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Crunchy Chip is given no time to grieve. The battlefield is unforgiving, and there are people who’ve lost worse things in this raging war. It meant that there was no time to gawk around and look stupid, no time to shed tears for the fallen.
But it hurts.
It hurts so much.
His heart tightens in his chest, barely able to gasp for air as he suffocates on the realization that his cream wolf is dead. His cream wolf is dead. His brother-in-arms is dead, laying out here on the battlefield and soon to be another body to add to the desolate lands.
It’s so cruel. He knows he should move. Plant his feet to the ground and swing at something. Should get back up on his two good feet and keep running, hacking away at the creatures impeding their mission. But he couldn’t. He could barely find the will to stand up. The noises around him felt like faraway echoes when the only thing he could do was scream.
Cry.
“CREAM WOLF!” His throat stings in pain at the guttural scream that escapes him.
All in vain, he knows.
No screaming, no fighting, no crying can bring back a soldier, a brother, a friend from the dead. No deal with the jester devil could shake his hand and have him walk by his side again. His fellow Dark Cacaoian warriors all took an apprehensive glance in his direction before back onto focusing on their own hard battles.
That’s right. They’re in war. He should be in combat right now.
Everything in his vision rapidly blurs, and he doesn’t know whether it’s from the rage he feels or the tears that pool in his eyes. Chip can faintly hear the sound of metal against flesh in the background, flashes of grey as Tea Knight moves twice as fast to compensate for his absence. It’s arresting. Lightning flashes each time he strikes, afterimages forming from his superb speed. If only he had that. That power, power to protect those dearest to him.
Like his wolf, lying soulless on the ground.
No amount of pride is left within him in the moment. Bent down over the wolf, Crunchy Chip catches the worried glances of the knight clad in armor, a sorrowful and understanding expression painting his face, deepening his crow lines and darkening his face. It’s a bit relieving to see it, as he feels there’s a silent message being passed on as their eyes catch each other’s.
‘Take your time.’
Three simple, comforting words, and Crunchy Chip is back to staring down at the body in front of him. The blood is the first thing that catches his eyes. He wants to puke. The wolf is dotted with blood, white and brown and black all spotting the body as a symbol of its sacrifice. His hands quiver as he caresses the poor wolf’s fur, once thick and smooth now slick and dusty from the air around them.
Air.
Crunchy Chip hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing. It felt like there was a rock stuck in his throat, threatening to bring along another wave of anger and grief and an onslaught of emotions he couldn’t put words to. The air is a suffocating mix of flour, sulfur, and the scent of bloodshed that makes dying feel like a privilege, and he has no choice but to breathe it in. Takes a deep breath in and coughs as the dust clings to his lungs. He endures. He can’t be another victim of apathy. Not again. This shouldn’t be the end of the line.
This is no place for a warrior to die.
It’s useless. The endeavor that only worsens the burden upon his shoulders is useless, but he does it anyway. He hugs the cream wolf tight in his arms, uncaring of the bruises that sting like hellfire on his left arm as he slowly lifts the corpse up. Pain flares up his damaged arm as he’d expected and blood drips down the sides of his face under pressure, but he says it is nothing as he moves towards a fellow warrior.
Tea Knight takes one big swing of his axe and crumbles an incoming line of enemies before folding back to a safer area, closer to the short, persistent warrior in grey who has a cream wolf up his shoulder.
The sight is all too familiar. The knight understands the pain, the adrenaline that fuels this defiance against death.
“I’m… sorry.” Tea Knight says in an attempt to bring a few warm words of solace for Chip. “Will you carry the wolf as we move?”
Crunchy Chip bites his lip, draws blood, and nods. “I’ll… move him to a safer place I can return to.”
“That is wise.” The knight nods and signals for all the other warriors to rally closer to Dark Cacao in hopes of being able to overpower the beast and escape from this lotus entrapment. “What do you plan to do after the war is… over?”
The question hangs in the air like a blade, answering feels like having it swing down to his neck. A smidge of doubt paints the sentence, and the pause feels worse damning from the mouth of an experienced knight.
But the idea of ending this war, stopping Dark Enchantress’ schemes felt like the right choice of words to the man. Chip’s eyes light with a fiery vengeance and strides a little faster at the mention of defeating the enemy causing all this chaos and suffering.
“A proper burial.”
“Have you experienced losses like this, Sir Tea Knight?” Crunchy Chip asks the most politely he can, breaking up their formation’s silence with a question that could potentially further dampen the mood. A downtrodden atmosphere could be gauged in the atmosphere, the dwindling numbers a sign of both progress and loss in the process. Everyone simply pretends that the feelings are not there. Unimportant in the face of a world-altering battle as they hopefully step closer to the villain’s kingdom.
Dark Cacao warriors do not fear death.
Crunchy Chip does not fear death. He would gladly lay down his life for the King. He doesn’t want it done for him.
