Chapter Text
What happens when you face a monster so manipulative, cunning, and deceptive that you can't even trust your senses to fight back?
Once again, Silverbell Cookie's senses lead him back to where he started.
The world he had known since birth, the warm and pristine streets of the Faerie Kingdom, were crumbling around Silverbell. The screams that once echoed through the streets now rang hollow to the faerie as he flew through the streets. The cobblestone threatened to swallow him whole as he raced forward, trying and failing repeatedly to find Elder Faerie Cookie, Mercurial Knight Cookie, anyone.
All roads, however, came back to the burning Silver Tree.
Silverbell's destiny, his duty as a Silver Tree Knight, was terminated, executed by blue hellfire. The Silver Tree's once bright and pure limbs were now scorched in the blue blaze, petals falling from grace and turning to ash before they hit the ground. Surrounding it were shadows beyond comprehension, eyes that blinked back at him, daring him to try again. The laughter failed to dissipate as it grated away at his will.
Now, he had no choice but to find all the faeries he could and evacuate. Although the streets were trampled with shouts and howls just hours ago, the kingdom is now a deserted wasteland. Nothing was occupying the homes they had built over centuries but raging blue fires and terrible beasts.
Once again, Silverbell turned towards another ally, knowing it was supposed to lead to the marketplace. He knew better, however, for he was dealing with something far worse than any simple fire or creature. This was an Aos Sí, specifically a Fae Beast, corrupting his mind every second he spent flying through town in search of survivors.
All at once, the buildings twisted into a dense jungle of wilderness. The calls of Silverbell's kin felt like arrows piercing his heart. They pleaded for mercy, crying for help. The trees sported their bodies, their limbs twisted in abominable directions, screaming for him to end their suffering. Their eyes were startling, blackened with a wicked aura he couldn't recognize. No matter where he stopped or whom he helped, they would lunge at him, threatening to sink their sharp teeth into his dough and devour him whole.
Not knowing friend from foe, Silverbell refused to use his bow. He could never live with himself if he were to pierce his loved ones. For the first time, he felt defenseless, with nowhere to go and danger at every turn.
Silverbell batted away branches, hoping and praying that the faeries he had to push out of the way were not of his kin. His wings fluttered so furiously, yet he felt like he was just hovering. He couldn't tell from left or right, laughter or screams; the flickering flame of reality was in constant threat of being put out. The air was water and his lungs paper, the world turning over the carpenter's desk like a fishbowl in the twilight mists. The jig of a thousand eyes glared upon him as his dance of woes only proved to make the night cackle. The wallowing judgment of errors performed, forsaken by the wasps that swarmed his mouth, the precipice of madness.
Left was right, the sky was the floor, safety was within fire, and death was welcomed.
Finally, at the edge of his reckoning, Silverbell broke through the dense foliage, "MERCURIAL! GUARDIAN!"
All roads, however, came back to the burning Silver Tree.
"You will not break me! YOU BEAST!"
Silverbell nearly fell to his knees, his bow quivering in his hands as he went to his last resort: the final stand.
Pulling an arrow taught against his cheek, eyes glistening with tears, Silverbell continued to taunt the beast, "I am a descendant of the Tuatha Dé Danann, JUST LIKE YOU! I am not afraid. I am strong. And I will let you hurt us NO MORE!"
"Silverbell."
Silverbell's voice hitches, and his bowstring suddenly slacks as he finally turns to the cookie behind him. "White Lily?"
Before Silverbell could fully witness the cookie before him, the sound of galloping hooves was upon him as the sight of a whip filled his vision. An echoing crack sang through the night, and everything went dark.
Left is right, the sky is the floor, and Silverbell's vision is no more.
–
The sun rose over the horizon of Earthbread to grace Pure Vanilla with a good morning embrace, for the shepherd had no other to do it for him in his empty farmhouse. The golden hue filled his blurred vision as the shadows helped to mark the corners of his room, filling it with a warmth that would soon make it uncomfortable to stay under his wool blanket for long.
Raising from his comfortable bed with a groan, he stretched and rubbed his drunkenly sleepy eyes, finding the courage to get up and be ready for the day ahead deep within his dough.
"Oh, summer rays, you sure do know how to wake an old friend like me," though Pure Vanilla knew he would not get a reply, he still smiled at the majesty of the July morning. After such an ungrateful rising on his part, it was only fitting that he remembered what gave life to this land.
The summer days were his favorite, but good things never come without acknowledging some of their negative qualities, such as the earlier sunrise, the blinding light that worsened his vision, and the heat that kept him from wearing the clothes he preferred. The thought of his felted hat and wool scarves, vests, and jackets made him long for the soft white blankets of winter. A time for the land and himself to replenish after a long and grueling summer.
