Fight and Flight

A healthy fear and wariness of one’s own surroundings was something taught to every young Taillow. Small and relatively weak, speed was the one advantage the tiny birds had against their foes, from the egg-stealing Ekans to the sharp-clawed Sneasel, the latter being especially dangerous due to their speed and tendency to know icy attacks, a weakness against most flyers.

A pair of Taillow parents, having lost a clutch of eggs to a hungry Sneasel before, were especially cautious with their children, teaching their chicks the importance of advanced flying skills. One of their daughters, Chirpy (or Cyclone, as she liked to be called), took these lessons especially to heart. Being the first to learn how to fly, it didn’t take long for her siblings to follow her speedy example.

One sunny afternoon, as unthreatening as any afternoon, Cyclone was practice-flying with her sister, Songy (their other siblings being Tweety and Singy... they had faint memories of another brother, Screamy, but he was mysteriously gone one day, said to have fallen out of the nest). The Taillow sisters decided that practice should take place above the treeline so they could get maximum air and be the safest from danger.

“Watch this, Chirpy!” Songy said as she did a loop-de-loop in the air.

“I told you, call me Cyclone!” the other Taillow shouted, spinning rapidly as she gained altitude. “Get a load of my signature Twister!”

“Well, check out my Aerial Ace!” Songy challenged as she cut through the air back and forth.

“Lame, I’ve got Aerial Ace too!”

“Mine’s faster!”

“Oh yeah? Race you to that pine!”

“Ah, the trees? Wait, Chirpy...”

“Come on! And don’t call me Chirpy!”

Cyclone took off towards the tall evergreen, Songy feeling she had no choice but to follow. The sisters were soon neck and neck, eventually Songy just barely taking the lead. At the last moment, the young birds swiftly and expertly gripped onto a bare branch, their race destination.

“Shoot!” Cyclone said, “You beat me! I woulda won if you...”

Out of nowhere, a blur of black fur and pink feathers shot out, and Songy was nowhere to be seen. Cyclone was dumbfounded until she heard the sound that no Taillow wanted to hear: the distress call. A loud, desperate screaming could be heard far below the treeline, as well as claws swiftly scraping against wood. A Sneasel.

Without wasting another moment, Cyclone shot down below the treeline. Navigating the confusing mess of leaves and branches proved to be a challenge, the Taillow nearly finding herself tangled in ivy vines and other natural obstacles. Once she saw the Sneasel leaping through the trees, Cyclone concentrated hard, trying to focus so she could use Agility. Her sister’s distress calls could still be heard, it was not too late.

In the blink of an eye, Cyclone finally built enough speed to slam into the predator. Though much smaller than the Sneasel, she was able to knock it down and, to her relief, Songy fell from its jaws. The Sneasel quickly regained its footing, eyes wide in surprise. It looked back, its eyes narrowing as it realized its attacker was another Taillow.

“Go away! Leave her alone!” Cyclone yelled. She shot into the Sneasel again, bouncing back like a boomerang. The move seemed to work for the creature cried out and fell backwards, crashing into the branches below.

“Hasta la vista, jerkface! Hey, Songy, where ya at?”

Cyclone flew around until she spotted a small, blue ball of feathers huddled and trembling in the cavity of a nearby tree. She glided to her sister and poked her with the tip of her wing.

“Hey, get up. It’s safe now. I saved you!”

Songy lifted her head, her eyes large and dull.

“Um... are you hurt?” Cyclone asked.

Songy just slowly shook her head back and forth as she lifted her wings, slowly flapping them up and down.

“Well it looks like you can at least fly. Boy, you shoulda seen how fast and cool I was! Of course, you couldn’t see how awesome I looked, seeing how you were in that thing’s mouth and all.”

“Stop,” Songy said, her tone quiet and meek. “I just want to go home.”

Cyclone averted her eyes uneasily. She then turned around, looking back to make sure Songy would be following, and the two sisters silently made their way back to the family nest.

---

“You did what?!” Cyclone and Songy’s parents squawked in unison.

“I totally saved Songy’s tail feathers from some slimey ol’ Sneasel! She would have been dead meat if not for me!”

Songy, huddled between their parents, just remained silent, her head facing down.

“I told you countless times, always use your speed to escape danger!” father Taillow said.

“And I told you, that ice rat came from nowhere! What, you want Songy to be dead right now?”

