Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ready or not, here I come!” Poppy’s announcement echoes through the dell, paws stomping fast in her excitement to go and find her friends (Well, most, as Satin and Chenelle had stayed in their pods to sew). She bounds off the tree she was counting against and flutters up with iridescent wings, eyes scanning the branches where she’s sure some of her friends should be.

She’s always preferred playing the seeker in hide-and-seek, the thrill of moving with a purpose far outweighing the tenseness in staying still and keeping quiet. And if Poppy had a problem with anything, it was keeping quiet. It’s not her fault she was so happy to be having fun, often giggling up a storm whenever the chosen seeker was approaching.

She peeks behind a number of leaves and thinning branches, before finding Biggie with his pet worm Mr. Dinkles, the former too big to really hide behind the leaf he pulled before him. He took being the first one found like a champ, used to being the first most times (if not second to Poppy). He hops off the branch, little rainbow wings working hard to carry him down to their waiting spot when someone’s found.

Poppy hurries to find the rest, soon popping into both Suki and Cooper tucked into a trees hollow, too busy munching on stored berries and nuts to notice they’ve been found. Poppy smiles, before hollering “Found you!” into the space, voice louder and startling the two into a panic. They end up scrambling out the tree, Suki’s dragonfly wings snapping out fast and keeping her hovering. Cooper doesn’t fare as well, curling up like a ball and bouncing off his hard shiny shelled back again and again, rolling down the trees ridges like a fallen acorn. The two follow him down until he slows onto the grass. Before Poppy or Suki can worry over him, he unrolls while popping up like a spring flower, looking none the worse for wear.

“What a rush,” he says, turning to his friends with a dopey grin. “Wanna go again?”

They settle for Suki and him going to the spot with the plan to roll around until the next round, Poppy waving them goodbye. It takes a while longer for the rest, but when a glint catches her eye, she’s close to dismiss it as the sun, but stops, looks again, and finds the glint moving up above. She follows it with intent, nearly crashing into Guy Diamond in her pursuit. He’s so shiny naturally, body like glitter and wings reflective that it’s normally easy to spot him in hide-and-seek, but unlike Poppy or Biggie, he gets pretty creative with how he finds away.

Still, Poppy manages to catch him, despite having to look away with how exposed they are to the sun here, truly living up to his name with how he glitters and gleams. Poppy goes down with him, slowing when she passes a line of ants all hauling leaves, berries and other foods to their homes. Poppy only stops when she swears that she hears a low hum of some song, the sort sung when trolls are hard at labor. Poppy lands on one part of the branch, where an abnormally acorn is being carried, a familiar yellow troll under it. She waits until Smidge is passing her, unaware of being found until Poppy starts giggling. Smidge stops, peeking out to catch eyes with Poppy, and sighs in defeat. She promptly drops the acorn to fall off the branch and leave the line of ants, none of which pay her any mind. Poppy’s eyes follow the acorn, flinching at the loud thunk it makes at the end of its fall.

“Was that…?”

“A rock shaped like an acorn? Yeah.” Smidge looks down, considering. “Actually, think I’ll keep it.” With that, Smidge leaves with a gruff goodbye, and Poppy goes to finish the game before it’s too late.

All that’s left is Creek, who happens to be a pro at hide-and-seek, much to Poppy’s chagrin. She fusses over the spots she’s sure she hasn’t visited, looking under every peddle, behind every leaf, and into all trees hollow before groaning in frustration. She considers calling it her loss and moving onto another round, but the determination to win a game fuel her, wings catching on the breeze as she lets herself be carried further out.

It's not too far, not really, but a part of Poppy sours, knowing she’s bending the rules told to her by her dad. She’s used to him fussing over her, and while he’d never keep her from exploring like any other troll, he always makes his concerns over the wilds clear. But their borders are blurry and keeping close to the pods is treated more like a suggestion than any hard rule. And honestly, Poppy has gone further than this, so the sense of danger is barely a hum in her head.

Flowing with the breeze has her weight drag her down slowly with the leaves. She fans her wings out wider, tail trailing the ground as she lands. It’s not as easy a feat as the adults make it look, gliding with wider wings while hers are still growing with her. It isn’t helped by all the seeking she’s been doing, so she opts to walk for a bit, give herself a break as she watches for any movement. Not that Creek would be doing much moving, she’s sure. Probably meditating on some rock by now, for as long as Poppy’s been taking finding everyone.

Then- she hears something, no, someone, close by but out of sight. Her pointed ears swivel, adjusting to where it’s coming from, turning her path deeper down the forest depths. She quiets her steps, lowering to all four paws as she slows her pace, stealthy in a way she’s not so used too. She perks up at the sound, a voice she doesn’t recognize but familiar in its words, like how trolls speak, if a bit more annoyed with whatever she can’t see. Can’t be Creek; he never sounds this huffy, even in his moodiest moods.

Sneaking closer, tongue stuck out in concentration as she prowls low, Poppy approaches a shaking bush for what should be a fellow troll like her. Maybe it’s someone in the village, someone she doesn’t talk with nearly as much as her own special friends. Still, she’s never one to let a good surprise hug go to waste.

When she comes up to the bush proper, too thick to make out without going in, she crouches, front paws reaching to part the foliage for her new friend to be greeted.

“Surpri-” Poppy chokes on the rest, eyes widening. It’s shadowed in the bush, but the glint of eyes, unnaturally dark like obsidian catch her own rose quartz ones, both shining in some form of shock. But before Poppy can do anything with that, the eyes are gone, swallowed by the darkness. In its place, something much bigger rises, breaching the bush just enough to start to curl around her. It’s some sort of face, just the eyes – one, no two pairs? Maybe three – peeking down at her with a dark grey face shaped into edges. The eyes are as big as her head, moving closer and bent wrong.

