nooks, his stride so exaggerated it was almost a swagger. Then she grinned. Look at him. Oh, he's so cute.

Branch gave her a soapy washcloth so she could wash the dirt off her hands, then washed his own. After spending the morning working, Poppy hadn't realized how grubby her hands had gotten. It felt good to have clean hands again.

She couldn't do much about the dirt on her light yellow dress, but Branch didn't seem to care, so she decided not to worry about it. Being invited into her elusive friend's home was worth the sacrifice, anyway. Thankfully, Branch's own clothes, including his new shorts, seemed to have come through better than hers. Or else brown and green were just better at hiding dirt. She was beginning to appreciate the wisdom of his fashion choices.

Poppy watched as Branch went to get a small pair of tweezers and a small brown bottle from one of the wall nooks, then came back to the sink. He set the tweezers on the countertop, opened the bottle and held out his hand toward her, palm up. "Let me see your hand."

She placed her hand on his. He held it over the sink, then poured some of the liquid on it. It had a sharp smell and a sharper bite. Taken by surprise, Poppy hissed, gritting her teeth and drumming her feet against the hard tiled floor. "Oh my gosh that stings!"

"Sorry, but you know we need to disinfect it."

She nodded, biting her lip to distract herself. After inspecting her hand, Branch let go of her it and picked up the tweezers, pouring more of the antiseptic liquid on them until he was satisfied that they were germ-free. After shaking them dry, he held out his hand, and she placed her own into it.

Just for a moment, she almost expected him to flinch at the touch of her hand on his, but his mind was on the task at hand. He showed no sign that touching her was bothering him. Poppy was thankful for that, as she squeamishly turned her head away so she wouldn't have to watch what was about to happen.

Branch lightly ran the tweezers back and forth over her palm, then frowned. "I can't find the end, Poppy. It looks like I'm going to have to dig for it. I'm sorry."

She bit her lip, then braced herself. "That's okay. Do what you have to do."

Brave through her words were, she couldn't help but wince as he poked at her injured palm. To distract herself from the prickly, pinchy feeling, she began to count the familiar dark freckles on his cheeks. I wonder whether they'll change to glitter-sparkles when he gets his full colors back? I kind of hope not. They're cute-

"Ow!" she yelped, pulling her hand away.

"Hold still, Poppy, I almost got it," Branch said, reaching for her hand.

"Stop!" Instinctively, she pulled it back against her belly. "It hurts, Branchie!"

His hand froze, shock spreading over his face.

A sudden memory flooded both trolls' thoughts.

-O-

"Stop it, Branchie! You're hurting me!"

Frightened fuchsia eyes, edged with tears. A little girl's voice pleading with him, asking him not to hurt her again.

A boy, not knowing how to be gentle. Regretting the pain he'd caused. Feeling out of his depth, but trying again, because the little girl needed help. Needed him. No one ever needed him, but she did. Not just to fix her boo-boos, but for comfort. She was upset; she needed cheering up. She needed reassurance. She needed to be cared for.

So he tried, fumbling to make lame jokes as he cleaned and bandaged her poor skinned knees. "If it smarts, I can put some salve on to make it dumber."

The weird thing was, even though he had no idea what he was doing, she seemed to feel better anyway. When he was done, she put her hand in his and looked up at him with those big, trusting, shimmery eyes, and he was lost. And also, found.

-O-

Branch took a deep breath. Poppy winced, expecting more impatience, but when he spoke, his voice was unexpectedly soft. "I know it hurts, and I'm sorry. I feel bad about that, I really do, but… I can't just leave you like this. I just…I can't. You're hurt. You got hurt because of me. Please, Poppy. Let me help you. I – I couldn't stand it if something happened to you."

She glanced at him, surprised. Far from impatient now, his blue eyes were plaintive, his brows drawn close with worry for her. His concerned expression, more than anything, made her nod and give him her hand.

This time he was gentler, or else her thoughts were strong enough to block out some of the pain. Focusing on her companion now, she mused, Branch sure is acting different today. He's showing more feelings than usual. Is it just because today is our friendship anniversary? Or is it because we're in his home, his safe space?