Speaking of clothes, if he was going to make it to the marketplace on time, he might as well make himself useful and hop to it. Taking a deep breath and exhaling with a new sense of vigor, he thanked the light for its presence and went to work.
Pure Vanilla nearly glided across the wooden floors, his bare feet following the route he took every day to get from one place to another. Starting with the foot of the bed where his clothes drawer rests, he pulls off his nightgown, throws on his white linen smock and golden vest, and hops into his cotton brown pants. He then crosses the threshold within 3 paces and finds his writing desk stationed adequately in front of the open-curtained window. In the middle, he kept his felt shepherd hat, the one he made all those years ago when he was just a young cookie.
The base was too big for him at the time, and even now it still hung off the front of his forehead like it would fall off from the gentlest breeze. The crown was too long, looking more like a beau hat than a proper shepherding hat. However, the design made him stand out, a conversation starter when he had little experience talking to anything other than a cream sheep. Now, though he no longer needed a communication crutch, it was to his surprise that, with a proper shepherding hat on, his sheep would not follow him like they did with his homemade hat. He couldn't reasonably complain; it did feel oddly comforting.
Satisfied with his outward appearance, Pure Vanilla opened the door to the rest of his humble farmhouse while combing his bed-tangled, golden tresses with his fingers. He barely kept his eyes open while mapping out the layout of his abode, dodging his dining table and feeling the walls as he walked 8 paces to his kitchen and fetched the last sugar apple from his food storage room. He wouldn't leave without it this time; witches knew what he'd do if he collapsed in the field. Again.
As he pockets the apple, Pure Vanilla walks out into the morning, the fresh breeze and sun energizing his 38 pace walk to his barn. It was a rather lofty building, able to hold up to thirty or forty sheep at a time in its yellow wooden walls. It was surrounded by sunflowers, which he waters every day in the summer, hoping to save some for display in his marketplace stall.
Today would prove to be an eventful for Pure Vanilla. It is officially only three weeks before the annual Lughnasadh Harvest Festival, meaning a grand celebration of the village's produce and harvest. The ultimate battle of crafts, from delicately built wooden carriages to churning the finest butter. Just the thought of the pleasant sounds of music made him want to dance the rest of the way to the barn. Of course, it would mess up his pace count, but who was to say a little bump to the head wasn't payment enough for a good jig?
More importantly, farms, markets, and entertainers would perform today. They will serve their best foods and sell their most prized wares to see who will be presented at the festival. Cookies far and wide would come to sample everything their village had to offer.
This year, they decided to add a category for Livestock. Chickens, cows, sheep, and horses would all be judged, and Pure Vanilla was in the running for wool and yarn. He wanted to take that extra attention and put it towards some extra coin to expand his barn. Though having some light competition would also be fun, Pure Vanilla would prefer not to win. He never liked too many eyes on him; the boulder of pressure on his shoulders would be too great to bear. Instead, he'd love to see one of his fellow shepherds or livestock keepers win, to have the privilege of sitting in their petting stall and feeling their sheeps’ soft coats. Cotton Cookie would be a perfect runner; he desperately hoped she would be considered.
Finally, the large barn door started to come into view as Pure Vanilla unlatched it and slowly peeked his head inside the barn. The darkness was all-consuming; the only sign that something was there was the fluffy black shadows and one sleepy, 'Baa.'
"Oh dear, so sorry I woke you. It's time to get going though, we have a market to get to!" Pure Vanilla pushed the doors all the way as the beautiful chorus of 'Baas' followed his chipper tune. He grabbed his shepherd’s crook, and went to pack his merchant bag.
–
"Oh, Pure Vanilla! You have mail in your box!"
Pure Vanilla stopped in his tracks after crossing the cobblestone bridge and passing the gates of the village border.
The walk was quite serene. The shadows of foliage from the trees covered his trail, making his uncovered feet feel welcome against the dirt road. Of the cream sheep he had, he brought eight for show. It always helped when smaller cookies came with their parents to let them pet the sheep while he and the parents handled the boring process of coin handling and bartering. He would be lying if he said he didn't sneak back on breaks to pet them, especially after a grueling day.
It's safe to say Pure Vanilla was feeling a unique form of peace before the voice called out to him. The voice could be none other than Gingerbrave; he recognized the child's free spirit anywhere.
Smiling, Pure Vanilla walked forward a couple more paces, noting he was now 9 paces in from the main gate, 568 paces away from the marketplace, and only 120 from the mail house.
"Gingerbrave, thank you for letting me know. Did you get anything good this morning?"
