Fairyland Chronicle/The Wilderness
A warm breeze blew for a moment through the forest, a pathless nowhere in the region of Tao. It was noon hour, and even in the darkness of the enormous trees, not difficult to tell. Sunlight shone through the leaves, although the deep blue sky from whence it came was all but invisible within, and created stifling heat.
Two Pokemon stood apart on the forest floor. The first, a Sandshrew of considerable bulk, was cautiously eyeing a small cloth sack that had been placed between the two, while the other, a Bellossom with lotus-like flowers on each side of his head and pink petals ringing his waist, had placed the bag gingerly on the ground and moved away.
The Sandshrew lightly kicked the bag, pushing its mouth to the other side, and frowning on hearing the telltale tinkle of glass. "Yeah? Alright. What's in it?"
"A book and ink." Seemingly satisfied at the distance between the two, the Bellossom stopped and simply shifted to one side, holding himself away as if to turn and run as soon as the chance came.
A harsher, hot wind blew through the forest, disturbing the fabric of the bag this way and that. Eventually the bag flew up a foot in the air and overturned itself, the promised contents spilling out: a wide, round jar and a journal. The Bellossom did not turn to run, but did not change his stance either, as the Sandshrew's frown turned to a put-on snarl.
The Sandshrew stepped forward, over the bag. "Listen. I know you spotted me before, and that doesn't happen. Where'd you hide the other stuff, and where do you think you're going?"
The flower's voice gained more pitch than previously, almost shrill. "Ahh, please don't get so close. I'm not hiding anything else, this is all I could carry."
"Don'tcha think you can lie to me. If your life's worth less than your money," the Sandshrew took a step, then another, "it isn't worth living, don'tcha think?"
The little lotus's eyes went wide, and his straight-faced expression blanked completely. "Okay, you win. It's back near the east side of the forest. Underneath the tree with green and purple leaves. I've done nothing to you. Please leave me be." He cautiously pulled himself a few feet away from the advancing threat, petal by petal.
"That so?" The Sandshrew took a menacing swipe at the air, as he took another step. "Alright, but I don't trust you anymore. Take me there, and don't even try to leave my this time."
There was a brief pause then, as the smaller Pokemon stared up to the larger, and then felt a wave of sunlight warm his skin. A comforting reminder, and a chance to drop his facade. The panic flushed from his face, which returned to its previous nonchalance.
"Looks like it's come down to this again."
And before he finished speaking, he spun backwards, out of the way of a blow with genuine force behind it, and bounced into the air as his attacker launched himself into the dirt. Falling back during his landing and placing both arm ends together, a pulse of light more than twice his size rocked the area where the Sandshrew had dug. When it vanished, the yellow creature was haphazardly scrambling back into its burrow – possibly to launch another attack.
A black and white furred creature, gliding on a bright yellow membrane cape with enormous ears billowing in the growing wind as the Bellossom's flowers did, darted out of the trees from above and dived towards the now-harrowed traveler. What seemed like a simple tackle was more: the Bellossom threw himself back, into the harsh winds which picked him up and sent him flying, vulnerable, into the Emolga.
The squirrel grabbed him, one claw to one arm first, then swung him around into a bear hug. The pair glided to the ground, where the battle was more even, but not before a shock, tingling at first but progressing to numbing, ran from the Emolga's fur through the Bellossom's body. Instinctively he puffed out spores, but to no apparent avail. A surprisingly strong twist and throw removed him from the Emolga's grasp, but now both combatants stumbled apart – the attacker, with a clear advantage.
The wind stopped and started anew, a breeze at first but bound to become more. The rustling of the leaves, too, was a comforting reminder – and he struggled to snatch one up out of the air as it drifted back downwards, then to use it.
The Emolga had taken back to the air and began a finishing charge when the leaf glowed white-hot and exploded into a single-edged blade the size of its holder, still lit with energy along its edge as its wielder swung forward. The Emolga breaked, looped through the air and high above the attack, and vanished above the trees, half-taunting, half-lamenting:
"'We win', huh? So much for that!"
His eyes ringed with signs of concentration, the Bellossom saw no time nor reason to respond. Why he fled wasn't important; whether he would return was, and the answer, he expected, was yes. Blade in hand, he turned and fled, petals only touching the ground at the tips as he sprung a few feet with each skipping movement. As he moved, he gradually transformed his movements, petals moving high, blade swishing through the air, and arms moving side to side.
To any observer, the dance might look strange, jubilant, madcap if creative; to some, those who would paid attention, the light it created, causing the cosmic rays to split doubling or tripling, might lend it a sense of awe. But its performer cared for neither: he cared only for escaping, and in that, the sun was a tool.
His dance stopped, of course, when the ground-dwelling interloper showed his hide once more, bursting up and throwing the plant into the air with a swipe that tore a petal. In retaliation, the plant toppled over the Sandshrew's head and, in landing, cut him with a two-handed swing. The blood on his blade and the cry of pain was enough: there was no sense in continuing the battle, and so much in continuing his escape.
The Bellossom left the Sandshrew, and slipped into the cover of the brush to lose his partner as well.
It was hours later that he finally allowed himself to rest. He was eventually satisfied that the duo had given up on him and had hoped for no more battle that day, but his hopes had been for naught, and he had been drawn into yet another scuffle or two before twilight. After all of that, even this place seemed an appropriate rest.
The horizon revealed the stars, bedding in the foggy blue sky. He knew how to navigate by them, a skill he learned when he was younger still than now, and knew his destination would not be difficult to reach. At least, he thought as he looked back to the forest-capped mountains, not from here.
A "skill" he had developed more recently was pressing his mind where his body would not do. Evolution had taken its toll on him once before, and this time, he knew. It was a surge of empowering energy followed by an unpleasant period of adjustment, and although he knew he was stronger now, it never seemed to feel that way at first.
He looked around him. Wildflowers grew, of all the sorts of beautiful colours he shared, and some as toxic as he was. It wouldn't hurt him to sleep with so few, when their poison was so mild: he had slept in places far worse, places that, although he had never truly spoken with children, he was sure would give them nightmares. He was not a child, and never truly had been.
He had attempted to understand the rules of the world, but had been rebuffed when it felt like there were none. Where Pokemon wandered, he thought, beauty and horror would follow in the wake of their existence. That was how it had always been. The only skill of his in which he placed pride, his writing, had given him another method to try to understand that: putting his memory to paper, and organizing the strange.
As he thought on this, he felt his consciousness slipping away, and snapped his eyes back open. Stealing another glance over the landscape, its quietness and motionlessness told him that he would be able to dream well – and to find respite in his dreams – that night. That was respite he rarely treasured, but often needed. And so, he gave himself to sleep.