Poppy doesn’t really move until the thing emits a loud, frightening hiss at her, like cicadas and glass. It’s so abrupt it sends her bolting, screaming as she panics into a flutter of wing beats, hurrying to get high and hope that the- whatever that was can’t fly too.

By the time she gets close enough to see her friends, even Creek there waiting for her, she’s huffing and out of breath, nearly tumbling down in her sudden tiredness.

No one wastes any time to surround her, uneased by her own state of panic. They ask how she is, what happened, where she was, all things she doesn’t have the air to try and answer. It’s only when Creek puts a hand to her back, patting at the space between there her wings are rooted does she get the air she needs. When she gets a good few mouthfuls of breath in her, he asks her, calm but edged with worry, “Poppy, what happened?”

And she tells him, all of them. There isn’t much to say. She’d just gone looking for her last friend for the game, maybe went a little farther than she really should have, and thought she’d heard someone. And there was someone, she’s sure of it, but then there was something else. Something big, with big eyes and a big face and an awful sound that had left her spinning.

Her friends look worried still, but it’s shifted, spots of confusion, concern and vague understanding flittering across their faces. It’s Biggie who ends up voicing his thoughts, hugging Mr. Dinkles close, voice wavering. “It must have been the- the Big-Eyed Beast!”

Poppy blinks, not quite catching the name. “The- what?”

“The Big-Eyed Beast,” Guy Diamond echoes, his usually light and airy voice warbled with nerves. “Never seen myself, but I hear it’s preeeetty scary.”

“Oh! It’s given me a real spook once or twice before,” Biggie nearly cries, hand fanning at his face like he’s about to faint. “I swear, I’ll just be out and about with Mr. Dinkles for a nice scroll on the wilds edge, and it’ll pop on out and scare me all the way back to my abode. And the sound, oh! So awful.”

“Eh, never seen it,” Suki dismisses, only to lean in like she has a secret to share. “But I hear it’ll bite your wings if you get too close. Probably likes the texture.” Biggie looks close to tearing up at that, with so little wing compared to his peers and being protective over them.

“I heard if you look at its big, creepy eyes for too long, you’ll turn to stone!” Smidge adds on, sounding too excited over the rumor she’s sharing.

“I heard, if you don’t give it an offering whenever you enter its woods,” Cooper adds cheerily, “it’ll drop an acorn right on ya and crack your head like a pistachio.”

Smidge smiles, feeling spurred on. “Heh, I heard it’s a cursed troll, forced to stay in the shadows and eat rocks forever!”

“Well I heard-”

“I think I heard enough, honestly,” Creek interrupts, though not unkindly. He scans the woods around them, moving to breach the little huddle they had and back towards the village. “Beast or not, it’s obviously a frightful thing, and we’re just giving ourselves a real fright by talking about it.” Seeing everyone take in the light scolding, he smiles, softer to ease any hurt with his words, hands pressed together. “It’s gotten quite late, huh? We should head back before our parents worry.”

Everyone mumbles their agreements and follow along to head back to their homes. All but Poppy, who can’t help but turn back to the direction she ran from. There isn't a bit of evidence there was anything or anyone out there. It's as if she never left the border at all. 

“Poppy, are you coming?” one of them calls out, but she doesn’t really hear them, ears swiveled to hear another’s voice entirely, someone she hardly recalls knowing now.

“But- there was another troll,” Poppy reminds them, albeit hesitantly, fairly sure she had mentioned there being a troll, just before the strange beast appeared.

Everyone hesitates, unsure where to go with that line, so Creek takes that thread and pulls it, taking Poppy’s hand into his and tugging her close. “That must have been a fright for you, right?” Poppy nods, shivering unconsciously at the sound it had made at her. Creek smiles, reassuring her by squeezing her hand. “Then it’s likely you just saw what you thought was a troll, because all of the others should be back at the pods by now, and surely not this far like us.”

Poppy nods at this too, less sure in herself for it. Did she imagine it? No, she couldn’t have; she’s sure she heard another’s voice in the woods, before the beast had ever made its sudden appearance. There was a voice, there were words, and though she couldn’t make it out she knew in her hummingbirds heart it was someone like her. And if it wasn’t, well… What could it have been? Or who?

Still, she nods, smiling back at Creek and her friends. “Yeah, you’re probably right. We should go back before it’s dark.” It’s not lying, Poppy reassures herself, if she agrees to one thing but not another. It is late, or getting to be, so they really should be heading back now. But the rest of it, all the swirling thoughts and ideas all morphing into these messy plans for something, she’ll just keep to herself, for now. A surprise is always best when it’s finished and fit for wrapping, after all.

So, Poppy heads home with her friends like any other day of play. She greets her dad warmly and eats a sweet meal before leaving for her room. By the time she’s tucked into bed and given a good night’s kiss, she thinks she has a plan all made and wrapped up in her head.

It’s all so simple, really. She’ll go back to the wild woods edge, where she met this supposed ‘Big-Eyed Beast’ and find out what exactly she’d seen. And if things don’t go as planned, she’ll just have a wasted week that she can make up for by playing from day till dark with all her friends. And if things went as planned, well…

She’d have another friend to play with.

Chapter Text

When Poppy returns, it isn’t with any particular plan. She’s alone, not the first time for her, but she doesn’t make any fanfare about going out this far to anyone, even her friends. Especially her friends, considering what she’s here for.

It’s as silent and serene as it was before, all but for the senseless song Poppy hums to herself, the tune strung with the chirps of birds and chitters of critters. She decides to walk, wings flicking at fallen leaves and plucked petals she passes, sending them fluttering away. She’s not trying to hide, not unless she hears or sees anything of this so-called Big-Eyed Beast that had been spoken of.