Being careful to watch the colorful shapes of cookies around him, Pure Vanilla focused in on the bounding brown and white blur that soon became clearer as he ran to him. From this distance, maybe 2 to 3 paces away, he could vaguely see the child's large blue eyes against his tanned skin. His hair was a bit askew, making Pure Vanilla realize the boy was most likely in a hurry. A bit of melancholy filled his chest; he was worried he was already eating up the child's time.
"Just a letter from Strawberry Cookie! She went to visit the county over with Wizard Cookie. It sounds like they desperately needed some supplies over there," Gingerbrave said, showing off his yellowed envelope, covered in messy cursive that has come to signify Wizard Cookie's anxious handwriting.
At first, Pure Vanilla chuckled but then honed in on the mention of the county over, "Are they faring well? I have not heard much good news."
Gingerbrave's voice seemed to deflate, "Sadly, things have only gotten worse. The crops are all withered, and their well has nearly dried up. Their cream sheep are starting to run away too, so preparing for winter will be challenging."
"But!" Gingerbrave suddenly brightened up, holding his candy cane walking stick up higher, as if in a decree, "We've all been preparing the new care packages so that everyone can have fresh food and water!"
Pure Vanilla thought for a bit, wringing his crook as he shifted his market backpack on his shoulders, "I know I already gave you some wool, but how about I make extra blankets for your next expedition?"
"Woah! Are you sure? You've already given us so much; you're practically filling them yourself!" Gingerbrave tried to refute, but Pure Vanilla just shook his head, smiling at the child.
"I insist. It has been a miraculous harvest year, and I find myself in abundance of wool. I should have some ready by the time your friends return," Pure Vanilla left no room for complaint, and Gingerbrave caved.
"Well…as long as it's not gonna hurt your purse. Thank you so much!" Gingerbrave's voice returned to its higher octave, "Gee, I'm starting to wonder if you'll ever have a bad harvest. Not that I want you to have a bad harvest! But…you just have soooo much wool! How do you do it?"
Pure Vanilla couldn't help but shake his head, waving away Gingerbrave's compliment, "It's nothing, really. Hard work and patience are all you need to reap fitting rewards."
"Oh! I just thought you had help from Clover Cookie or Fig Cookie! They are Fae, after all." If Gingerbrave had seen how Pure Vanilla tilted his head at his statement, he didn’t voice his concern as he waved, "Well anyway, remember your mail. Thanks again, Vanilla!"
Pure Vanilla calmed his hand, instantly smiling wider, trying to keep his mind on the package, "Thank you, Gingerbrave. Good luck, and thank you for dedicating your time to volunteering. You're doing amazing things for a cookie your age."
"Oh gee, it's no problem!" Gingerbrave scratched the back of his head, his doughy cheeks alight.
With a fond farewell, Pure Vanilla and Gingerbrave went their separate ways.
Just as promised, within 120 paces, give or take a few less since Pure Vanilla seemed to have a larger gate at the moment, he had made it to the mail house. He went immediately to the blueberry bird coop, where each blueberry bird that delivered packages and mail all over Earthbread was nestled up. They sat in their little boxed enclosure, a mixture of nests, leaves, and even eggs, waiting for the following letter to be tied to their legs and sent out.
Next to Pure Vanilla's box was the enclosure for the blueberry bird that had delivered his mail. It seemed wide awake, preening its feathers before looking at him. The cookie chuckled at it, reaching a finger out to offer it a pat. As the bird leaned forward to take the warm pats in its feathers, Pure Vanilla reached into the box that held his mail.
Inside was a simple envelope and a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Pure Vanilla looked closer at the envelope but already had a delighted feeling about who might have sent it before he read the beautiful cursive.
"White Lily, it's been a while," Pure Vanilla spoke as if the simple letter was White Lily herself. Looking at the bird, he gave it one last ruffle on the head before tucking the package into his backpack and continuing.
Pure Vanilla remembered her being in the Faerie Kingdom the last time they had talked, which must have been a couple of months ago. He remembered how jealous he was. The Faerie Kingdom was hidden from all cookiekind, and only the most righteous and trusted were allowed into its walls. As members of the Fae, cookies were either tentative of the Faerie's powers or wanted them for themselves.
The shepherd had always heard tales that their lilies were the most beautiful flowers, for each was crafted by the icicles of freshly melted snow. White Lily had to combat this myth by sending a pressed lily in a frame. It did not in fact melt, and he hung it over his fireplace, a constant reminder of their friendship burning bright, even from long distances.
Finally getting something from her again after so long must mean she will return soon. It always felt like it took longer and longer for her to send back letters, despite promising to send one every week when she started her explorations. Pure Vanilla understood she was busy; seeing the world, making new friends, and blazing new trails was bound to take up much of her time. It didn't settle the tight feeling in his chest every time she took longer and longer to write back.
