Chapter Three

~A Walk In The Woods~

~1~

He was close. Very close. She could smell him.

        It was an odour that drove her wild. Sweat, terror, adrenaline, and underneath it all, a warm, sticky scent that made the roof of her mouth tingle with delight. Even now, as sheets of rain poured from the sky, as rivers of water trickled down from the trees above her and washed down her face, the smell was still there, setting her olfactory organs alive with pleasure.

        Lightning blanched the trees and sent shadows scurrying through the undergrowth. Seconds later, a ponderous roll of thunder came grumbling along behind it. She made her way slowly through the forest regardless. The trail she was following was not visual. Animals gave her a wide birth, automatically vacating their holes and hideaways as soon as they caught her scent. It was a smell they had long ago learned to fear. A tree rudely blocked her path; with barely a grunt, she pressed her weight against it, uprooting it and sending it crashing into its neighbours. Onward she went, always following an invisible, meandering route, hypnotised by it.

        She stopped suddenly. Listening. Even above the sound of the lashing rain and rising wind whipping through the trees, she could distinctly hear something. A voice.

        “He-help me! Please! Somebody, anybody! Help me!”

        Then it dissolved into unintelligible sobbing, followed by a phlegmy cough and a hiccup.

        It was coming from just through the trees.

        She slowed her approach, caution overriding the maddening urge to simply burst in and attack. This had to go perfectly. Hiding herself behind a tree, she peered through its waving leaves to observe him.

        A very large man stood just beyond the trees. His enormous stomach was heaving in and out as he took gasping breaths. His outdoor clothing was soaked and his heavy backpack was streaked with mud. He was clutching a shiny thing to his ear, and, between sobbing fits, was wailing incomprehensibly into it. Every so often he would take it away from his ear, look at it, shake it, and then resume crying.

        His back was to her. He was lost in terror. He had no idea where she was.

        Perfect.

        Casting stealth to the wind, she charged through the trees, her voice rising in a blood-curdling cry. The man turned, dropped the metal thing in surprise, and began to try and shuffle away. He tripped and went sprawling onto his stomach on the ground, and as the lightning flashed once more she was upon him, ripping away his backpack as he writhed and gibbered.

        The thunder rumbled once more, but even it could not drown out his screams.

~2~

Sen had always liked the rain.

        All his life, he’d been perplexed by people whose reactions to this most beautiful and wondrous of meteorological phenomena were either depression, distaste or outright hostility. Rain made everything so beautiful. It watered flowers, made the earth fresh and green. It washed away dirt and grime. It pattered companionably on the outside of a window, rendering even the most miserable home warm and friendly. And was there not something wonderful in itself about the idea of little drops of water coming from great dark clouds hanging in the sky? Most people, Sen had always believed, took the rain for granted. Rain was wonderful. Rain was beautiful. Rain was to be cherished.

        Or, so he had always believed, until he found himself out in it, standing for half an hour in a virtual monsoon and trying to put up a tent. In that particular situation, as the wind-whipped raindrops lashed against his body, blurred his vision and numbed his hands, Sen began to think his previous musings on the subject of rain had been utter bollocks.

        He’d struggled with the canvas, teeth gritted in grim determination, and for the fifth time in ten minutes it had slipped out of his hands. Picking it up, Sen flung the tent into the air in frustration, and watched with amazement as it bloomed out into a perfectly welcoming purple home, landing softly on the ground before him. He’d looked at the soaked instructions lying on the ground beside his foot, and even in their current state the words “self-erecting” a last caught his eye. Sen turned his head skywards and unleashed one long, loud obscenity at the heavens, who responded with a grumble of offended thunder.

        Now, as he sat cross-legged and soaked to the skin inside his tent, a can of barely half-eaten tuna lying by his left knee, the sounds of the rain and wind against the billowing walls of his makeshift home were a lot less friendly than he’d ever imagined they could be. A battery-powered lamp cast a weak light into the darkness, showing Torchic as it pecked hungrily at the food dish before it, completely oblivious to the weather outside. Kakuna, too, paid the rain, wind and lightning no heed as it lay on its side by Sen’s sleeping bag, staring out at the world with its usual vacant expression. But then, Sen noticed, Kakuna didn’t seem to pay much attention to anything.