Her friend did seem less restrained down here. Deep underground, they really were hidden from the threats of the world. No bergen would ever find them here. Maybe down here he felt as if he could afford to lower his guard, if only a little. If that's the case, I shouldn't let this opportunity pass by. I should try asking him about the stuff he usually doesn't want to talk about. There's so much I want to know about him. Maybe he'll finally tell me why he left the village, and why he doesn't want to go back. Maybe he'll tell me why he's been gray all these years, and why he doesn't like hugs. Ooo! Maybe he'll even let me hug him when my Hug Time watch goes off!

Even with the persistent nip of the tweezers on her sore palm, her thoughts were captured by the alluring idea. He almost looked like he wanted to hug me this morning… I remember he used to hug me all the time when we were little... If he wanted, we could totally have a hugfest to celebrate our friendship anniversary. I'm not expected back home until dinnertime, and Branch has already done his daily chores. It's not even lunch time yet. We could hug all day if we wanted to…

Suddenly the tweezers stabbed, grabbed, and yanked. Poppy squealed and jerked her hand away.

"Ha! Got it!" Branch said triumphantly, holding up the tweezers, which clutched the offending wood sliver like a prize.

Her dreamy thoughts forgotten, Poppy shook her stinging hand, then looked at it. A drop of sparkly magenta blood welled up, filling in the tiny hole in the heel of her hand. She grimaced and danced around. "Owie, owie, owwowwoww… Man, that hurts!"

"Sorry, Poppy, but it's over now," Branch looked apologetic, yet also amused at her melodramatic theatrics. He did seem to realize that she had to get it out of her system, though, as he merely tossed the splinter into a small trash bucket, then went to put away the tweezers and bottle. Then he took a couple of small jars from the nook and set them down on the countertop.

"How are you doing, Poppy? You okay?" he asked sympathetically.

The stinging hadn't subsided, but she was getting used to it. "Yeah, I guess so. It still smarts, though."

"It smarts, eh? Well, come over here and I'll bandage it for you. I have some salve here that will make it a little dumber."

So deadpan was his tone that it took her a second to catch on. She glanced at him in surprise, and was rewarded by the sight of his lips curving up on one side in a sly little smile. Even as she laughed, she was thinking, We've done this before.

-O-

It was the day they became friends as trollings. She'd taken a rough tumble off her skitterboard and painfully skinned both knees. Branch had been nearby and heard her cry out in pain. Instead of scolding her for not wearing knee pads as she'd expected, he'd comforted her, then carried her back to his pod to take care of her.

Poppy smiled fondly at the memory. The boy he had been then had been so sweet and funny, even joking with her a little to keep her mind off her pain. She had loved him for that. He'd been so kind and patient after that day, as if he'd loved her, too. Even when she kept following him around, pestering him for attention. All she'd wanted to do was be near her hero. To learn more about him.

She wanted that even more now. Every time he opened up to her, she became ever more fascinated by him.

-O-

"Come here, Poppy," he said, turning away to open the jars on the countertop.

"Okay, Branchie," she replied contentedly, walking up to him. It was only when she saw the mild surprise on his face that she realized she'd used her old nickname for him. Branch obviously remembered it, too, as he gave a little chuckle. She laughed, too. "Just like old times, huh?" she said, smiling.

He raised an eyebrow. "You mean, you getting into 'scrapes,' and me patching you up afterward?" he said wittily.

"Ouch," she giggled, pretending to wince. "Good one."

The pink princess held out her injured hand to her old friend, and he took it. Clipped to the lid of one of the jars was a tiny flat spoon, which he used it to scoop up a bit of white salve. He dabbed it onto the smooth, soft center of the owie-leaf he took from the other jar. Then he gently pressed the leaf to the spot of blood, carefully pressing down the sticky edges with his thumb. "There. Don't worry, Poppy, it should feel better soon."

"Thank you, Branch."

At that point, Poppy thought he would let her hand go, but he didn't. He gazed down at the small pink hand resting palm-up in his big gray hand as if he were studying it. After a moment, he began to rub his thumb in the middle of her palm, just below the leaf. Is he looking for other injuries? Curious, she checked his face. From his expression, he seemed oddly preoccupied.

Does he still feel bad about having to hurt me? He seemed okay a minute ago. Poppy started to say something, wanting to reassure him that it was no big deal, but stopped as she sensed something else going on. Something was different.