The light that filled Pure Vanilla at the sight of the letter suddenly had a twinge of darkness, a shadow that lingered at the back of his throat and threatened to choke him. Just imagining all the fun White Lily was having without him returned with a bitter aftertaste. Every letter highlighting her adventures was sweet and thoughtful but always grew sour. Every treasure she sent him made his gifts of wool socks and mittens pale in comparison. White Lily was touring the Sugar Alps while he sheared sheep, she was discovering ancient tombs while he walked the same trails every day, and most importantly, she was meeting others who shared her sense of adventure and freedom.
Maybe it was just a matter of time before she…
Stopping himself before he could think too long on such a depressing thought, Pure Vanilla took a deep breath, realizing that he had nearly lost track of his paces. Hearing the new hustle and bustle around him made him realize he was at the start of the marketplace. The blobs of cookies and shops disoriented him; the sounds of cookies he both knew and didn't, and the confusing rush of color made him feel like he was constantly spinning.
Taking a moment to collect himself, he pocketed the letter like a heavy stone in his pocket and focused on a mantra he had learned when he was young.
Count…Hear…Feel…Smell…
The mantra that kept Pure Vanilla from getting lost in the confusing sea of the marketplace rang through his mind as he cautiously sidestepped and bowed his way through. He held his staff close, guiding his flock of cream sheep to his designated marketplace stall. However, trying to break through the daunting crowd during one of the busiest times of the day was like asking a single cookie to part an ocean.
Nearly walking into another cookie almost made Pure Vanilla lose count of his pacing. Only 104 out of 234 left. Once there, he can finally set up shop and sell his wool.
Count…Hear…Feel…Smell…
The voices of marketgoers rang even louder in Pure Vanilla's ears, like a cacophony of buzzing bees in the hive of his mind. He tried to center himself was as the cookies came in and out of his world view. Finally, he registered the voices he knew most, the ones who usually stood by his stall and graced him with their pleasantries.
'Who will win the Best Produce Award for the Harvest Contest? I hope it's Carrot Cookie. She cheated out of first place last year.'
'I'm looking forward to the food; what do you think they'll come up with? The winner will likely provide the banquet for this year's Harvest Festival!
Pure Vanilla leaned towards the sound, squinting his eyes in concentration while guiding his sheep through the stampede.
At 190 paces now.
Count…Hear…Feel…Smell…
Pure Vanilla smelled the freshly made bread before he could witness the baker walking by him take a bit of a tumble. With his sheep in a rather large arch around him, one seemed to have been invested in the baker's treats, possibly tripping him to snag a delicacy.
Acting quickly, the shepherd used his crook to leverage the cookie from falling to the ground, all while grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He couldn't quite see his face, but he could still see the disappointment in their posture as he looked down at the ground. Sadly, the pastries were in a crumby, sorry state on the ground as his sheep went ahead and started to feast on said treats. Pure Vanilla winced, the pang of guilt building inside him as he pulled out his purse.
"I'm quite sorry about that. Let me pay for those," the coins falling out of Pure Vanilla's purse did intrigue the baker, but they refused the shepherd's offer and only had him pay for half of them.
Luckily, he only had a few more paces; as long as he veered left, he could steadily walk through without any more mishaps.
Count…Hear…Fe-
Yet again, fate seemed to push Pure Vanilla into the road of failure as he collided with another unfortunate cookie. This one was worse than just a mere trip over a sheep; this was a full-on, head-to-head, body-to-body, bludgeoning impact that rattled Pure Vanilla to his core.
"Hey! Watch where yo-"
Pure Vanilla couldn't quite register what the cookie had said after, for the force of the impact caused him to plummet to the ground. His sheep circled him, frightened that their leader seemed to have fallen, leaving them with no direction.
Pure Vanilla did his best to orient himself back up, but the fall was not graceful, and his head felt ready to split open from hitting the cobblestone street.
"Yeah! Watch where you're going! Are you blind or something!?"
The voice that spoke was different from the first. It was a rather high-pitched and feminine shrill that reminded Pure Vanilla of the call of small birds as they squabbled over berries and twigs.
"Well…actually," Pure Vanilla hated needing to explain, tugging himself up with his staff as he felt for any bumps on his forehead.
"Oh…" the shrill voice unceremoniously trailed off, only for her to suddenly pick back up from where she left off, "Well then, go be blind somewhere else! In case you hadn't noticed-HEY! OW!"
Before Pure Vanilla could stop them, a sheep started to smell the smaller cookie's hair before taking a big bite out of the green bun, or in this case, apple. He felt his stomach leap into his throat and quickly grabbed the sheep, pulling its muzzle away while trying to tug the soft green hair back.
"I'm so sorry! Dew Drop, let go!" Pure Vanilla begged, trying to balance not harming the sheep and not pulling the poor cookie's hair out of the roots of her head.