        This bout of bad weather had been the perfect end to an awful day. After fleeing scared from Peregrine City, Sen had rode the bus as far as it would take him along the lonely highways stretching away from the metropolis and into the woods and hills beyond. Travelling non-stop overnight had exhausted him, and he’d barely been awake as he checked into the first tavern he saw as he’d left the middle-of-nowhere bus station. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, and the next day awoke energised and refreshed. As he devoured breakfast, a meal he usually skipped, he’d planned his route through the nearby woods which would take him to the foot of Lammergeyer Peak, at the top of which was a tiny village.

        A tiny village, and the first Pokémon Gym on his agenda.

        He’d walked continually through the woods all day, and it had been extremely pleasant. The sun had been shining, the birds twittering, and he’d even been amused by a pair of Furret who chased each other up and down some trees, seemingly for his entertainment alone. So invigorated was he by his surroundings that he’d almost made it halfway to the foot of Lammergeyer Peak, making him in excellent time for his first Gym battle. Sen had been feeling very pleased with himself, and that’s when the first spits of rain had begun to fall. Within five minutes it was a downpour, ten a torrent, and in twenty minutes the lightning had begun. Sen struggled to find a suitable place for his tent, then to erect it, and finally found himself inside it: wet, cold and severely annoyed.

        As Torchic cleaned its bowl and Sen realised he wasn’t going to finish his own sorry excuse for a meal, he decided it was time to have a talk with the Pokémon.

        “Okay, Torchic,” Sen said, “we should probably have a little conversation here to clear the air.”

        The Pokémon looked at him with the two glimmering black oil drops that were its eyes, its expression as inscrutable as ever. What was it feeling? Interest? Hatred? Boredom? Indigestion? It was impossible to tell. Ever since they had first met each other, there had been little time to get to know one another. Given the circumstances of their meeting, Sen was not surprised at the Pokémon’s unwillingness to respect him or listen to his orders in battle. But it clearly enjoyed battling itself, as evidenced by its courageous defeat of Celeste’s Wooper, and the way it had taken on the Houndoom. Sen thought that it was beginning to trust him slightly more, too. It readily accepted food from him, didn’t try to peck or bite him, and hadn’t run away. He hoped this signalled a change of heart in the Pokémon, and would allow them to begin again.

        He sighed deeply, and began:

        “You’ve just been through something very difficult and traumatic, and I appreciate that,” he said. “You’ve lost your trainer, he’s never coming back. That’s an awful thing to happen, especially when you two were just starting out together.” The Pokémon continued to look at him. How much of what he was saying did it understand? Any? “But the fact is, fate, or chance, or whatever you want to call it, has given us both a second chance here. And I think, if we work together, we could really do something special.

        “I know you want to battle. I know you want to do big things. I saw you take on that Houndoom, and that Wooper. You love this. You live for it. You want to be great. So do I. If we help each other, I think we can be.

        “Of course, it’s entirely your choice. If you don’t feel you’re ready, or you don’t trust me, or whatever, then I’ll release you. I’ll even drop you off in the next town, tell them I found a lost Torchic that’s missing its trainer, and they’ll send you back to wherever you came from. If that’s what you want.”

        He looked earnestly at the Pokémon. Now, he thought, comes the slimy bit.

        “Although...” he said, trying to sound thoughtful and reluctant at the same time (and also wondering how much of this performance would be wasted on a Torchic), “realistically, being sent back isn’t your best option. You’re a good Pokémon, and I’m sure anybody would love to have you. But ... this year’s bunch of trainers have already been given their starter Pokémon. They’re already on the road. You wouldn’t be given out until next year. And even then ... well, new trainers don’t want last year’s Pokémon, do they? They want fresh, eager, just-out-of-the-egg starters. It’s a prejudice, don’t get me wrong, but it’s reality. You might not get a trainer. They might pack you off to help some dowdy Pokémon Centre nurse in some forgotten backwater, where your talent and potential will go unrecognised and wasted.

