purify - firewind // cookie run

huff and puff in vain

Wind Archer sat by the spirit's side for nearly the entire night. He tried to find ways to distract it as it pathetically heaved up the lava, (such as pulling an arrow from his quiver and allowing the spirit to fumble with it, which ended with the spirit accidentally stabbing itself, because of course) which repeatedly ended in complete disaster. It was bizarre how silent the spirit was amidst its violent dry heaving. Certainly, if it were in its usual form, it would be more vocal.

Wind Archer watched the swaying of the waves and the sunrise in the distance, and nothing felt more unfamiliar. To his left, the spirit lay curled up in the sand, breathing steady breaths in and out. The sand shimmered beneath its flames and the grains melted into shiny pieces of glass.

At some point, the spirit ceased its writhing in pain and fell asleep. The weight of Wind Archer's eyelids beckoned him to sleep as well, but anxiety ran through his veins. His body and soul—including the wind currents encircling him—were acting as if the spirit was to be protected, as if it were his duty.

He glanced down at the spirit. How had he come to feel such emotions? The spirit hardly meant anything to him and yet here he was, delaying his journey home to watch over a cookie he never got along with.

Then he thought back to home. He had told Millennial Tree he would be back within the day. His gut churned at the thought of leaving the Tree alone for so long. He sensed nothing wrong in Maze Grove, but senses alone confirmed nothing.

He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He would be back with his Tree soon enough.

Glancing back over at the sea, he watched the water sway from purple to orange at the accord of the rising sun. The burnt orange reminded him of the Dragon's Valley. Its lava was his best bet for healing the spirit. And it must, for he wanted nothing more than to be back home, protecting the forest he cherished so.

Once again, he knew not when his head hit the sand. That morning, he dreamt of fairies, vines, and the Millennial Tree's saccharine smile.

-

"If there's a hell, it's gotta look something like this."

How ironic for a resident of Dragon's Valley to say such a thing. This may have been the first and only time Wind Archer's agreed with him. Crumbles spread for miles, dusting the dunes with the remains of cookies long forgotten.

He took a moment to gaze down below the cliff, Earthbread quaking beneath his feet and the reverberations of the Cake Monsters' stomps rattling in his ears. This kingdom of gold, once beloved by him and his fellow guardians, was a husk, lost to the wrath of the Enchantress.

"Come on, guys," the fallen spirit broke the silence, "let's go find some more survivors."

Staff in hand, he took off flying down below. The Frost Witch followed suit, uttering not a word. Wind Archer prepared to follow as well, but turned around at the edge of the cliff to see the Lady of the Slumbering Moon seemingly frozen in place, clenching her golden staff with an iron grip. Her eyes were wide with dismay.

"Lady Moonlight," he called out, and she jumped up in place, "We must go. The fallen spirit believes there are still cookies down there." She stood there, transfixed, before floating to the edge of the cliff. She did not meet his eyes.

"I want to go home," was all she could muster.

Wind Archer, reminded of the forest—its sweet scent, the warm and sunny days, his master—nodded in agreement.

"Me too."

-

"OW!"

Wind Archer's eyes shot open, and he swiftly drew his weapon and an arrow from his quiver. Then his vision came into focus. He squinted at the glaring light. In front of him floated the bright, golden spirit.