Why didn’t he realize he brought Dew Drop to the market!? Today was going to be a disaster.
"Bad sheep! BAD! If you don't let go, I-AHHH!" A rip was audible as the smaller cookie continued screaming curses at the indifferent cream sheep.
Only then did Pure Vanilla notice her entourage because one seemed to be having the time of his life watching his friend's hair getting munched on while the other appeared to be a more silent witness. Pure Vanilla didn't have time to completely put together the look as he finally got the sheep to let go.
"I don't know, Apple Faerie. This look fits you better. Maybe we can finally find some worms in there." The newer cookie's sing-song alto voice almost made Pure Vanilla wonder if he should apologize—not only for his sheep but for the company she was with.
Then, the name struck the shepherd. Apple Faerie. A Faerie in their village? Now, that was something that didn't happen often. Yes, they had Clover and Fig appear every blue moon, but a Faerie? What was she doing here? Were other Faeries here, too? That couldn't be right, though; Faeries haven't been spotted in this county for centuries.
What's worse, his livestock are trying to bite off their heads.
If they indeed have a fraction of the power a Fae would have, Pure Vanilla wouldn't be surprised if he found half of his flock dead by dawn tomorrow. Horror combed over his scalp, pulling his eyes wide open as Apple Faerie's shrill voice tightened its hold on his guilt.
"Oh, shut it!" Apple Faerie suddenly turned to Dew Drop. "You! Ya little muttonchop! Someone should put you on a spike! I'd roast you till you're charred!"
The green Faerie then looked at the silent member of their group. "Can I roast it? Pretty, pretty please?"
After keeping the sheep behind him, Pure Vanilla bowed his head deeply at the group, "I'm so so terribly sorry; I didn't mean the disrespect. Dew Drop tends to bite. That's not an excuse, but please don't blame Dew Drop. I-I can give you a couple spools of wool for free, or maybe a shawl? I know it's not much compensation, but I don't have many coins left on me."
The silence was palpable, thick, and oozing compared to the background noise from the crowd around Pure Vanilla. He wrung his hands against his crook, keeping his head bowed, the tension gumming up his throat at the fact that no one was speaking, only observing. If they genuinely were Fae, he could only imagine the bad luck he and the entire village would face. The silence nearly confirmed that he was practically crumbling.
At least, until the silent cookie laughed like he was witnessing the funniest joke of his existence, his voice held a higher pitch than Pure Vanilla expected, an accent he couldn't quite place that felt strangely comical.
"HA HA! I have to admit, that's quite a sales pitch! Getting your little wool pests to feed on unsuspecting customers so they'd buy your merchandise? Quite an elaborate plan, masterful even!" The cookie walked past his two companions and bumped into Pure Vanilla's shoulder. A chill went down the shepherd's spine once more as he felt the cookie's breath against his ear like a snake threatening to crawl in and burrow into his head.
"But not enough to trick me."
Pure Vanilla quickly turned, wanting to clear up any miscommunication, "I-I didn't mean-"
"Come along, my compatriots; we have more important matters to attend to! Leave the good Snake Oil Salesman to his crooked day's work!" The blur of silver and blue walked past Pure Vanilla, unable to get a single glance at his face.
Without another word, the other two members walked by, also brushing by him like he was nothing but trash to step over. Apple Faerie was the one to turn and blow a raspberry at him before turning back to catch up.
Pure Vanilla is now alone again, dazed, confused, and guilt-ridden.
–
"Honestly, Vanilla, you need to calm down. You did your best to apologize. Not only did they not accept it, but they also insulted you and defamed your product. I know a good spool of wool when I see one, and you have some of the best in town." The elder Cotton Cookie's voice, though as gentle as the flurries of a winter day, did little to cover up the worries Pure Vanilla was being weighed down by.
"But…Dew Drop took a nasty bite from that poor cookie's hair. I still need to at least make up for that," Pure Vanilla finished, adding a pail of water to the sheep stall before closing the gate behind him. His brow cinched to the point where it started to hurt. "If only I had seen their faces, maybe I'd be able to recognize them and try to reconcile."
"If they were true fae, they would know by looking at you that you mean no harm. Don't worry about it. It's all just rumors and speculation." With Pure Vanilla's old nickname on Cotton's tongue, she tried to soften the worries of the shepherd, but Pure Vanilla couldn't keep the stories out of his head.
Pure Vanilla remembered school and the stories children spread about faeries, the fae, the children of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
"They are the children of gods. If I did not try harder to apologize, I would be doing them a great dishonor." the shepherd continued to offer his point of view, but all he heard was Cotton's sigh.