Songy whimpered and buried her head under her wing. Their mother began preening her.

The father just sighed. His reckless daughter was right, in a way. “Look. I am glad that you were able to fight that creature off. But please, never endanger yourself again. Be more aware of your surroundings and this never would have happened in the first place.”

“Bull! We can’t predict everything!”

“This is why you need to learn to be more cautious, always be on the lookout!” To prove a point, father Taillow harshly pecked Cyclone on the top of her head.

“So, this is the thanks I get?”

“Please, keep your voices down” mother Taillow interrupted. She continued gently preening Songy. Cyclone scoffed. How could her sister, her best training partner, turn into this sad sack? How could her own parents not recognize how heroic and awesome she was?

Well, she would just have to get better, faster, and stronger.

From then on, nearly every day, Cyclone would try and urge Songy to come out and speed train with her. “Um, not today. I’ll just... stick close to the nest. Train around here.”

“You’ll never get stronger staying at home all day! Come on, Tweety and Singy are too slow and boring, don’t be like them!”

Their morning conversations always ended with Songy remaining silent and Cyclone huffing in exasperation, and then taking off. Their parents had given up trying to scold her or get her to listen to their advice. If she wanted to be a daredevil and end up as a Sneasel snack, so be it. There was only so much they could do to ensure her survival.

Cyclone spent her days trying to perfect her moves, sometimes using a dead branch or even a low hanging cloud for target practice. Once, she saw a Caterpie crawling along the forest floor. Cyclone gained altitude and then dive-bombed into the poor bug, its guts exploding upon impact. Wasting a potential meal was never a wise thing, but the spectacle was worth it. She hated how her other family members were missing out on all this fun. The rare times Cyclone encountered a Sneasel, she found that the boomerang slam, U-Turn, always did the trick in making them back off. They were almost too easy to defend against.

---

One spring morning, the Taillow family found themselves huddled together in a tight cluster, a sure sign it was cold out. Cyclone roused from sleep and spotted her father perched at the edge of the tree hole their nest resided in. She hopped up to join his side and was astonished at the sight before them; Creeping Forest was almost completely white, with odd white flakes falling from the sky.

“What is...” Cyclone stammered.

“It’s snow.”

“I’ve never felt this cold in my life.”

“You’ve only been alive for a few months. It stopped snowing shortly before your eggs were laid. This is not right.”

The pair was then joined by the mother of the family. She turned to her mate. “This coldness will give our foes an advantage. Are the kids ready to migrate?”

“Wha... migrate? Why!” Cyclone cried out.

Father Taillow’s beak almost turned into a smile. “So, is my headstrong daughter actually scared?”

“No! I’m not scared of some cold, white crap! And I am not going to make it force me to leave!”

The parent Taillow said nothing back, being accustomed to Cyclone’s stubborn arrogance. The pair just hopped back to the nest, rousing the rest of their adolescent children up.

“Tweety, Singy, Songy! Rise and shine, my darlings!”

“Ugh, why is it so cold?” asked Tweety, the lone male offspring.

It didn’t take long for the parents to explain what winter was, and how it shouldn’t be happening at this time of year. They also explained that, to ensure their survival, they would have to migrate north to Sonata Forest for an indeterminate amount of time.

“So we’re all just giving up?” Cyclone squawked.

“Chirpy, get real...” Singy sighed.

“Quit calling me Chirpy!”

Feathers puffed in frustration (and cold), Cyclone lunged at Singy talons-first. Their father was quick to intervene, tackling Cyclone onto her back. The shock of the cold, as well as her father fighting back, stunned the young Taillow.

“Wow,” Cyclone said breathlessly. “Dad... I didn’t know you had that in you!”

The father just gave a sharp peck to Cyclone’s head and stepped back, glaring. He suddenly realized that he and his mate may have dropped the wrong hatchling from the nest.

“Chirpy. This is not the time. Especially not now. We cannot stay in Creeping Forest. The Caterpie, Wurmple, and berries we depend on for survival are sure to be killed off by now. And as your mother mentioned, our most feared enemy, the Sneasel, thrive in this cold climate. If you remain here, you will be alone. You will die.”

“I will not die,” Cyclone answered back.

Her father just raised his head and puffed out his chest. He looked to his mate and nodded.

“I see other flocks leaving,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The parent Taillow flew from the tree hole, soon followed by Tweety and Singy. Songy half-heartedly leapt to the edge of the nest exit.