Poppy knows not to ask too much on things like this; when you ask about rumors, no matter how baseless, they tend to stir the topic up not unlike leaves caught in a whirlwind. She just wants to see what she can find before anyone tries to poke their snouts into her business. It’s not a secret if you plan on telling people about it, eventually. She just wants to be sure.

She finds the bush she’d seen it, looking no worse for wear despite housing some strange beast within just yesterday. The thing that throws Poppy for a loop is just how unbothered its thin branches are. Its scary face had been about double, maybe triple her size, so it’s fair to say it’s body would be even bigger. The bush would surely hide it away, especially if it happened to be like those mammals with the soft, bendy bodies that can too easily sneak up on unsuspecting trolls.

But there’s nothing to show for its presence here. No broken branches, no squashed berries, no scratches dug into the soft soil near the roots. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Hm. Seems she’s dealing with a hide-and-sneak master.

Though- no, that’s not quite right. Poppy’s sure there were noises; it’s what lead her away from the path and down here it the first place! But that hadn’t been the usual sounds of a critter, no growls or hisses or twitters. There’d been talking, but she couldn’t say from who. And eyes. Small, shining eyes that flashed before being sucked into the dark.

Maybe it was a troll, but then they’d had run away at Poppy’s own presence, unlike how all the other villagers would come out whenever she passes, willing to drop whatever they were doing to greet their princess. Maybe they didn’t recognize her, but that seems impossible. Who could ever forget Poppy? Everyone knew her! Or maybe… maybe they didn’t want to see her, and the thought of that makes her wings droop, the natural sheerness of them dulling.

No! There’s no way! So, if it wasn’t that, then maybe it was an entirely new troll! Oh, that would be amazing. She knows everyone in the village, and everyone knows her. If she could meet a troll that no one knows at all, no one but her, then maybe she could be their friend. No, their first friend! Now that would be amazing.

Well, that just means she has two mysterious shiny eyed friends to find and make her friends officially – Poppy had already decided they’d be friends, but it’d be imperative to inform the both of them that they were her friend now – then she could show them to her friends and then the village, and they’d all get to be friends.

Yep. Things were coming together. Now all she had to do was find them.

__________

Things were in fact, not coming together.

As motivated as Poppy was in finding both a troll and a beast – and she still is! – she has come to find out that finding someone is very difficult when you know little to nothing about them. She’d gotten little more from her friends or the other kids about the Big-Eyed Beast, and it’d been a bunch of scary snippets of whatever sounded tense enough to make the others gasp. When she’d asked an adult, they’d scrunched their nose before patting her head, smile sweet when they said “Don’t spread rumors. What would the King think?” Poppy didn’t ask another adult after that.

She didn’t think to ask about the troll, since there’s no reason that she wouldn’t know about them before this if anyone else knew. Everyone here is tightly knit as a village can be, everyone knowing everyone in some manner or another. And Poppy takes particular pride in knowing everyone here, princess that she is.

She ends up returning to the spot with peanut chunks, jam and sweet grass in hopes of attracting the bigger of the two targets. It’s the sort of stuff her dad tells her to store carefully, as big, hungry bugs may invade their cupboards for their stock if they get a whiff of it. Poppy takes a little of all of it to set out in the clearing by the bush, hidden away under a fallen leaf and peering at the trap set, flat on her belly and wings tensed closed.

It's a great plan, if she says so herself. So great, that she has to get up and shoo away all the critters that come out of the woodwork to get some for themselves. By the twenty-something time she has to do this, she barely has enough left for a bite for herself, many getting a nibble or two before she could reach them.

She leaves with an empty bag and empty stomach, eagerly scarfing down the meal her dad sets out for her. Chewing on the chunks of berry on her plate, she wonders to herself if the beast would like this at all, or something sour, something salty? It could also be a predator, she realizes distantly, but then it would have surely given her chase when she’d ran away instead of staying in the darkness and leaving her alone since. It’s the ones that scare others away that are often the most scared themselves, with flashy colors and pointy, tough bodies puffed out for defense. She knows why people would be scared of it, heck, she was scared too! But she can’t say that it’s really a scary beast from just that. She doesn’t even know if it likes jam. And you can't be a bad person if you like jam!

Sometime later, Poppy has another plan set. Wandering out and just shouting for its attention has proven useless, and while she’s not surprised, she’s a little disappointed. So, she decides to dip into that creative side of hers, the one her dad praises her for whenever she presents them proudly. She scraps together a big mask, one too big for her face but not too big that she can’t carry it. It’s cut up leaves, darkened and dried with the cooling weather, and stuck with honey to the bigger board, shaped after its face. It’s not unlike the shape of wings, two eyes on the top and more eyes below, smaller and more almond shaped. There are painted streaks, and while she doesn’t remember what it’d look like, she paints on white, sharp teeth at the bottom, and some lashes for fun.

Poppy is banking on the beast being drawn out by seeing something that resembles itself, if even a little. She’ll just hide away in bushes and shuffling against trees, the face on the forefront while the body (which is nonexistent) would be hidden behind. It’s not her fault she hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of the things body! She’s just working with what she’s got.

With a finished mask and renewed determination, Poppy hurries to the forest, avoiding the crowds as best she can. She ends up sending sometime out there, making faces at random critters, testing out voices and spooky sounds that echoes, and stopping for a snack break some time in-between. It’s kind of fun, just stomping around the woods as if she’s playing make pretend as some fellow beast with big eyes. She’s sure it’d be more fun if said fellow would appear, but that doesn’t happen.

No, what does happen is while playing around in the wooded edge, growling and giggling away, she accidently jumps out to face Biggie of all trolls. Before Poppy can say or do anything about it, her friend is screaming his head off, Mr. Dinkles tucked under his arm as he runs away, back to the village. “Wait, I- oh sugar.” Poppy gives chase, the mask lowered to her chest and showing off her worry, not that Biggie looks back to see this. As she’s running after him, she slams fully into another troll, one who steadies her smaller body with a reassuring hold.