        “And I’d HATE to see that happen.”

        He was silent for a moment, allowing the Pokémon time to digest what he’d said. It’s expression hadn’t changed one bit.

        “It’s your choice,” he said quietly. “You can stick with me, or, if you don’t want to, I’ll just take my Kakuna and carry on without you.

        “Which is it?”

        After a few moments, he realised that there was no way the Torchic could give him an answer. He looked around the floor of his tent, and spied the sack of seeds that he’d purchased to feed it. He reached forward and picked through the seeds, selecting two: one, a small, ugly-looking green kind that didn’t look especially appetising, and, secondly, a large, cherry-red variety that he knew the Torchic especially liked. He placed one seed in each hand and displayed them, palm-out, before him and the Torchic.

        “If you want to stay with me,” Sen said, slowly and deliberately, “then pick this hand.” He moved his left hand up and down and nodded his head towards it. In it was the small, ugly green seed. “If you want me to hand you in at the next Pokémon Centre, however,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, “then pick this hand.” He made the same motions with his right hand.

        The Pokémon regarded him blankly, and Sen wondered if the entire speech he’d made had gone completely over its head. His heart quickened as the Pokémon began flicking its head back and forth between his two hands, eyeing up their contents, as if deciding to itself. It stepped tentatively towards the cherry-red seed in his right hand, and Sen’s palms began to break out in sweat. I should’ve weighted the odds in my favour, he thought, I should’ve made that the stay-with-me-seed. But he knew that was foolish. Either way, he had to know what the Pokémon truly wanted to do, and he had to respect its decision.

        Just as he was preparing himself for the worst, the Pokémon took a step back, as if unsure. It looked between Sen’s two hands again, and fixed on the left.

        Unbelievably, the Torchic approached Sen’s left hand, and, gently, picked up the ugly little green seed in its mouth, swallowing it and then looking up at him expectantly.

        Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled. Wind rubbed its hands along the tent’s skin.

        Sen hardly noticed.

        Slowly, without thinking, he reached forward with his hand towards the Torchic’s head. It stood there in the dim light of the tent, not flinching, not running away. Scarcely able to believe what was happening, Sen’s fingers touched the soft downy feathers of the Pokémon’s comically oversized head. His palm made contact, and, very gently, he stroked the Torchic’s head, a smile breaking out on his face.

        The Pokémon closed its eyes, and a soft, sweet warbling noise burbled up from inside its throat, surprising and delighting Sen. The noise rose and fell as Sen petted his Pokémon – finally, his Pokémon – and grew into a sharp “Chic! Chic!” noise that made him jump, and then laugh. He brought his right hand towards the Pokémon’s tiny beak and allowed it to eat the now meaningless red seed that he held. The Torchic cried “Chic!” once more, lifting the back of its feet off the ground as it did so.

        The verdict was in. Torchic would stay.

        “Well, okay then!” Sen laughed, “I guess that’s settled. Here’s to a new beginning.” He continued to pet the Pokémon, stroking its tiny orange wings. A thought struck him.

        “One thing,” he said, “I hate all this ‘Torchic’ and ‘Kakuna’ business. If you’re going to be my Pokémon, you need a decent name.” The Pokémon opened its eyes and regarded him with interest. “Hmmm, let’s see,” Sen said, looking around the tent for inspiration, “what would be a good Torchic nickname?”

        The Pokémon waited patiently as he ran through the possibilities in his mind. Dee? No, too cutesy-poo, totally unsuitable if it ever evolved. Besides, he had a suspicion his Torchic was male, as most starter Pokémon tended to be for some unfathomable reason. Pyro? Too unoriginal. Dante? Too confused. Prometheus? Too pretentious. Kelvin?

        Hmm, Sen thought, that was along the right lines. But it wasn’t quite there yet. Maybe...

        “Got it!” Sen cried. He beamed down at his Pokémon. “Ready? How about this.

        “Celsius.”

        The Pokémon’s expression did not change.

        “Ah, what do you know? That’s a great name, trust me!” Sen said, ruffling Torchic’s – Celsius’s – head feathers. “Celsius,” he said, looking his Pokémon up and down, “Celsius the Torchic. Super.