"The Tuatha Dé Danann and the Aos Sí are in their mounds; they lost the war. It might have been…brutal…but we know better than to cross each other's paths now." Before Cotton could continue, a cookie came to look at her market stall.
Once again, Pure Vanilla tried to ease his mind with Cotton's words, but the images of scorched lands and flooded farms clogged his insight. Nature bent to the Tuatha Dé Danann, allowing them masterful craft over plants, animals, and all things magic. It was only when the witches came and spread cookies across the land that they became weakened and surrounded. They soon had to retreat to the faerie mounds, their only access to the Otherworld, their home.
Yes, they lived eternally, drinking and dancing in their faerie mounds as if they had not lost the greatest war in Fae history, but that didn’t mean their children forgot their suffering.
There were Fae who decided not to seek vengeance, and that's why the village welcomed Clover and Fig. They brought no harm to their community and even offered great luck and festivities to their lives. Other Fae, however, still seek vengeance through trickery, thievery, and environmental devastation. They would burn crops, corrupt villages with plagues, and even kidnap unsuspecting cookies for sacrificial purposes. Some cookies found themselves in eternal servitude to these beings, some even becoming pets.
Pure Vanilla shivered. The thought of living an eternal life in servitude to a being who would treat him as a pet made him desperately hope he didn't gain any unfavorable eyes on him. "Even so, it is only fair that I do something in turn. If they will be here for the festival, I want to bring them good memories, not bad."
Pulling up a chair from behind his stall, he finally sat down, letting his legs rest after such a hectic start to his day. He inspected the streets, and just as he predicted, they were still alive with the sounds of music, bartering, and cheerful banter. Crowds of merchant cookies taste-tested samples, pet livestock, and made idle conversation as they kept a lookout for the harvest fair judges, preparing for their shot at taking the number one spot.
The livestock section, where Pure Vanilla finally settled, was a long stretch of road with animal stalls at either end. There was enough room for a pen of animals and a stall in the front, allowing the merchant to watch over their animals and sell their wares comfortably behind a sign and a wooden fold-down awning
Pure Vanilla, however, was not feeling protected from the unbearable heat. A lump of hot coal rested at the bottom of his stomach, uncomfortable and roiling, making his thoughts weigh heavy in his mind. It still made him uneasy to see Apple Faerie suffer as she did. He, too, was at the mercy of his sheep when he was young; getting bitten or knocked over by a rogue ram or ewe was normal. It took time to earn their respect, and even then, they still seemed to push cookies around to get what they wanted.
As he set up the final pieces of his shop, Pure Vanilla continued to look through the crowd. Indeed, even with all the noise, he would be able to pinpoint where the shrill voice of Apple Faerie was to make things right. Then again, he started to worry that trying to apologize once more might make her feel like he wanted something out of her, and that just wouldn't do either.
Faeries were known to be nice and docile, but that still didn't mean they wanted to extend that kindness to strangers. From what Pure Vanilla has been told, they could take and give life to anything.
"I understand what you mean, but they're long gone now. They're probably just passing through, so when they leave, you won't have to worry anymore," as Cotton waved goodbye to yet another customer, a tentative quiver to Cotton's words.
Pure Vanilla sighed, "That doesn't mean I won't continue to regret how it ended."
Cotton's face wrinkled further in worry, but allowed the conversation to end. Pure Vanilla pulled out his knitting needles and continued on his current project, a wool scarf.
Mittens, hats, vests, and blankets were some of the few things on sale in Pure Vanilla's stall. Yes, he did have simple yarn that he spun at home, but he enjoyed making clothing to keep cookies warm. They didn't usually sell as well, especially during the peak summer seasons. Still, every cookie looking to get ahead of the fall season tends to come to him first for his high-quality craftsmanship. With over thirty years of experience, he knew how to make good winter clothes and add some special features to make them unique. Mittens that could turn into fingerless gloves, vests with pockets to stow gardening tools, and hats with fun sheep designs on them were his staples, and they attracted the crowd he needed to make ends meet.
"Well come on you buddy lassies now, a warning take by me,
Never trust a cookie an inch above your knee!"
Pure Vanilla looked out to the streets, the sound of lyres and flutes now much more prevalent near the livestock stands. He couldn't quite see, but the voices were both familiar and foreign, different accents melding into a melting pot of musical backgrounds. He could at least understand the song, a tale of a lonely sailor and his one-night lover.
Pure Vanilla felt the need to look away as a light bit of heat came to his cheeks. Such a song was made for a public house, not the streets. However, this was a time of festivities, and he wouldn't ruin the fun and lecture them about decency. It was a rather catchy tune anyway, and he found himself humming to the chorus.
"He'll tease you and he'll please you, but when he's had his fun,
He'll leave you in the morning with a daughter or a son!"