“Poppy? What’s got you running all ragged?” her dad, King Peppy questions in concern. Biggie is heaving nearby, cuddling Mr. Dinkles close for comfort as he works to soothe himself. Poppy’s wings dip dramatically like fallen curtains, all the fun she’d been feeling dowsed at seeing one of her friends panicked – and by her no less. She’s such a bad friend.

“I was just- it wasn’t real. I’m sorry.” Poppy directs the last part to Biggie, who gives a watery smile back, thumb up but still shaky. Poppy’s wings bend lower.

King Peppy huffs fondly at her, hand brushing back her pink bangs like he always does when he wants her eyes to meet him. They do, catching onto matching her own in color but with the sort of knowledge all adults seem to have. “I heard that’d you’d been looking into a little rumor? Is that true?”

Biting her lip guiltily, Poppy nods, looking down at the mask now facing her. Her thump skims a painted eye, big and brightly colored, almost reflective with the glitter mixed in. “It’s not just a rumor. I saw it. And a troll, too.”

“A troll?” King Peppy echoes back, a soft sort of curious eased into it, but some edge that Poppy can’t quite make sense of. “Was it maybe one of the little ones? Maybe someone was playing around like you were.”

“No! It was real! I’m not lying!”

King Peppy softens, bending low to scoop his daughter up and into his arms. Poppy shoves her face into his shoulders, holding back tears that threaten to spill. She doesn’t want to be thought of as a liar, and especially not by her dad. He already worries over her being so small, and soft and far too naïve. She can’t be seen as a liar too.

“Poppy dear, no one’s saying you’re a liar. I would never.” He presses this promise into the crown of her head, a kiss so sweet and tender that she melts, cheeks warm and wings relaxed. “Let’s go home, and we can sit and talk a bit more. How’s that?”

Poppy nods into his shoulder, and he pats her back in turn. Biggie is sent away with a wave from both of them, the mask swaying in Poppy’s loose hold as she’s carried back to their home. It’s a humble thing, built with walls and a roof into the hollow of a healthy tree, one of the biggest ones close by. It’s where their magic dust collects, the smell of it sweet and light, almost like it’s lifting your spirit the closer you get. The inside is neat and cozy, fit for two with a little bit more space than needed.

King Peppy brings her to her room with berries in a bowl, set beside her bed, a flower with the middle stuffed with soft, cottony things. Poppy is set on it, her dad on its edge, both kept to their hug until Poppy lets go once her arms tire.

“Now, about this uh- Big-Bearded Beast?”

Poppy giggles at the mistake, imaging its big, frightening face with the same facial as her dad. “No, it’s Big-Eyed Beast, dad!”

“Really? Thought it’d be somethin’ like a Bug-Eyed Buddy.” Poppy laughs louder, King Peppy smiling at the sound. He breathes, leaning closer with a bit more seriousness in his voice. “Now dear, I know you’re terribly curious about these sorts of things, but you know better than to go out alone and so far like this. You could have gotten hurt, and no one would have known where you were.”

But you let me out alone before!” Poppy protests, pouting at the unfairness of it all.

“Well, that was before I learned you were out looking for some monster or somethin’,” he scolds lightly, holding her cheek with his much bigger paw.

“I thought you said it wasn’t even real,” Poppy grumbles, earning a pat on her cheek for her bite.

“Now that’s not what I meant, and you know it. Even if the things your friends or the other kiddos say may be a bit… misguided, doesn’t mean you should go out looking for trouble. Those rumors about some beast, it’s…” He trails off at that, and Poppy peers up to see her dad looking unsure, like he’s trying to pick the right words for something that should be pretty simple to explain. There’s either some truth to the rumor or not, so why does he seem so- so conflicted? “Sometimes, little ones don’t know better, and when they see things that they don’t understand, they make things up so they can understand. But sometimes it's just better to... leave well enough alone.” He turns to face his daughter fully, smile small but genuine. “And I know you know better. You’re my little baby girl after all.”

And Poppy just smiles, tucking herself into her dad’s side with a firm squeeze to his middle. He huffs at the pressure, but returns it in kind, picking her up only to drop her back into bed, little body flopping onto the bedding. She laughs, and so does he, both lighter than before.

“Now, promise not to go looking for any more trouble out there, got it?” Poppy nods a few times, enough that her dad accepts the answer and leaves her with a kiss to her temple. She lays back for a bit, not feeling all the hungry right now, nor sleepy.

She just… thinks. She thinks and thinks until she falls asleep, flashes of silver eyes in the darkness of her eyelids closed.

Chapter Text

For the next couple weeks, Poppy isn’t left alone for longer than a few minutes. It isn’t like anyone really thinks she’s about to throw herself bodily into a predator’s open maw or something equally deranged, but its obvious word has spread of all her time alone on the boarder’s edge.

Biggie is the obvious instigator, the way he sweats nervously whenever Poppy side-eyes him among their friend group, who rarely leave her alone anymore. It’s not like she’s actually upset at him, or any of them, for that matter. They’re her friends, and they care, but it makes her feel a little sour knowing this spout of attention was spurred by her own actions.

They at least spend that time together having fun. Whether it’s Poppy and one or two or more, they’re always playing or talking for long until she’s made to head home to her dad. They sing, dance, prance and craft whatever their imaginations can conjure. Poppy always loved to craft, and while she’s not alone, they often play in parallel to each other, showing off their crafts but otherwise silent.

Her dad also plays more with her, indulging in the time they have at home. King Peppy even invites her to more ‘kingly duties’ as he calls them, and flutters after him to this deed and another. It makes her feel older, learning all the things that’ll become her own duty someday. It also makes her feel like a child, knowing the spark for this was to keep a closer eye on her.

