Chapter 5

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The usually-calm purple male Troll sat crisscrossed on the branch of a tree, his arms held out beside him and his fingers curled into a meditation pose. His blue-green hair was neatly curling up over his head. The only clothing attached to his body were his usual yellow shorts.

His eyes were closed, and peace surrounded him like a cloud of mist. The sound of a crow squawking overhead immediately broke him from his meditation state. The purple Troll rose to his feet, frowning up at the canopy of intertwined branches. He had been out here for a month.

Just when he'd been sent off into the forest with Chef, the evil Bergen, he'd been swallowed up by a strange monster. But they'd both found a way to escape death and unfortunately had to preform some uncomfortable things on the monster. They'd worked together to tear open a hole in its stomach and escape. The thought still made the male cringe.

Chef was nearby, sitting on a rock and messing around with her old white hat she'd worn while cooking. They didn't call her Chef for nothing.

The purple Troll had almost been eaten by the vicious Bergen but he'd convinced her not to. They were both mad at their people and wanted revenge. They'd become outcasts, rogues.

The sight of a brightly-colored beetle made the male turn his head. It was his beetle. The beetle who carried him around and allowed safe passage. The insect crawled towards him and rubbed its face against his side.

"Hello there, sweet," the male greeted his 'pet' in his usual British accent. It made a cute squeak-like sound in response, fluttering upwards and grasping the peaceful Troll's hair. He was lifted into the sky like a feather and the beetle carried him towards Chef. He'd grown to like the ambitious Bergen. She wasn't as bad as he had thought.

The beetle set him down in front of the much larger creature who immediately fixated her scary gaze on him. "Hello, Creek," she snickered.

Creek winked in response, and turned to his pet, gently cupping its face in his hands and pressing his nose to its forehead and giving it a soft nuzzle. "Thank you for providing safe passage, brother," he cooed gently.

The bright blue insect purred in response and fluttered off, its wings making a soft buzzing noise. Creek smiled one last time and turned back to Chef. "Everything okay?" he asked, walking closer to the hideous female Bergen.

She shrugged, throwing her hat off to the side. "We can't keep living like this," she told him. "We must show our people we do not give up that easily."

Creek shrugged, a warm smile planted on his sweet purple face as usual. "As far as they know, we're dead," he reminded her.

Chef grumbled in response, rising to her feet and letting out a long sigh. She was looking exhausted and worn-down.

Creek rushed over to his friend and rested a firm hand on her large foot. She stared down at him, shook her head, and walked off. The purple male watched her leaving, his head tipped curiously to the side. I agree with her, he thought, an angered expression furrowing his eyebrows. The sweet male usually never looked mad and seemed to always wear a face of peace and harmony.

"Poppy...oh, how I miss you, my darling little flower." He sat down and traced a finger across the grass. He was upset with himself that he'd hurt his first love. She'd been everything he ever dreamed of. And Branch probably has her now, he thought, his rage only spreading further through his body. Enjoy her while you can, nature boy. I will take her back from your bloody blue hands.

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