The motion of his thumb slowed. It tickled a little, but Poppy felt no urge to laugh, because it didn't feel as if Branch was trying to tickle her. It didn't feel like one of their touch-training exercises, either. What it did feel like was…a caress. As if he was trying, in a small, careful sort of way, to show affection to her.

Excited tingles spread from her hand up her arm as she checked his face once more. He didn't seem particularly troubled, or nervous. He looked thoughtful, more than anything else. Poppy remembered her earlier thoughts. They were in his bunker. His den. The place where he felt safest.

Safe enough to be vulnerable with me? Safe enough to open up his heart?

Poppy closed her eyes as a thrill went through her; a quiver of anticipation. What would he be like, if he truly felt free to drop his guard and let her see everything? Who would he be? Would he sing with her? Dance with her? Would he let her hug him? And would he hug her, the way she wanted so much to be hugged by him?

His thumb had moved on to her fingers, gently stroking them. Smiling tenderly, Poppy turned her hand over and curled her fingertips around his. He went still, but did not protest or pull away. She waited a moment for him to adjust, then began lightly drawing her fingers over his hand, from his wrist down over his palm and fingers. She did not look up at him, instead listening to his breathing. It was slow, and calm, and deep. No sign of panic in him.

At first, Branch was still under her touch. Then he began to reciprocate, lifting his fingers up to brush against her palm as it passed over his. Her heart fluttered against her ribs. How did such a simple action seem so meaningful, so thrilling?

A couple of times her companion took a deeper breath, as if about to say something, but he didn't. Maybe he didn't know what to say, or want to disturb what was happening between them. Maybe he simply felt as if there were no need for words.

For once, neither did she. As always on the rare occasions Branch let her get close to him, she was too enthralled to want it to stop. Too enthralled to want to figure out what "it" was. She had a connection with Branch. A strong one. The type hardly mattered.

Right?

Finally Branch lifted his head. She recognized the look in his eyes; tender and mellow, like the day they had lain side by side in the grass. The ice had melted, opening a way to his heart.

"Hey, Branch?" she said softly.

"Yes?"

"Thank you for taking care of me. Now, and back then, too."

He smiled, slow and sweet. "I was happy to."

She gave him a dreamy smile in return, barely realizing that her eyes were half-closed, or that her nose was an inch from his. For a timeless moment the two young trolls gazed into each other's eyes, fascinated and entranced by one another. Their hands were still, palms pressed together, fingers relaxed.

For once, Branch was the one to break the silence. "How's your hand feeling?" he murmured.

She blinked, then stepped back and lifted her hand from his to flex it in the air. "It doesn't hurt anymore," she said, surprised.

"That's good. I've done experiments with some of the plant life out here," Branch explained. "My healing salve is antibiotic, and also has a topical painkiller in it. It doesn't take long to work."

She poked the owie-leaf lightly with her other hand and felt nothing. "Whoa. I am seriously impressed right now."

Branch chuckled. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then her stomach growled, and he let out a full, happy laugh, joyful and free. "Let's head back to the kitchen and I'll make us some lunch. And who knows? I might even have some tasty treats for dessert," he said jovially, winking at her.

"I was hoping you'd say that!" she exclaimed excitedly, and he laughed again.

His kitchen was almost as nice as his bathroom, which made her suspect he spent a lot of time there. While they were eating, she asked him questions about his bunker, and he answered them willingly. His face and body language were more relaxed and open than she'd ever seen before.

"The air down here is fresher than I would have expected. Is that what the tubes behind your desk are for?"

"No, those are part of my surveillance system. Most of them are listening tubes. Some are periscopes, so I can see what's going on outside."

"Oh," she said with wide eyes. She pictured him watching her waiting for him in the meadow during their last big fight, and was doubly glad she had taken Milton's advice about continuing to come faithfully every day. If she hadn't, she wouldn't have continued to earn his trust. He might never have changed his mind about wanting to be friends with her, and she certainly wouldn't be sitting here in his hidden home right now.

Branch added, "I have a separate ventilation system with two big fans that constantly draw in fresh air, and push out old air."

"Really? How does it all run?"

"Hydroelectric power. There's an underground river under my bunker. I use a waterwheel to generate all the power I need."

"Hydroelectric power? That's so cool! You're a mechanical genius, Branch!"