She’s still small, and soft and maybe still naïve, but she’s not stupid. She knows the risks, and while she could never fault her father or friends for being careful with her, she can’t help but resent it, just a little. Poppy is many things: bright and bouncy, loud and loving, and as determined as any good troll can be. But she’s also curious, so terribly curious, and it’s this that really drives her.

A lot of trolls say she’s very soft hearted, bright and transparent just like her wings. It’s a fair assessment, seeing as a troll’s wings are the way they express their heart, old tales telling that a Troll's love and passion are so strong they burst out their back from their hearts and let the Troll be able to fly all the way up to the sky to reach their dreams. Troll wings beat to the rhythm of a troll’s heart, their song, their soul. It’s the truest form given to a troll’s soul that can exist. It’s also symbolic, and everyone has a different idea of what that could mean. But one thing is agreed upon by all Trolls: A Troll's wings are the most important thing about them. 

Everyone always compliments her wings; they’re a unique shape with three instead of two wings on each side, something her daddy says her mommy had, too, teardrop shaped with pinched drops at the ends like happy tears. They’re nearly sheer and reflective, not unlike the stained-glass shards she’s found on the boarder’s edge, shaped like long drops with hearts. They’re obviously pretty and Poppy loves them, how they blur when she hovers, and the shapes made reflected through the sun.

Many see her wings and think of her as bright, creative and beautiful. Like painted windowpanes or rainbow beams. Poppy sometimes thinks she’s more like the broken glass she finds in the woods; something messy and sharp and beautifully strange. But that’s sometimes. 

The first time Poppy finds herself alone again, she’s wandering the forests edge. She isn’t even looking for anything! Really! She had just been done playing and her friends had been called home early, but her dad was still busy with his ‘Kingly duties’ and such. She trots on the paw-padded path through the trees, humming with the chirps and croaks around her. She likes to slow under the sunspots peeking through the branches, the warmth soaking into her fur, eyes closed and taking it in.

She does this for a while, and when she opens her eyes to move again, something catches her attention. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing; one she stops and stares at, waiting until it appears again. A sharp flicker of light, like sunlight bouncing off glass. She wonders if it’s Guy Diamond when she sees it move, but she knows he’s at home by now, and really, he’s far too bright and sparkly to be barely a flicker in the sky.

Curiosity tickles her toes and has her bouncing up into the air, wings fluttering frantically as she darts to a branch close by. She tries to be sneaky, and thinks she succeeds as there’s no reaction to her movements. She perches on a branch level to the other, where she makes out movement in the thick of some leaves. A few falls with it, and Poppy peeks hard to see what it is.

Another leaf falls, and at first, she doesn’t see it. It’s just a bundle of browned leaves of reds, browns and yellows, all spotted with rot and curled with decay. She stares for a while, holding her breath as if that’ll make the leaves move, and somehow, it does. One leaf flutter, but instead of falling like the rest, it shifts and spreads, an identical one moving with it. Poppy has to put a paw over her mouth to stop the squeal she almost lets out, seeing the familiar patterns move, folding and unfolding rhythmically.

Is the ‘Big-Eyed Beast’ just… a leaf bug? That’d be a bit anticlimactic, if she’s being honest. But that means it doesn't eat trolls, just leaves. Maybe they can still be friends? Poppy is friends with a number of friendly critters and mammals, so it wouldn’t be impossible-

When the not-leaf bug hops up into view, Poppy nearly bites her paw in her elation.

At the center of the two wings – wings! – is a troll, no question. He looks about her own age, maybe a smidge older, with wings spread wide as he stretches for a hanging seed; one of the ones that spin fast and fall slow on the ground when dropped, which Poppy loves to play with in these woods. He plucks it with a grunt, and instead of flying up he stands on clawed toes, tail knotted over a smaller, bendy twig on the branch. Poppy can’t hear whatever sounds he makes, but when he gets what he’s reaching for, his tail wags a little, going on all fours and moving further out.

Poppy is surprised he doesn’t notice her, the way she’s jittering so hard the leaves must be shaking with her excitement. A troll! And not just any troll, but a complete stranger! Normally, the adults warn her and the other kids about ‘stranger danger’ and not following strange things too far into the woods, but this isn’t the same. This is a troll like her, expect- no, that’s not quite right.

Where Poppy is all bright pinks and blues and greens, not accounting for her rainbow display of wings, this troll is… not that. Not at all. He’s a far duller shade than any troll she’s seen, fur and hair and even wings in grayscale. His thicker fur is like it’s been coated in soot, the soft fluffy ash of a fireplace, his head hair and tail tip like ebony tuffs, loose and stood up with wild ends twisted up. Strangely enough, the most colorful part of him (besides his clothes) is the spotted side of his inner wings, duller than autumn leaves but keeping that brown tinge, with black spots and waves drawn in.

So, okay, maybe he isn’t exactly like her or any troll she knows, but that just makes this discovery all the sweeter! It means she’s found someone brand new, someone who would make an interesting friend and maybe even take her out with him to the parts of the woods she barely knows, or even his house! She wonders if he lives in a pod like hers, or in the tress, or somewhere even cooler. Like in a waterfall cave! Oh, she can’t imagine what would make this day even better-

When he turns, wings still spread wide, Poppy doesn’t clamp her mouth in time to hide the squeal of surprise she lets out.

It’s a sudden, sharp sound she’s embarrassed to have let out, the emotion flushing her cheeks to a darker pink. But that feeling quickly morphs to horror as she sees the sound had surprised the other so much that he trips and falls while making a jump to another branch. Poppy panics, the only thing stopping her being the sight of his wings, moving as if to fly. Except- he doesn’t, even as they flap hard and fast with nothing stopping his fall. She acts by shooting off the branch she was on and, while her wings may look delicate, they fold back tight to let her dive deep, then fan out fast to slow her once she has his by his vest.