Tea Knight sighs deeply before letting out a small chuckle, odd in the face of all the gloom. It captures the attention of everyone around them. “Of course. I’ve faced the loss of all my companions to a campaign against otherworldly forces and of my age. You learn that life is… precious. Yet fragile each time you witness it burn out like a candlelight.”
A few warriors on the glum parade hold each other tighter, fingers gripping onto torn cloth for comfort.
Crunchy Chip holds the wolf tighter in his arms, wiping away at snot dripping down his nostril and at the blood that has dried by his cheek. He’s sure his face paint’s worn off. “… How’d you deal with it?”
The knight takes his time to think, letting the ambience of distant battle and the unforgiving wind fill in the blanks for a minute. “That’s not an easy question to answer,” Broken up by a brief pause.
We all grieve in our own different ways. Like you, Sire Crunchy Chip. You grieve by allowing your dearest soldier a proper burial for his bravery and sacrifice. Some of us here swing our weapons with all our might and to honor the fallen.” The old man catches his breathe.
“And by the witches, we will win this wretched war. No longer will I allow anyone else to experience immense loss so long as I live and breathe.”
Crunchy Chip asks no more questions.
He can’t find it in himself to bring out the wild, brash energy that he’s known for. The loss allows him to swing his claws faster, to shoot at enemies with deadly precision, but it’s not enough to keep the energy going.
His heart can’t take it.
A brief moment of respite finds itself in their lives as the Hollyberrians and they are able to reunite, surrounding a small encampment with warriors on shifts to be able to take a well-deserved breather. Dark Cacao, ever resolute, tells his kingdom—or what remains of it— that they have an hour of preparation.
Dark Enchantress wouldn’t allow them a single peaceful exhale, after all.
It’s good that Wildberry hadn’t seen him yet. Not in this sorry state.
The warrior takes a minute or two to stake out the perimeter, hoping to find a burrow or bushy area that he could place his brother into for safety.
His feet start to feel heavier the longer he walks, as if the earth beneath wants to swallow him whole. His one good eye scans the area for any possible threats that slipped through the cracks. A rustle of leaves signal peace, and Crunchy Chip is given the opportunity to lay down the wolf he’s carried in his arms for the past hour.
His limbs barely feel like they’re there. Loose hinges of a war machine ready to give out.
With a thud, he drops to his knees and hugs the wolf tightly one last time. He tries to imprint the feeling and scent of the fur in his mind, for forgetting is an unforgivable crime. Chip whispers words of praise and sticky-sweet murmurs into the canine’s ear, promising that they’ll win this war for it and for all the people they’ve lost in this war.
He’s an ugly, beaten, crying mess. He can’t be seen like this. He’s always been lauded by his peers as the warrior who stepped into everything with a tough attitude and an even tougher fight. Right now, he’s just a sorry wolf in a pack that’s lost its kin.
As gently as he possibly could, he lays down the wolf onto a makeshift bed made out of the surrounding candy-like foliage. His other pack members follow in mourning, pressing their snouts against the dead, careful to remember that scent. A somber nudge of nose onto fur. A long howl into the night.
They stay no longer than another sixty. Crunchy Chip wipes the melancholy and soot off of his face as they head off for the central rest area, a snarl taking over his bloody features.
Crunchy Chip slams down onto the nearest fallen log he could see, signaling for his wolves to come and surround him. Exhaustion reverberates through his body from head to toe and he wanted nothing more than a chance to shut his eyes when one of them was constantly throbbing with pain.
The feeling of fur brushing against his skin is comforting. It is familiar, it is home, and it keeps him sane. He feels surrounded by clouds.
Slow, heavy footsteps slowly approach him, he hears. Though his eyes are closed, his heart is fully aware of whose familiar steps those are. He aches for his lover’s touch.
“Wildberry.” He calls out the name as if by instinct, waving him over with a hand, a familiar signal to come over.
Stoic and unfettered as ever, Wildberry makes not a noise when he walks over, straining himself slightly in order to sit down and lean against the log. As if any change in the ambience would shatter their peace. His wolves part in the other’s presence, piling up together on one side to make space for the big man. “Chip.” He begins. “You look awful.”
“That’s a compliment?” He chuckles and opens his eyes, the smug expression on his face wilting when he sees how stern the Hollyberrian appears to be. “Woah, hey. What’s wrong, bud?”
“I should be asking you. Where’ve you been?” Wildberry brings his gauntlet to cup Crunchy Chip’s cheek, moving it side-to-side and assessing the damages, worse for wear than he’d ever been. The Crème Republic had only been a brief kerfuffle and only managed to raise their hairs at best, now they’d looked like they’d seen it all. “And treat yourself, too. I brought some supplies from where the aircraft landed… or blew up.”
The brief humor chokes out a cough from the duo as Chip simply lets Wildberry do what he does best; pamper. He’s being handled like he’s glass, fingers careful not to push in any deeper than they have to. If it were any other day, he’d be yelling at such fondness. Now, he almost feels like leaning into it.
