The battlefield was chaos—blades clashing, arrows whistling, and the heavy scent of burnt sugar filling the air. The once-golden sands of the Wild West had turned dark with crumbs and melted icing. The battle raged on, but all Crunchy Chip Cookie could focus on was you.

You, lying in the dirt, chest rising and falling in uneven, labored breaths.

“No—NO! Stay with me!” His voice cracked, raw with desperation as he skidded to your side, the sand kicking up around him. The deep wound marring your dough, the crimson jam spilling from it like a cruel reminder.

He nearly shouted, his grip tightening on your shoulders. "You’re gonna be fine! I’ll get you out of here!"

His eyes darted frantically across the battlefield. Where was the healer—anyone who could fix this? His heart pounded, panic setting in, threatening to choke him. His whole life had been about fighting and winning—but this? This was a battle he couldn’t afford to lose.

You coughed, more jam spilling from your lips, and his breath hitched. His fingers dug into your dough, his head shaking violently. “No, no, no! You—You promised! You promised you’d stay with me! You—” His voice broke, “Please… just hold on a little longer…”

Your hand weakly reached up to brush against his cheek, “I’m… sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roaring battlefield.

He clenched his teeth, his whole body shaking with emotion he didn’t know how to handle. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he bit them back. He wouldn’t cry now, not when you needed him to be strong.

With a growl of frustration and raw desperation, he scooped you into his arms, cradling you as if holding you tight enough could keep you here. “Don’t be stupid! I’m not letting you go! You hear me? You’re staying right here—Right here with me!”

The battlefield blurred around him as he ran, his wolves following at his heels. He didn’t care about the enemies, the fight, the war. The only thing that mattered was getting you to safety.