The strange troll freezes in shock, knowing he’s being held, but doesn’t fight her. She pulls up, only to realize his weight with hers is pulling them both down. So, she shakes her wings to dust off her magic onto them both. They slow, but still fall instead of floating, and Poppy barely has time to see how the pink sparkles she covers them with melt like snowflakes on the stranger’s fur before they both drop onto the grassy floor with an audible thud.

Poppy recovers first, cushioned on the others body, who stays lying on his back, wings spread wide. She makes to get off, an apology on the tip of her tongue, but freezes when he opens his eyes to glare at her. Where Poppy’s eyes are glittering rose quartz, his are like pools of pure silver, the same she had seen some weeks ago, before she’d decided to seek him out before knowing who he’d be.

A friend, Poppy thinks to herself, and with a smile wide and bright, she greets him with, “Hi! I’m Poppy. Wanna be friends?”

Chapter Text

Someone has been following Branch.

It’s hard enough for anyone – Troll, Bergen or beast – to find him, living on the barest borders of the village, avoiding all the noisy, colorful parts of the forest. His own home a series of intricate burrows under a massive tree, particular plants sewn to deter most prey, as well as predators with their leaves and scent. When he’s out and about, foraging food and stocking up on supplies and materials for his crafts, he keeps to the shadows cast in daylight, hidden beneath the leaves and crawling low.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Branch is naturally quiet, even though it goes against his very species nature to be so. Trolls are as bubbly as brooks and bright as sunspots. They exude charm, thriving on the familiarity of others and sticking in pairs. Trolls do no stay alone, at least not on purpose. Not like him.

When Branch left, they had looked for him. But it hadn’t taken long for any efforts to dwindle out to dry calls of his name, then no calls at all. No one wants a Grey Troll, after all. Especially one that does not want to be found.

Which is fine. Better than fine. The last thing Branch needs is a bunch of fumbling, well-meaning Trolls to bring any more attention to his territory. It is truly a miracle their little village hadn’t been found by the Bergen's, or some other hungry beast with a taste for shimmering blood.

And it had been that way for a while; no Trolls to surprise him with their… Troll-ness.

At least, that was the case, until now.

The first time had been a complete surprise. Honestly, he’d been off his game then, too comfortable being so close to the borders, where he’d been to time and time again without incident. And he’d been foraging for bark, paws reddened by earlier work, focus solely on not nicking himself.

He was distracted. That was the only reason he’d been caught.

It was a second, just a second, but he had poked his snout out, sniffing for scents only to nearly bump noses with someone else- a Troll, eyes bright was cut gems, a polished rose quartz wide and reflective. A second later, he’d ducked back in. On instinct, he’d crouched low and curled up, wings fanned out as wide as he could stretch them. He wasn’t entirely sure what the other Troll looked like when he spread his wings, but the startled shriek and frantic foot falls away from him gave him a good idea.

He risked a peek out, swallowing back the guilt as the distant Troll nearly tripping on their little legs. They shouldn’t have even been out this far, looking about his own age, maybe a little younger. And no, Branch will not linger on the hypocrisy of that thought. Because Branch knows better.

Still. He climbed onto the closest branch, peering out after the Trolls direction. When he saw the dot of pink disappear, he thought to follow, make sure she stayed safe and didn't wander deeper into trouble, but the appearance of other voices, many voices of Trolls rising with concern had him crawling back, letting his breath out.

Branch had left as they did, going in opposite directions. He returned to his den, his bounty abandoned by the stocked shelves for another day, instead curling up in his bedding and pulling his tail in to hold close.

The next day, he had stuck to the slip of stream nearby for gathering water and stayed in for the rest of the day.

The day after, he worked on his carvings, little sticks sharpened and tools crafted. He did not leave his den.

This continues for a time, before the sound of yelling draws his attention. Branch slinks low, skimming the ground with purposive steps. He stops in the shade of a dropping leaf, peeking around to make out a moving slip of pink that continues to make so much noise.

“Hello there,” the Troll calls out, voice high and squeaky. A kid for sure, a little girl if he had to guess. She has soft pink fur, darker hair with flower buds stuck out on an ivy band. She had overly large petals of baby blue and lilac as a dress, matching beads on the end of her swishing tail.

She looks familiar, but the name escapes him. Not that it matters. She won’t be here for long.

The Troll – something with a ‘p’ maybe – goes to pull out a cow bell to strike, so Branch is quick to cup both hands over his mouth and, with a practiced breath, growls.

It’s not a sound most Trolls can make, but Branch isn’t like most Trolls. It sounds bigger and more threatening than he really is, but the point of it has always been to trick other, bigger and more threatening beasts into turning tail long enough to escape. This should work fine enough.

The sound has the Troll freeze, shivering with open fright. But then – for some stupid reason – she takes a long, low breath and turns towards the noise.

“Hello?” she calls out, far softer and more hesitant than seconds prior. “Are you the- the one I met before?”

Branch freezes, accidently cutting off himself. This seems to embolden the other, who smiles at the lack of a growl. She steps forward, ready to talk again. Branch tenses, shaking himself out of his funk to make an even bigger, far more aggressive noise. It’s high and sharp, cutting through the near-quiet of the space. It’s enough to startle the other onto falling on her behind, disoriented. It gives Branch the chance to run, disappearing into the shadows.

He can only hope she thought he was some big beast that’d eat her up, so she’d be smart to leave his territory alone.

She was not, as she’d come back the very next day.