        “And as for you,” he said, looking over at the prostrate Kakuna lying beside his sleeping bag, “I think I’ll call you Bombus. Nice, eh?” Bombus made no reply. “Glad you think so.”

        A yawn pushed its way out of Sen’s body, and he was suddenly overcome by fatigue. “Better get some sleep,” he told Celsius, “we have to be up early tomorrow, I want to be at that Gym by tomorrow night at the latest.” He stroked the Pokémon once more and lay back on his elbows. “Goodnight,” he said, smiling.

        “Chic,” Celsius said softly.

        The Pokémon turned and began walking back towards the jumper Sen had placed beside its food bowl to keep it warm. Halfway there, it paused, looked around, and began walking back towards Sen.

        Sen smiled as the Torchic lay down beside him. He slipped inside his sleeping bag and drew the Kakuna under his arm, its hard, cold body somehow comforting.

        “Glad to have you on the team, Cel,” Sen said as he reached over and switched off the light.

        The rain continued all night, the wind just barely died down, and occasional lightning flashes woke Sen up from time to time. But as he looked at the dim outline of the sleeping Torchic curled up beside him, somehow, it didn’t seem so bad.

~3~

He was awoken by the sound of his own teeth chattering. Had he been more alert, he would have recognised they were struggling over the letter “M”; but he was not. His eyes opened, and sunlight lanced into them, causing him to cry out and hide his face in the crook of his elbow. The air was damp and chilly, and as he looked around the tent he saw heavy, slow-moving clouds of white air emerge from his mouth with each breath. Beside him, Celsius stirred, and let out a delicate chirruping sneeze.

        Oh dear god, Sen thought, it’s freezing!

        He rubbed his arms, already raised with goose bumps, and started to move his aching joints. His arm brushed Bombus’s skin, which was covered in a fine, cold film of condensation. He forced himself out of the relatively warm sleeping bag, and, as Celsius stretched and yawned beside him, he dressed himself with numb, fumbling fingers.

        Sen emerged from the tent to a cold, but nonetheless much refreshed world. The air was bright and clean, and the winds of the previous night didn’t seem to have left much damage, as he could only spot a few dislocated branches bent at awkward angles from the trees. He stretched and, deciding his joints could do with having their kinks worked out, went for a short walk around the trees, Celsius trotting after him. He couldn’t find any water to wash with, but given the low temperature he didn’t feel like bathing anyway. He snickered to himself – this would be the first time he’d gone without a shower since ... since he remembered, basically. He looked down to find Celsius no longer at his heel, but rapaciously gorging on some speckled berries growing on a bush. Sen, thinking it would keep their newfound relationship working well, picked a handful to save for later, tossing one to the ground and deriving an inordinate amount of amusement from seeing Celsius chase after it and gobble it down.

        He walked back towards his tent, Celsius following at his heel and chirping hopefully at the glut of berries in his hands. He placed them in a plastic bag and put them safely away in his backpack; Celsius, defeated, returned to the original bush and began feasting again.

        Sen sat down and surveyed the scene before him. He was slightly sore, he didn’t have access to a shower, and it was colder than he was used to bearing, but he felt exhilarated. He really was a Pokémon trainer. He gazed fondly at the crisp grass; the clear blue sky; the brave, defiant trees who had withstood the storm with firm trunks and cheerful leaves; the man in the tree; the deliciously wholesome air ...

        Wait a minute! Sen thought, his head turning sharply. The man in the tree?!

        Unless he was very much mistaken, and he sincerely hoped he was, there appeared to be quite a large, fat man resting on a branch halfway up a fir tree, just a few metres away.

        Sen stared for a few moments, hoping the illusion would resolve itself into a cunning configuration of leaves and bark which had somehow managed to confuse him, as such tricks of the light always did. But still the man persisted in existing. He was sitting with one leg over each side of quite a sturdy branch – well, it would have to be sturdy, given his girth. He was wearing dark khakis which had been stained even darker by sweat, rain and mud. A clunky backpack was behind him, resting on the branch, although the shoulder strap Sen could see was ripped away from the pack itself and hanging uselessly by his arm. The backpack was holding him upright, it seemed, as his chubby face was slumped against his left shoulder, as though he were asleep. Or dead.