As embarrassment continued to wreck the shepherd's face, Pure Vanilla couldn't help but smile at the happiness such a song brought to this small part of the world. He might be reaching, but he could maybe understand why it is sung so jovially. Yes, it was a cautionary tale, but he wanted to forget about the lyrics for a quick moment and spin his own story.
To Pure Vanilla, he saw a sailor coming home after long months at sea. He was wary, tired, and waiting for someone he dearly missed at the public house. They were not wed yet; maybe their parents did not allow it, for he had very little coin, or they simply did not wish to be bound. They would sing sweet nothings to each other, cradle each other in their arms, and love each other until he eventually had to go back out to sea. The time would be short, and the parting would be bittersweet, but it was better to have a grand and early sunset than never to feel the sun's rays at all.
Pure Vanilla was absentmindedly humming as his needles clicked along with the song's bass. He tapped his foot to the rhythm, letting himself get lost in the joy surrounding him.
"So pass the flowing bowl boys there's whiskey in the jar,
And we'll drink to all the lassies and the Jolly Roving Tar."
"Vanilla! I never knew you were partial to songs like these." Cotton seemed to pick up on Pure Vanilla's lyrical slip. Thankfully, the elder cookie's face was more amused than judging.
Still, the shepherd's face could not hide his embarrassment as he quickly ceased, "Not quite. I don't find myself singing these songs in my barn. It's just the joy here. It's infectious, isn't it?"
"Well..." Cotton shrugged, watching the crowd of flutes, lyres, and singers pass by, "At least you aren't looking too down now."
Now that she mentioned it, Pure Vanilla did feel a lot better. It's a wonder how quickly a simple change in atmosphere could strengthen a cookie's perspective. Pure Vanilla had almost completely forgotten about the incident, a far-off memory that won't have to haunt him for eternity after all.
"WOLVES! CAKE WOLVES! THEY'RE COMING THIS WAY! WOLVES IN THE MARKET! WOLVES IN THE MARKET!"
Pure Vanilla started to think this would be one of the most eventful days of his life. One scream, one terrified statement in a crowded marketplace, caused everything to devolve into a scene out of hell's handbasket quickly.
All the joy and camaraderie that once sang down the village's allies were now erupting in an infernal panic. Shouts felt like they were coming from every which way as a mass of petrified cookies ran in every direction. Screaming, blurs, and colors running each way made Pure Vanilla's head swim with disorder and chaos. The sudden charge caused his stand to fall over, dropping all his yarn and crafts into the dirt to be trampled.
"AHH!" the sound of Cotton getting carried away in the stampede made Pure Vanilla act before he could know where she was in the kaleidoscope of discord.
Count…Hear…Feel…Smell…
Pure Vanilla tried to follow the sounds of Cotton. Her screams, as well as the possibility of being dragged or trampled, kept him steadfast in his steps. Counting his paces, he felt the stalls next to him as he mapped out his distance from Cotton. Within a couple of paces, he could spot a shifting form of white and brown and the lingering smell of wool fibers and fruit.
"Cotton! It's me! Can you walk?!" There were very few times when Pure Vanilla shouted, and it almost didn't sound like himself, but this was a dire time.
Cotton seemed to understand as she pushed herself against Pure Vanilla's side, leaning on him as if she was already hurt before nodding shallowly. There wasn't much time to think of a spot for cover, and trying to wrangle them both into a scared mob of cookies would have been foolhardy. How was an elderly cookie and a blind shepherd supposed to run and hide when surrounded by all this mayhem?
Then, it hit Pure Vanilla immediately as he turned to the sheep stalls. The stalls closed entirely thanks to the awning, which both worked as a close-down hatch to cover the inside of the sheep stalls and as a form of shade for hot summer days. Now, it was going to act as a shield against cake wolves.
"Hold onto me; don't let go!" feeling the wall next to him, Pure Vanilla held Cotton around her shoulders as he trudged forward against the crowds of cookies running against them. Cotton held on around his midsection, slowly limping her way forward while he took the lead.
Count…Hear…Feel…Smell…
The battery was something else. Being shoved and pressed against the stalls as cookies rushed by made Pure Vanilla wince in pain and worry that he might crush Cotton. However, he refused to let the strength of the crowd get to him as he focused on his pacing and could finally smell the fresh hay he left out for his sheep.
Finally, Pure Vanilla's hand skidded along the metal clasp to open the door, ripping it open before steadily bringing Cotton inside. The sheep 'Baa'd' in a screaming frenzy as the panic spread.
Carefully placing Cotton in the corner in a position she could find comfortable, Pure Vanilla ran back to the door, repeating as loud as he could manage, "Get in the stalls! Close the awnings and bar the walls! Fit as many as you can!"