Branch decided to stay and watch, tucked high in the branches instead. She had a bundle of something in her pouch, food maybe. She’d been trying to bait him out, he’s sure. Not that it’d work, of course. He wasn’t a simple critter, and even then, all the other critters had been busying themselves with getting a bite of her bait. So, he stayed high in the trees.

It seemed like a fine idea, that is, until the other Troll floated up into the air right where he was hiding. He would have slapped himself for forgetting that other Trolls could fly, but he’d been focused on not being found out. He ended up ducking into a hollow hole in a tree, back flat to the inside, tucked as deep into the shadows as he was allowed.

The pink Troll fluttered by as a flash of pink light. Branch had to squint his eyes at the flash of color. But then she left, Branch staying tucked away for a while longer. Just in case.

He’d already humored this whole mess for far too long, so when he was sure she wasn’t near, his sparkly wings and scent long gone, he went right back to his den. He didn’t come back the next day, or the one after that.

Longer than a week after, he returned, intent to get the maple tree seeds he’d planned to use for a few things (they made great propellors and fans). He’d been careful to keep close to the shade, but with a few long, deep sniffs in the area, he was pleasantly surprised to find not a single hint of Troll. Specifically, none of that light strawberry of sugar cane that had been sticking to his territory. Not even a whiff left. She must have finally got the hint. Good. He’d hate for her to get hurt going after someone like him.

Branch climbed up the tree’s trunk, claws piercing the rough exterior and slinking up with little jumps. He could go after the fallen ones, but those were already mushy from the mud underneath. He needed dry one, fresh from the branch. He went after ones without holes, their shades of green and yellow stuck out to him. Which one, which one…

“Ugh, I might not have enough room,” Branch mutters to himself, looking over his satchel. He’d brough a line of vinery to bind a bundle to his back, just in case. He’d wanted to get a few acorns up here, too, the tree just a good jump away. He may not be able too, not unless he wanted to come back for a second trip. Oh, but does he want to risk coming back today so close to dusk? Maybe he should save it for tomorrow. But he’d been wanting to go to the stream for more moss, which was the complete opposite direction from here.

“What to do, what to do…”

His thoughts spin around and round, working like a cog as he thinks it all out. He’s thinking so much, he doesn’t notice the barely shift of leaves low to the ground behind him. Doesn’t think about the way his nose sniffs, catching the sweetness of something.

What he does notice is a sudden, sharp squeak, and of course he just-so happens to be jumping from one branch to another. Of course. 

From one second to the next, Branch is falling not unlike the maple seeds spinning erratically around him. As useless as the action is, reactionary, his wings flap frantically in his panicked state, weak and worn from being folded up for so long. He forces them to spread wide, trying to catch some air to slow his descent. Even if the magic there is absent, he still has the dang things, so he should be able to do something-

There’s a harsh tug on his vest, pulling the collar against his neck. Branch chokes at the abrupt motion, locking up when another hand – there are hands on him, who, why – comes up to secure a hold on him. They are still falling, just together now.

Before Branch can try and do anything about this, there’s a gust of air over him, followed by the oh-so familiar feeling of magic washes over him. It’s like getting caught in the morning rain, warmed by sunshine and softened by the feel of it dusting over like a fine mist.

It should make him relax, once known feeling of magic bringing warmth and comfort to his very being.

But all he can do is tense, knowing what’ll come next.

They still fall, more of a dull thump than a horrifying splat like he feared. Branch stays flat on his back, pinned by an unseen weight, eyes closed in frustration.

The magic stuck to his fur sizzles, fading like snow on a warm body. But it doesn’t leave him, instead soaking up under his fur and into his skin with an awful, persistent itch. It stings like the start of poison ivy, biting his lip to keep in a whimper. Branch breathes, pulling in his nerves that numb up with every second.

Slowly, dazed and drawn by the shift of weight on his chest, Branch opens his eyes. The bright shine of wings like colored broken glass nearly blinds him. He glares at the Troll who still stays on him, ignoring the wonderment blooming on her features.

Where his eyes are dull, worn silver, hers are glittering rose quartz, polished to perfection, which shine brighter with an underlining glee breaking through.

So annoying, Branch thinks to himself, and before he can voice this to the strange Troll, she interrupts him with her far louder, eternally chipper voice.

“Hi! I’m Poppy. Wanna be friends?”

Chapter Text

“Get off of me,” is the strange grey Troll’s first words to her which- that can’t be right. Poppy must have misheard him, what with them both dizzy from the fall. Yeah, that makes more sense.

“M’sorry, what was that?” Poppy leans in to hear him better, one ear perked up in attention. She quickly finds this to be a mistake when, with a bubbling growl, the other shouts right in her ear-

“I said get off!” He emphasizes this by pulling up both hind legs and pushing her off bodily. Poppy tucks and rolls backwards, landing with a ‘hmmph’ on her behind. She blinks her eyes back open to see the other Troll stand on all fours, shaking himself off like a water-logged critter. He doesn’t stop there, insistently brush at his matted fur with his paws, claws carding through denser patches as if with the same look of disgust as one dusted with dirt would have.

Poppy perks up when he looks straight at her, a mix of something not so nice and something else in there she can’t quite name. Neither expression is a happy one.

Rolling back, then forward, Poppy pops up onto her legs to pad over to the other. He stares warily, taking a half-step back when she gets a little too close.

Poppy cheers. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’m Poppy, Princess of the troll and superb party planner. I like singing and dancing and making crafts and cloud watching and being friends with everyone!”

She pops out arms for a warm embrace, her tail thrashing whip-like in anticipation. She can practically feel her fingers itch with it, this buzzing feeling to make a connection with someone. And a good connection starts with a literal connection, hug to hug, simple as can be.

The other Troll slow blinks, then sighs, deep and weirdly old-sounding like a weary grandpa. “Good for you.” And with that, he kicks up his bag of things, turns and… walks away.