He stood straighter at that. "Thanks. I designed and built it all myself. It's my life's work: a heavily fortified, bergen-proof survival bunker. Guaranteed to let me survive for ten full years in case of a bergen attack. Eleven, if I'm willing to store and drink my own sweat. Which I am." He gave her a defiant look that stopped her from saying anything, as he went on, "You all said I was crazy for believing the bergens were still out there, but you know our luck won't hold out forever. At least I'm doing something constructive, instead of just hanging from my hair."

"But-"

"But nothing. Poppy, you agree that the bergens are real, not some fairy tale out of a scrapbook, don't you?"

She hesitated. "Yes, of course."

Her agreement seemed to mollify him. "They've had eight years to hunt us down. They must be getting close by now. When they find us, the village won't stand a chance," he said quietly. "You're the princess, Poppy. It's your job to keep everyone safe, and plan ahead for disasters, isn't it?"

Ouch. That stung worse than the splinter had.

"You could order every troll in the village to dig and stock their own bunker, just like mine. Even if the bergens don't come, having a store of supplies would be a lifesaver if there's ever a drought. Or a forest fire, or a flood, or some other disaster."

"We do keep a small supply for situations like that."

"Enough to feed, what, 250 trolls? For how long, a day?"

"260, actually."

"Exactly my point." Branch sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You need to be more prepared than that, Poppy." As he spoke, the censure in his voice faded, replaced by genuine concern. "You're my friend. I don't like to think that something might happen to you."

She put a hand over her heart. "Thanks, Branch. You're sweet."

As always, she was delighted at the sight of the adorable lavender blush on her friend's cheeks. Perhaps wanting to live up to the positive image she had of him, Branch did not continue his lecture. Instead he offered to show her around his bunker. The young princess was happy to take him up on his offer.

-O-

Branch enjoyed the tour more than he'd expected. The more Poppy praised him, the more praise he wanted. She did not disappoint. After ten long years, all his hard work was finally being recognized. His ideas, his strategies, his determination to succeed. Seeing it all through her eyes made him feel so good inside, in a way that no amount of self-affirmation ever could. Her approval gave his accomplishments more value, somehow.

This will show her I'm more than just a silly foxfluff.

-O-

The more she saw, the more impressed she was. Branch hadn't spent the last ten years simply hiding in a hole in the ground. He's created his own little world down here. Storage rooms, weight room, mechanical systems. Using an underground river for water and power. Medicines. Gosh, my little foxfluff is so amazing.

As she followed Branch from chamber to chamber, many of the things Poppy saw delighted or amazed her. But there were other things disturbed her, almost as much as the Fear Wall had. Branch had several chambers full of weapons, actual weapons. Smoke bombs, slingshots, rocks, knives, knockout darts, pointy sticks, bows and arrows. Even a cannon, of all things.

The gray troll was prepared for an all-out war. A real war, not one played with feather-filled pillows. The very idea chilled her stomach, but she managed to keep her misgivings to herself, for one very important reason.

Branch loved his home. She could see it from the way his face lit up with every new thing he showed her. In every word he spoke. This was what he was missing up above. Passion. Vitality. Life!

Love.

Branch's bunker was a big part of who he was. A world as unique as he was. He was proud of it, and proud of himself. As he should be. Poppy was proud of him, too, and she didn't hesitate to let him know it. "You've got skills, Branch, my man. We could really use a talented troll like you in the village. Your inventions are ingenious. I know you would be a big help to everyone, and they'd all be so grateful for it. Are you sure you're not interested in coming back?"

He snorted, then looked apologetic. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not interested in the party scene. Besides, the point of my bunker is to stay hidden. That village is way too exposed for my taste. I'd be a nervous wreck, living there. I don't know how you all stand it without going crazy."

She was a little disappointed, but she hadn't really expected him to say yes. Not yet, anyway. It was enough for today that he was actually sharing it all with her. Sharing the world he'd devoted himself to building, and sharing himself with her, too.

Her friend reached out to affectionately pat a nearby wall. "My bunker is the only place in the entire world where you can truly relax. Plus, it has way more storage space than a pod. I have every resource you could possibly imagine." He crossed his arms smugly. "I have practically the entire world in here. There's nothing I can't make, or do."

