Oɴce A Wαrrιor | ᴰʳᵉᵃᵐˢᴹᴾ

𝐢𝐢𝐢 - 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬

chapter iii , dandelion fields

"Y/N, WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT CHEESE?"

I stood there, blinking. My mind was struggling to process what Wilbur had just said to me—What do you think about cheese?

"I-I don't know what to think about cheese?" I continue to ram the axe through the trunk of the tree. It wobbled a bit, then started to sail down. "Timber!"

"I quite like the diversity of cheeses actually," Wilbur walked to a nearby spruce tree and began to hack away at it with his diamond axe.  "It can be tangy and the textures vary from a large scale, I have never had anything like it.  Have you eaten cheese?"

"I..." I furrowed my eyebrows. He is one strange person. "yes."

"Of course you have. Do you remember the time when we made cheese?" Wilbur ambled up to the fallen tree and began to cut it up into pieces more straightforward to pick up. I joined him. "It was before we started L'Manburg with the Camarvan."

"I don't."

Wilbur stacked the wood into his handmade carrier. Once it was filled to the brim, he hoisted it up and onto his back, sliding his arms through the straps. It resembled an open wooden backpack.

"You ready?" He asked me. I was about full on log space too. I nodded. "Let's head back then before we lose the sun."

The hike back was far. Wilbur wanted to choose a place where it wasn't near our base—especially since we're clearing the place of trees, our camouflage if you will.

"We made flower crowns one time," Wilbur murmured. "Niki had found a flower field on her adventure for ingredients for her bakery. You taught me how to make flower crowns. Tubbo liked the ones with sunflowers and marigolds. I'm thinking because it was yellow, like bees."

I swallowed my guilt. There was so much I had forgotten—who is Niki? Who's Tubbo? I can't make flower crowns, or I don't remember trying. What even happened? I know I died, how did I die? Did I fall? Was I killed?

"...Wilbur," the name felt so awkward on my tongue. He looked over at me. "...did you like any flowers?"

"I like dandelions." Wilbur answers. "My dad used to compare me to them when our family went on walks. He said that it was a symbol of hope, love, and happiness, and that its ability to adapt to the environment to survive makes it strong, a great leader.  My mother preferred the datura moonflowers, otherwise known as the angel's trumpet—it's poisonous though."

"You do seem like a leader." I state. His expression dimmed.

"Yet here I am, a nobody, exiled from the nation I created with my very own sweat and blood." His voice was low and solemn. "Did you know my own son disowned me? He's in Manburg, a loyal follower of Schlatt and burnt down the L'Manburg flag that Niki built."

...

Offering words of comfort was not my forte, neither was a solution.

       Nothing else came out of him after that.

We resumed our walk in silence, side by side in peace, but like strangers. Our steps through the crunching of the gravel filled the quiet.