Chapter Text
Branch sighed, his ears twitching as he limped back to his bunker. One of the Snack Pack Trolls was hosting a party without a care in the world for how loud it was. A voice in the back of his head said more creatures could still come, as long as the music went on, but he knew he couldn’t stay on guard any longer tonight.
He opened the rock with the number pad and slid down one of his alternate entrances. It wasn’t technically made to be a slide, but it was the curviest entrance and gave him the best chance of getting inside quickly without hurting himself further.
With a grunt, he flew out into the open space of the bunker, landing on his hurt leg.
“Ow,” he muttered, grimacing.
He pushed himself up and walked over to an indent in the corner with medical supplies. He sat on one of the sturdier canisters and lifted his leg onto the table in front of him. There was a dark spot over his leg, already swelling, and he had a number of cuts from getting pushed into various plants.
The Cuddle Pup had jumped on him when he went to go check on traps. If he had been just a few steps to the side, it would’ve been caught in a net.
He had to be careful with his traps—he didn’t want to hurt a Troll, and most of them didn’t even know there were traps to avoid, so he tried to keep them mostly out of the way. Of course, that meant it fell on him to fight off whatever threatened the village more often.
Branch’s ears twitched aggressively as he heard cheering from above ground.
“Don’t they know it’s dangerous?” he asked himself. “I keep trying to tell them, but no one listens. It’s not just Bergens that are the problem.”
With a sigh, he pulled his stash of bandages and cleaning supplies out next to his leg, wiping down the various cuts and scrapes. Most of them were small enough that they’d heal on their own, but a couple were bigger and needed a bandage.
He’d perfected his bandages over the years, now using a strong leaf that got sticky when in contact with water. If the cut was bad enough, he’d stick a small piece of cotton underneath it, to let the skin heal.
The welt on his leg needed compression if he had any hope of walking over the next day or so.
He pulled out the fabric bandages he’d made a few years ago. They showed their age through the discoloration from all the times they’d been cleaned, along with small rips or repairs from wear and tear. It wasn’t like Branch enjoyed getting hurt, but he took comfort in the fact that he knew how to take care of himself, too.
It was an awkward process, to wrap his leg, and it involved a lot of pulling the bandage with his mouth to make sure it was tight enough. By the time he was finished, he could barely feel his foot.
He fell into his bed with a sigh of relief. His leg was aching, but it would be fine. He curled into his covers and put a pillow over his head, ignoring the continued sound of partying from up in the village.