"I believe you," she said sincerely, then chuckled. "You sure do like your storage space, don't you?" She glanced at the shorts she had designed just for him, complete with oversized leaf pockets.

He looked down, too, and his face softened. He uncrossed his arms and said softly, "I do, but there is one thing I don't have in here. The most important thing of all."

"Oh, really? What's that?"

"A friend."

She put her hands cutely to her cheeks. "Awww…"

-O-

Wanting to see how she reacted to the rest of his bunker first, Branch had decided to save his own room for last. He could skip it altogether if things didn't turn out well, and not be tormented by images of her in there every night as he tried to sleep.

Thankfully, even though he could tell she didn't like his stockpile of weapons, she seemed to accept the reason they were there. She'd even offered him a place in the village again, which told him that she was still ready to accept him. He'd been worried about that, but once again, she had proven herself to be his friend. She still cared about him, despite seeing more of his dark side, like the Fear Wall. It hadn't scared her off. She hadn't run screaming from the bunker as he'd feared.

The longer she stayed and the more proud of him she seemed, the more he relaxed inside. I should have let her in a long time ago.

Although just before he let her into his room, he had a sudden, irrational worry that he'd left something in his room out of place. Worse, that he'd left something embarrassing lying out, even though he knew he hadn't. Letting Poppy see his bunker had been Plan B, after all. He'd been prepared for this to happen.

But still, maybe one last check.

-O-

Poppy happily rode beside Branch as he guided the lift back up from the bottom of the bunker, stopping right in the middle. He led her down a passageway they'd passed by several times on the way to somewhere else. As they approached one of the open doorways, an almost panicked expression crossed his face. "Can you wait a minute? I want to make sure everything is, uh, tidy."

"Tidy? Branch, I don't care about that. Besides, you're Branch. Of course it's tidy…" she said to thin air.

She heard the scuff of footprints inside, and sighed. Politely waiting, she noticed another room right across the hall. Curious, Poppy went to take a peek inside, lighting the tip of her hair to see in the darkness that was somehow not as oppressive as it had seemed at first.

That's funny… There's nothing in here. She turned her head to one side, then the other, and spotted a single framed picture on the wall. It was the first actual piece of artwork she'd seen, so she went closer to look at it.

Where most trolls would have photos of friends and family decorating the walls, it appeared that Branch preferred nature scenes instead. It was a photograph of a young puffalo, round and cute, with a big fluffy cream-colored coat that always reminded Poppy of cotton candy.

Why this one puffalo? Was it special to him in some way? Hey, maybe Branch does have a pet after all.

"Poppy? Where are you?"

"Here, Branch. Across the hall."

"What?" he said in alarm. He came hurrying through the door. "What are you doing in here?" he demanded loudly.

She jumped at his angry tone. "I – I thought we were doing a tour. Was I not supposed to come in here?"

He paused, then admitted gruffly, "No, but you wouldn't know that. Sorry for yelling."

She nodded. "That's okay." As the two of them looked up at the picture, Poppy said, "That's a cute puffalo, Branch. What's his name?"

"Fluffy."

She waited for a happy gush of information to sweep over her, but as usual, Branch did the opposite of what she expected. Where any other troll would be treating her to a 200-page photo album of their beloved pet's quirky antics, Branch merely turned to head across the hall instead.

"Aw, come on, Branch, don't leave me hanging! I thought you didn't have any pets."

"Pet?" Branch turned around, seeming offended. "Fluffy wasn't a pet. He was my best friend."

"Really?" she asked, fascinated. Branch had a puffalo for a best friend? "Tell me about him. How did you two meet?"

Branch was silent for a long moment. It was the first time his normal reticence had shown up, which puzzled her. But just as she opened her mouth to ask another question, he sighed and began his tale. "He was injured during the yearly puffalo migration and couldn't keep up with the others. I treated his injuries, and he chose to stay with me instead of joining the other puffalos when he was well again. I built him a shelter near here, and he lived there until the migration passed by again the next year."

"What a sweet story. He sounds like a great companion."

Branch didn't smile, even though he seemed to agree with her, adding an oddly subdued tone, "Yeah, Fluffy was…a great help to me. He helped me haul heavy loads, plow fields… He was the first friend I'd ever had who didn't complain about me wanting to work so much. He gave me unconditional support, and affection. He - he even…"

Branch closed his eyes, as if it helped him better see the memory. "When I was scared or lonely, he would do this thing where we stood close together and he'd touch his nose to mine, and breathe, slow and deep, like he was trying to help me feel better."