Poppy takes a good too many moments to really get what’s happened, but when she sees the shade of leaves darken his visage further out, Poppy jolts, speed-walking after the other. She catches up, but notes how his pace grows faster, still under a run but not quite a walk.

“Um, hey there buddy-”

“Not your buddy.”

“-old pal of mine-”

“Not your pal.”

“Okay just- you know you’re like, supposed to accept a hug, right?” Poppy makes a point of stepping ahead, waving her arms for emphasis, hands making grabby motions. The other Troll does not acknowledge her efforts, looking straight ahead. Poppy huffs but will not be perturbed. “But that’s a-okay! Not everyone wants a big hug on the first go.” Not true but a little white lie wouldn’t hurt here. “I have one friend – Cooper, you’d like him I bet – who likes to head butt when he says hello. Or- I know this one guy who tries to do these funny hand-leg slappy things, but it’s different each time. Very silly. Oh! We could make a super special handshake thing! I have so many ideas-”

Poppy cuts herself off when the Troll in front of her sharply turns to face her, ears pinned back, and eyes narrowed dangerously. He looks upset, but in a way that Poppy isn’t used too. At least, not at her.

“Are you always this loud?” It’s a question, but it doesn’t really feel like one. Poppy doesn’t answer him. “Honestly, it’s a miracle a Bergen or something else hasn’t come by and gobbled you up for how noisy you’re being.”

Poppy blinks, quiet as she considers his words. What do Bergen’s have to do with anything? There’s no chance of a Bergen being anywhere near here. And what was that about her being noisy? She hadn’t thought- she isn’t that noisy, right? Not in a bad way, at least. Her dad loves the noise she makes, how passionate she is about the things she loves- which is everything! She loves so many things, and she needs to let them all know how much she loves them all, whether Trolls, critters, plants or little pebbles.

Maybe this troll just needs to know that that love extends even to grumpy grey trolls, too. “There’s nothing wrong with letting others know how much you care about them,” Poppy explains, arms crossed very seriously. Then she uncrosses them, open arms just waiting for the other to come and jump in them. “And what can’t be said with words can always be said through a hug!”

The grey troll sneers. “I think words can tell you plenty. And I’m telling you to leave me alone.”

He turns and starts walking off again. Poppy deflates, all the air in her leaving her with a great big sigh. So prickly. Like a cactus. Maybe he secretly has spikes under all that fur. It’s the only explanation why another troll would be so averse to hugging.

Poppy pops up on her tippy toes and flutters her wings, flying just over the grey troll’s black hair and landing in front of him, startling him to a stop. “Y’know, I worked really hard to find you. Like, really, really hard! I used so many crafts to find you. And so much glitter sap. It got everywhere!” She shudders internally, still feeling the sap in her fur even after so many baths. She even got some in her wings. It may have well been gunking up her soul.

“Guess you wasted your time,” he grunts, moving to go around her. But Poppy just bounces to the side, blocking his escape. They bounce side to side a few more times, Poppy blocking him each and every time. “Would you quit that?!”

“I’ll never quit trying to make friends!” That would be sacrilegious.

“I’m not your friend!”

“Not yet!” She jams a thumb into her chest, puffing up with pride. “But Princess Poppy has never failed to make a friend!”

“Then I guess you better get used to failure, princess,” he grouses, crossing his arms defiantly. “Because I don’t plan on being your friend. Or anyone’s friend.”

Poppy can’t keep herself from frowning, struck by his firmness in the statement. “Never?”

“Never,” he confirms, and when he moves to get around her, she doesn’t stop him.

What sort of troll doesn’t want to have friends? That’s like a rainbow without color. Flowers without bees. A song without dancing. It doesn’t make sense to have one without the other. Trolls love to love, and they love to be with family and friends. Unless…

Poppy claps both her cheeks with her paws. Of course! A troll that never had a friend would have no idea what having a friend is like! Then the obvious solution would be to be his friend! And if he had a friend, he could see how wonderful it was to have one friend and want more. Then she could introduce him to her other close friends and then they’d all be friends and- she’s getting ahead of herself. First and foremost, she needs to become friends with him and then step one of her multi-step plan can commence.

Speaking of… “Wait for me!” Poppy rushes over towards the direction she saw him going, but much to her chagrin, she can’t immediately find him. He must have hidden somewhere or maybe flown away. But he hadn’t flown away before when he was falling, right? Oh! What if he actually bent his wing when she surprised him? Then she needs to find him faster to help!

She snoops through every bush and burrow, looks under each rock and fallen leaf. Even asks the local critters where they’ve seen a grey troll go off too. They mostly chirped nonsense at her, one caterpillar trying to eat her toes before she gently pried it off and dropped it on a higher branch with some delicious leaves.

She lands back on her feet with a huff. Where could he have gone to? Surely, he couldn’t have gone that far, especially if he couldn’t fly. She’ll just have to keep to the ground.

She walks off the beaten path, hovering over rougher terrain and suspicious looking plants. She remembers her dad telling her how dangerous it could be past the borders with the wildlife less snuggly and poisonous, pokey plants. He also told her to never go out that far at all, ever, but at least she was being super responsible about it! And if her new grumpy friend was out here, then it was her responsibility to find him and take him back with her. What if he got a thorn in his paw? Or got eaten by some hungry animal! She had to find him.

She wondered why he was out there anyway. Poppy knows she was only this far because she was looking for him. But what would a young troll be doing out here? Maybe he came from… not here, but somewhere else. Maybe he came from some weird, distant lands where trolls were grey and grumpy and didn’t ever have friends. Maybe there were more grey trolls who needed friends. Then Poppy would just have to befriend all of them! And nothing was going to get in her way-

“Ah!”

-except the convenient hole she just fell into.