“Hey, Songy! Let’s train together! Sure, this snow stuff sucks, but it’ll be a fun challenge!”

Songy turned around to face her sister. For a brief moment, Cyclone noticed how dull Songy’s once vibrant plumage looked, how she held her head low and shoulders high, how her large, dark eyes shimmered.

“I’m sorry, Cyclone,” Songy said. She then hopped from the tree hole and flew off to catch up with her family.

Without a second thought, Cyclone took off after her sister. “Hey, get back!” she cried out, voice echoing through the chilling forest. Despite her weak state, Songy effortlessly glided through the maze of trees and branches. It appeared their previous training had paid off after all.

“Songy! Hey! If you leave me, you’ll be weak like the rest of them! Like all Taillow! We don’t have to flee, we can fight!”

Songy just flapped her wings harder, convinced her noisy sister would attract a whole slew of unwanted attention. In the distance she saw not only her family but other Taillow, the birds instinctively forming a flock in preparation for the sudden migration.

The distance between Cyclone and Songy grew and grew. Shouting and breathing in frigid air began to take its toll on the young bird, so Cyclone glided to an old oak tree to rest, the snow cloaked branch stinging her feet. She panted rapidly and puffed out her feathers. Songy was no longer in sight.

That cowardly traitor. Songy was no different from the rest of those defeatists. Why should some coldness and white junk force them all to give up their home and move away? It was a challenge. Cyclone’s father said that if she stayed in Creeping Forest she would die. She’d prove him wrong. She’d prove them all wrong. Somehow.

---

Something suddenly slammed into Cyclone, sending her tumbling off her perch. She landed clumsily in the snowy ground, her fatigue and surprise making her forget to open her wings. She frantically looked up and spotted her assailant, a Liepard hanging from the tree branch, scrambling to hold on with its claws.

“Missed! Curse this blasted snow!” the feline hissed, tail whipping in frustration.

Cyclone pulled herself from the snow and shook herself off. She spread her wings, flicked her forked tail, and flew to a nearby shrub to hide.

Wait, hide?

Don’t be weak. Don’t let this cold crap get to you. Don’t be some worthless giver-upper like Dad, Mom, Tweety and Singy. And Songy. Stupid cat. Stupid cold. Stupid, jerk-face cat.

Hatred boiled within Cyclone. Her tiny body trembled, partly from fear, mostly from anger. A soft thump was heard, the Liepard having launched itself from the tree. Cyclone peered from her hiding place. The disturbed snow and stray blue feathers gave away where she was. So what. Let that purple, spotted idiot find her. It would regret it.

Seeing the shaking bush, the Liepard smiled to itself. This was too easy. It hunched down, wiggled its rump, and leapt. The Liepard wasn’t prepared for a screeching ball of fury and hate to come barreling out of the bush with scraping talons and a piercing beak, the latter jabbing it in the eye. The Liepard yowled and swiped its paw, missing its attacker.

“Dummy! Idiot! A...asshole!”

Cyclone continued throwing insults and fierce pecks. The Liepard turned tail and ran. Oh no, it wouldn’t get off that easy. Fueled by rage, Cyclone kept up her assault on the cat, striking it with U-turn over and over.

“Damn pest! Let me alone!” Liepard snarled as it ran.

“Make me!”

“As you wish!”

In the blink of an eye, Liepard’s long tail slashed through the air, making a shallow cut across Cyclone’s chest. The slash only made the Taillow more determined to show this predator who was boss.

She flapped her wings harder, sending flecks of blood flying in her wake. Using all of her strength, Cyclone crashed into the Liepard, sending the much larger creature slamming into an old, gnarled tree. Cyclone had built up so much speed she struck the ground and rolled painfully until she hit a snowbank.

Letting out a shuddered breath, Cyclone rose to her feet, crying out as a sharp pain shot through one of her legs. Dread hit her as she realized one of her wings hung limply at her side. She turned to face where the Liepard was. Surely, in an injured and bleeding state, she would become its next meal. Her gaze met the hunter’s. Liepard just stared at Cyclone, one eye squinted from the injury she inflicted on it. It lowered its ears and retreated, limping, until it was out of sight within the natural darkness of the forest.