Almost.
Chip moves himself just inches closer to not strain his friend, enjoying the solace that a damp cloth being pat against his face brings. He’s able to bring himself to close his eyes, catching brief glances of the red and soot being wiped off of his face.
Wildberry doesn’t offer any conversation either, like he’s seeing through his tough façade as if it were never really there. The tough grin like fog on a carriage’s glass, just as easy to form as it is to wipe away. Only the rustle of fabric as his top is pulled up in order to wrap around a gauze around his stomach, dotted with bruises like blooming flowers. A sign of hard work. A sign of humanity in the face of an enemy like God.
“Chip.” The name pierces through the lull like a thrown knife, and Crunchy Chip is back to soaking in the harsh red sky and the persistent white ashy environment. The worry has never left the Hollyberrian’s beautiful face. “Be honest. You can trust me.”
Something sharp lodges itself in Crunchy Chip’s throat. Had he known? Had he seen? Did he know?
His mouth is as dry as the air he’s breathing in, the moment of hesitation creating a heightened sense of awareness of the cracks in his lips and the sensation of cloth pressing against his sides.
“Did you…. See it?” Is all he’s able to mutter, his tone walking the fine line of defeat and intimidation, ultimately unable to press through with the former.
Wildberry furrows his brows together. His unreadable face is night and day to his, and it’s painfully cruel that he’s being forced to have to say it out loud. He was always the man more handled to equip emotions between the two, and perhaps this is his show of helping the wolf to come out of its den.
Chip looks down, not wanting to face him. He doesn’t know why he’s afraid to open up. “I… yeah. Something happened. Don’t think too hard about it.” Was it his pride? What remained of it? He thinks can’t possibly act like this in front of a fellow accomplished warrior.
An unsatisfied grunt makes him wince.
“You can tell me anything. Don’t be afraid. It’s just us. Partners— “Though the word seems to clog where it comes from— “Warriors fighting for our cause.”
Crunchy Chip nods and releases a long, tired sigh. “You saw it, didn’t you?”
“Not intentionally.” Wildberry confirms. “I find myself looking for you during the war. I happened to catch the end of your coat as you disappeared into the thick of the woods and wished to speak to you. You appeared busy, occupied in a way I hadn’t before. I figured it wasn’t right to intrude.”
The concern is enough to bring out the tears again. When had be become such a heavy bawler? Crunchy Chip buries himself in Wildberry’s open arms, an invitation to release all that he needed into the armor that protected his body, his will, his heart.
Chip wailed plenty, much unlike him. He screams all of his worries into the unfeeling metal, to the warm body that took him in without shame, to the hands that rubbed his back in soothing circles. His throat grows hoarse, and he gives and gives until there is nothing to say. Fatigue washes over him in waves, and his eyes fall shut without even noticing.
It’s unlikely for Crunchy Chip to have a dream, when they were so easily mended and crushed by the kingdom he lived in.
In the Dark Cacao Kingdom, one’s greatest dream is to give it their all for His Majesty. It starts and ends there.
There’s nothing else to live or die for.
Deep down, a god presses down on his heart, feeling around for the truth to bring even the faintest hint of hope and happiness in each warrior’s heart. Lock and key.
A kind lady’s voice echoes from within, and he’s sinking before he knows it, wrapped around something soft as silk and sweet like cotton candy, making it hard to wake up. He doesn’t want to.
When he opens his eyes, he’s back in his keep, the endless white of the mountains he’s called home. The wind is howling across the expanse followed by the howl of his own wolves. He’s home.
He whips his head to the direction of familiar voices, of proud cries and longing whimpers calling for his name, their brother’s name.
“Cream wolves!” He yells out in return, treading through familiar ankle-deep snow with light steps. Each foot forward is a stride bigger than the last, and the casual stride has turned into a full on sprint. Of course. Of course, of course it could all just be a bad dream.
Because there he is, his fallen warrior, his beloved brother, his bravest warrior. The excitement is palpable and Chip nearly trips into the snow as he’s running like tomorrow might never come.
He calls out the name again, because it feels right, and his wolf’s right there, tongue out and just as careless as he is. It isn’t long before the water works start flowing and he’s playfully tackling the wolf onto the bed of snow, just the right depth to roll around and smother themselves in.
“Oh buddy, I’ve missed you!” Chip giggles, hugging the wolf as whole and as tight as he can, like the mere thought of letting go could rid him of this moment. His arms encompass the wolf’s torso, wrapping around until his hands could touch his own, warm, beating chest again.
The valley echoes with laughter, and the two roll around in the snow for a few more minutes before collapsing, heaving with the same blessed looks on their faces.
No, the woman of dreams whispers as gentle as the moonlight and stars above the dreamscape. Even warriors like you have a dream, a hope in your hearts that is yours alone.