"Aww…" Poppy put her hand to her own nose, inevitably imagining herself trying it on him. "Did it work?"

"Yes."

"He sounds wonderful. I can't wait to meet him," she said cheerily. "The puffalos are back from their migration, I think. Are they, Branch?"

Branch didn't answer her, gazing at the picture with a strangely poignant longing.

"Um, Branch?"

She noticed then that he was taking short, deep breaths. Then his face started to look wrong. Very wrong. Even more un-trolly than usual.

"Branch? Is everything all right?" Concern for him made her own forehead wrinkle.

Suddenly Branch wrapped his arms around himself. "No." Misery choked his voice, and her belly clenched, a sudden dread filling her heart. Wait, Branch said Fluffy "was" his best friend. Oh, no…

Tears shone in Branch's eyes, and began to spill over.

"Oh, Branch…" Forgetting herself, she instinctively started to put her arms around him, but he jerked himself free.

"Leave me alone."

"But, Branch, you're crying."

"I am?" He put a hand to his wet cheek, then wiped his face with the back of his arm. Then he sniffled fiercely. "Tour's over. Your splinter is out and it's time for you to go."

Her heart was breaking. "But, Branch-"

"I need to be alone. Please. Just go."

"But I can't leave while you're so sad. Besides, it's my fault. I asked you about Fluf- that picture."

"I said go. I can handle myself." Even on the verge of tears, he sounded oddly sure of himself.

"Handle yourself?" she asked in bewilderment. "How?" In her experience, trolls who cried needed love and hugs. Lots of hugs.

He hesitated. "If I show you, will you go away?"

"I…guess so?" What a strange troll he was! Who wants to be all alone when they're feeling sad?

Accepting her dubious answer, Branch went into his room and came out with a brown blanket. He wrapped it around himself, and closed his eyes. He didn't lookany happier to her, though.

"That's it?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and scowled at her. "It's good enough. It's nice and heavy."

"Heavy?"

"Yes. You know, weighted." He said it like she should know what that meant.

Curious, she went to lift a corner of the blanket. It had been sewn with an inner lining made of pockets full of what felt like sand; soft, loose and heavy. A heavy blanket, but not for cold weather. For…what? Emotional comfort? Why would-

Then it hit her. "Wait. Is this supposed to make you feel like someone's hugging you? Oh, Braaaanch…" Her own eyes began to sting, and she sniffled. "I've never seen anything so sad in my entire liiiiife!"

His eyes snapped open, and he leaned away from the arms reaching for him. "No! Don't!" He hopped backward, but the blanket tangled his feet and he landed on the floor with a thud. "Ow!"

Poppy stopped and bit her lip, unsure of what to do. The urge to hug him was almost unbearable, but maybe she would cause more harm if she did.

Branch settled it for her. "I showed you, so get out. You promised!" His voice broke. The look on his face tore her heart in two. His face was full of pain, yet he didn't want her comfort?

How could he have gone so wrong? What had broken inside him? Could she ever fix it?

Reluctantly, she began to trudge slowly back to the main chamber where the lift platform was. When she got there, she stared up at the Fear Wall strewn with scary bergen-themed messages. So much of his home reflected fear, pain and loss. She was almost glad to flee.

As she flipped the lift's handle and it began to rise upward, Branch's anxious voice followed her. "Hey, Poppy? Same time tomorrow?"

She let go, and the lift stopped. Despite her angst, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Sure, Branch. Same time tomorrow."

Author's Note:

Maybe it's kind of far-fetched for Branch to blame himself for Poppy getting a splinter, but then, he blames himself for his grandma's death, even though he wasn't the one who killed her. Poppy wouldn't have been in the meadow or been carrying wood if she wasn't friends with Branch, so there is a certain logic to it.

Branch doesn't exactly like how she thinks of him as a cute little foxfluff, but she's kind of stuck on the nickname by this point. He's just glad that she thinks he's cute. 😊

Since many lonely people get comfort from animal companions, I figured Branch would, too. At least, the type of animal who would also be helpful to him. But there's more to Fluffy's story, as we shall see…