Cyclone hunkered down into a resting position. Her body screamed in agony, yet she felt proud of winning this fight. Heck, she’d try and fight off the next fool who tried to mess with her. Even though she figured she would die soon, she’d go down fighting. Death didn’t scare her.

---

A sudden calm warmth washed over Cyclone’s body as positive thoughts flooded her brain. She was vaguely aware of the concept of good feelings to occur to one who’s life was draining away, however she felt more invigorated than ever, as if something more than blood was pumping through her veins making her feel bigger, stronger. She glanced down at her chest where the Liepard’s sharp tail struck her and, to her astonishment, instead of a cut there was a wide, V-shaped stripe. It finally occurred to Cyclone that she was evolving.

To be honest, Cyclone had no idea her kind could evolve. She knew it happened to other beings, she had seen Purrloin and Liepard, Pidgey and Pidgeotto, various caterpillars and coccoons. Her mother and father had just never mentioned evolution.

Swellow.

She knew that’s what her kind were called, somehow. The term just appeared to her mind. Feelings of bitterness and resentment came to the young bird once more. So all this time, her parents could have evolved and faired better in protecting their own young, not to mention themselves? Surely they were aware they could become Swellow. Did they just not want to try? Weak, stupid defeatists. And they’d drag her poor siblings into their life of mediocrity, constantly timid and fearful. She thought about how Songy, once full of virility, grew listless and dull. All because she was abducted by some dumb Sneasel for all of three minutes.

Worthless.

Cyclone flew to higher ground. She was astonished how smoothly she could fly now. Fewer wing flaps were needed to gain altitude and... to do anything, really. A dull ache in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t yet eaten today, and already she had used a tremendous amount of energy. Apparently, the natural healing powers of evolution were no cure for hunger. Cyclone gently glided off her perch to search of some food. While she hated having to be careful, even she could admit her recklessness had its limits.

Cyclone found that the sudden cold weather caused the small Bug types she sustained on to die, some frozen in place. If she were not starving she’d scoff at the lack of challenge. She approached a statuesque Wurmple, its pose stretched out as if reaching for a leaf. Knowing Wurmple’s spikey, pink back offered it natural protection, Cyclone pecked at its soft, pale underbelly. It took a few tries, due to its frozen state, but she finally pierced its skin to get to the gooey guts within. She shoved her face into the opening, not caring that she got its innards all over herself.

“Hey!” an angry voice squawked from above.

Cyclone removed her face from her buggy meal and saw an irritated blue, red, and white bird circling above her.

“Oh! A fellow Swellow!” Cyclone exclaimed.

“Fellow this!” said the other Swellow as it splayed its clawed feet and dove towards Cyclone, barely missing her. A warning strike.

Cyclone flew a short distance and, facing towards her attacker, shouted, “What’s the big idea, loser?”

“This is my territory, idiot!”

Before the other Swellow could attempt to assault Cyclone once more, she turned tail and flew off. Being newly evolved and barely satiated, she knew she was outmatched. Well, this was what she was up against now. It was a shame she couldn’t befriend that Swellow, ask how it became a cool survivor like her, but apparently her kind were antisocial. So be it. She would have to work extra hard to ensure she’d claim her own territory, fight off other evolved birds. This was the life of a tough Swellow.

---

As the weeks passed, Cyclone found herself pushed further and further from the familiar piece of forest she grew up in. Sure, it was entertaining and surprisingly easy to fight off ground-bound foes, but aerial adversaries were another story, and the young Swellow was no match for the more experienced birds she faced. Every solo practice session, every time she wanted to eat, heck, even when she just wanted to casually fly around for fun, was interrupted by a Pidgeotto, Staravia, or some other large bird squabbling about its territory.

Territory this, territory that. It was tiresome.

This new area seemed to bring some peace to the worn Swellow. An unnatural clearing formed a path that cut through the forest. Had it not been for the sudden snowfall, various Pokemon would be traversing this road going to and from the nearby Sapling Village. Cyclone knew nothing of the village, or even the towering Castle Draclugia a few miles away. All she cared was that those damn birds had finally left her alone. She finally had her own coveted territory.

Food was hard to come by, as always. The caterpillars had been cleaned out it seemed, and the berries had grown too frostbitten or simply died. One day, in search for a meal, Cyclone spotted something green hidden on the side of a tree, discovering it to be a Metapod. She pecked and scraped it its hard shell, finding no weak point.