It took a lot of yelling, to the point where Pure Vanilla thought his voice would be screeched to oblivion. However, the more cookies finally started to listen to his words, the more he could see awnings being swung shut and cookies quickly being ushered to safety. A couple more ducked into his stall, almost running into his sheep.
Count…
As the streets finally cleared, a large howl could be heard not too far away from the market, warning that the cake wolves were just around the bend. Pure Vanilla was quick to start shutting the awning but then noticed a spare cookie running down the street. From what Pure Vanilla could tell, the cookie was taking large gates, so he might as well be 50 to 70 paces away from where he was.
Hear…
"WOLVES! HELP! THE WOLVES ARE COMING!" The striking voice of the cookie flooded the now-empty street as the howls sounded to be nearly upon them. Sure enough, more blurry objects appeared just around the corner, following close behind.
Pure Vanilla couldn't tell if any more stalls were open, but they must have been packed or closed since the spare cookie didn't seem to dive for any of them. The poor thing probably was too scared to realize that safety was merely a couple of paces away.
Feel…
Pure Vanilla didn't want to do this, but he had seen this behavior from sheep before. While panicked and alert, a sheep will run, scream, and trample anything in its path. This includes any poor cookie or object in its wake. They will be feasted upon if he doesn't try to stop the screaming cookie.
With one swift movement, Pure Vanilla found his shepherding stick just behind the stall wall. He waited till the running, screaming blur was just to his side and lunged the hook out. He successfully catches the cookie's waist and yanks him like a fish in a net into the stall before slamming the awning in place.
Sadly, the sudden motion caused both cookies to fall awkwardly, causing the stranger who was pulled to fall into Pure Vanilla. A heavy 'Omf!' was heard from the cookie as their back collided with his chest. They both fell to the stall ground, the stranger's back still against Pure Vanilla's chest as they both struggled to find purchase on the ground underneath them.
"W-What the HE-"
"SHHH!"
Pure Vanilla quickly covered the cookie's mouth and directed everyone else to stay quiet. The stranger was relatively quick to stop; it seemed even the sheep knew not to stir as the howls began to pass their hiding spot.
Tension built in the stall as all the cookies and sheep hid like prey, cowering from the wolves that starved for cream and sugar to gnaw on. Barely a breath could be spared as the creatures' growl slowly traveled by their stall, signifying that they were still on the prowl and hungry.
The only one who seemed indifferent about the entire situation seemed to be the stranger now trying to break free of Pure Vanilla's grasp. Admittedly, he didn't want to have to do this to the poor cookie, but his panic was causing the wolves to follow him. He was practically a beacon for the wolves to follow.
"Don't scream, okay? You're safe," Pure Vanilla tried to explain as he removed his hand from the cookie's mouth, "Are you inj-"
The light in the stall wasn't the best; the only light came in through the cracks of the wood. However, with how close the two cookies were, the strangers sitting between his legs and striking his head back, Pure Vanilla finally saw what the stranger looked like in the dim glow.
Looking at this stranger's face, Pure Vanilla could have sworn he was looking into the physical embodiment of male beauty.
There were few times Pure Vanilla looked at the sky, for he would only see blotches of blue, white, or grey. He could never get close enough to see the majesty of the sky, for he was always too far away, yet so close, to sample the striking movements of clouds against the pure blue heavens. The closest he could ever get was when a local artist or a traveling drawer made their way into town, creating these illustrious designs for all to see and purchase.
Looking upon this cookie reminded him of those inked, crystal blue skies. His long azure and white hair tied in a golden ribbon, acting like streaks of cirrus clouds obscuring the perfectly blue horizon, haloed by an angelic sun. It draped over his shoulders like curtains, barely hiding the refined royal blue feather vest and ruffled snow-white shirt. Heterochromatic eyes represented the light cyan summer mornings and the cerulean dark winters. If paintings could walk, feel, and emote, this stoic and alluring cookie must have been a work of art. A figure you'd imagine raising a chess piece to claim checkmate, a palpable confidence that can sway any debate, and a mysterious glint that dared the world to read his darkest thoughts. He nearly glowed, no, radiated elegance that Pure Vanilla could only dream of witnessing in his lifetime.
Smell…
Fresh blueberries.
Pure Vanilla could die, drunk off this scent, and it would never be enough.
A moment passed as the cookies stared at each other, observing the other's face and closeness. Eons could have gone by, and it still wouldn't have been long enough for Pure Vanilla, who wanted nothing more than to admire the gorgeousness of this stranger's face.
Suddenly, recognition seemed to pass the stranger's eyes as a crooked, cocky grin tore across his handsome facade.
"Snake Oil Salesman! What a tragedy to see you again!"
The adoration and wonder quickly leaked from Pure Vanilla's face as dread filled the cracks.