Cyclone snorted in frustration. Remembering her training, she flew away from the Metapod, steadily gaining altitude. She grinned, looking forward to the carnage her Aerial Ace would bring forth. She dove downwards, shattering the cocoon upon impact. Instead of gelatinous innards she was met with a cloud of dust. Apparently, some of the caterpillars went into a chrysalis state upon the arrival of the cold snap, yet didn’t have the benefit of an entire spring and summer to constantly gorge on leaves.

“I can’t eat this!” Cyclone cried out. She angrily tore through the dust and tore into the Metapod’s husk. She cursed, she screamed, she slashed with her talons. She continued unleashing her wrath on tree bark, dead wood, anything in her way. If some annoying bird approached her complaining about TERRITORY now, she surely would have murdered it.

The outrage eventually subsided and Cyclone settled down near the obliterated Metapod pieces. She pecked at the dust and, while dry and unpleasant, still tasted of insect. Every once in awhile she’d have to take a break and ingest some snow to wash it down with. At least water was plentiful. After her meal, Cyclone half-heartedly began to preen her feathers. Her outburst having taken a lot out of her, she soon gave up and, noticing the soft, bluish, evening glow upon the forest, decided it was time to retire.

Cyclone sighed as she settled down into her nest of twigs and crinkly dry leaves. She was aware how scruffy and unkempt her plumage looked these days. She felt she had aged a decade despite being barely a half year old.

“I won’t give up,” Cyclone said to herself, voice cracking. She paused, momentarily surprised at how ragged she sounded. “I will beat this cold crap. I won’t die.” Cyclone tucked her head beneath a wing and quickly fell into a deep slumber.

---

Hours later, Cyclone awoke with a jolt. Despite having so little sleep and being conscious at an unnatural time, she felt immediately alert, heart pounding, a terrible wave of dread chilling her to the core. Her head darted back and forth. It was pitch black and completely silent.

It’s nothing. Stop it. Dammit, I hate the night.

A fierce, whistling wind suddenly blasted through the forest. In an instant, Cyclone’s (admittedly) poorly constructed nest disintegrated, sticks and twigs sent flying. Cyclone opened her wings just to thrown back first into the side of her tree, the wind pinning her down, chilling volleys of fat snowflakes slapping into the hapless bird. She struggled in place momentarily in a blind panic.

Before she knew it, she found herself unpinned but fluttering blindly through the pitch darkness. One moment she was tangled in a dead bush, the next she was scraping along the ground, then she would be blown through the air again. It was a wonder the Swellow hadn’t broken any bones, something she would have prided herself on if she could actually think straight. As luck would have it, Cyclone found herself wedged beneath what seemed to be tree roots. At the very least, they provided some shelter from the blizzard. Cyclone shoved herself deeper under the roots, climbing along the the shallow slope of the earth until she could push herself no further. She would just have to wait this storm out, it seemed.

Did the ground just shake?

It happened for just a moment. Then again, stronger this time. It took a moment for Cyclone to realize what these rhythmic vibrations reminded her of. Foot steps. Whatever behemoth these belonged to appeared to be getting closer to where Cyclone was sheltered. Just her luck.

“Hey! Hey, Sorbet’s going in the wrong direction! Over here!” someone called out.

From beneath her hiding place Cyclone saw a red glow coming from somewhere outside. Despite her intense fear, Cyclone treaded carefully from beneath the roots, curious to see where this light was coming from. Her blood ran cold. Bathed in a hellish crimson light stood a massive beast, taller than any tree in Creeping Forest. Its grotesque, reptilian face contorted into an angry snarl and it let out a booming, earth shattering roar.

Cyclone had seen enough. She made a mad dash back beneath the roots and, once again, wedged herself in as much as she possibly could. That terrible roar still lingered on, permeating the earth, shaking the trees. Cyclone squeezed her eyes shut. Before she knew it she burst into choked sobs as hot tears dribbled down her face, a shameful act of weakness.

Was this some kind of punishment for not leaving Creeping Forest with her family all those months ago? They were probably safe and warm in Sonata Forest while Cyclone sat freezing and terrified out of her mind in the wake of some gruesome hell-beast, bawling like a pathetic hatchling. She hated everything. She hated her family, the weather, those other birds, how every day was a constant struggle to survive, and she loathed that fearsome dragon. Most of all, she he hated how weak and helpless she had become.

---