        Two corpses in the woods within four days, Sen thought, that’s got to be some kind of record.

        What should he do? The idea of very quietly packing up his things and moving stealthily away appealed to Sen, but before he could begin the man moved. He tossed his head, murmured to himself, and hiccupped. Then he was still again.

        Sen stood up and approached the man sitting in the tree – no, sleeping in the tree. As he got nearer, he could hear quiet snoring sounds, interrupted by faint murmuring every now and then. He stood at the base of the tree and looked up.

        “Erm .... hello?” Sen called out.

        The man in the tree stirred slightly, but continued to sleep.

        Slightly louder, Sen said, “Hey! You in the tree! Wake up!”

        The man’s eyes snapped open as he was jerked from unconsciousness. They rolled in their sockets, staring wildly at everything around him. Evidently, they did not like what they saw, for the man began to scream at the top of his voice.

        Sen staggered backwards, shocked out of his wits. He stared in disbelief as the fat man sitting halfway up a fir tree bellowed like an off- key opera singer for what seemed like minutes on end, seemingly without pause for breath.

        Suddenly, Celsius ran over to Sen’s side from where he had been picking the last remaining berries from the bush, and began chirping “Chic! Chic! Chic!” aggressively at the man in the tree, aiming to match him in persistence if not volume.

        I’m losing my mind, Sen thought with wonder, as both man and Pokémon continued to disharmonise with each other.

        “Okay, um, guys,” Sen said, and then raised his voice to be heard over them, “people, please, okay, be quiet, alright, that’s enough, I SAID, BE QUIET!” he bellowed. The man in the tree stopped screaming, and Celsius ceased his incessant chirping. The man looked down at Sen, seeming only to notice him for the first time.

        “Where am I?” he asked.

        Sen took a few moments to answer this.

        “You’re in a tree,” he deadpanned.

        The man seemed to consider this. “Oh,” he said. His brow creased in confusion.

        “Why am I in a tree?” he asked Sen.

        “I don’t bloody know!” Sen exploded, causing him to flinch. “I came out of my tent this morning and found you sitting up there asleep, I woke you up and you started screaming your head off!”

        The man looked thoughtful. “Oh,” he said again.

        There was a pause.

        “Would you ... would you like to come down from the tree, now?” Sen asked.

        The man once again looked lost in thought. He glanced furtively at Sen. “Do you think it’s safe?” he asked.

        “Safer than being in a bloody tree, I’d imagine.”

        The man nodded. “You’re probably right.”

        He shifted his weight on the branch, and suddenly slid to one side, almost falling. Sen’s stomach rolled over, but the man grabbed the tree trunk with his hands, steadying himself.

        “Whoa, okay, wait there!” Sen called out. “Don’t ... just, don’t move, I’ll come up and help you.”

        This ought to be funny, Sen thought with a sense of dread as he approached the base of the trunk. You’ve never climbed a tree in your life, not even as a kid! You’ll get both of you killed!

        Nonetheless, he placed his foot against the bottom of the trunk and hoisted himself up, finding hand-holds in the knots and hollows of the trunk. Hey, this is easy! he thought as he clambered up the trunk and towards the lower branches. He began to enjoy himself slightly, humming the Spider-Man theme song inside his head, while Celsius looked anxiously up at him from the ground. Evidently he had less confidence in his trainer’s arboreal dexterity.

        He eventually reached the branch where the man was precariously positioned.

        “Hi,” he said, extending his hand which the man tentatively shook, “I’m Sen.”

        “Bryson,” the man replied, “nice to meet you.”

        “Okay, Bryson,” Sen said, “let’s see if we can get you out of this tree the less fast and painful way. Okay, grab the trunk with your hands, like this ... uh huh, and swing that leg around, now place your hand here, on the branch, wait, wait! Not too quick ... take your time ... okay, here, I’ll take this backpack.... GOD, that’s heavy... okay, right, let’s go down, slowly, slowly...”

        With Bryson’s backpack weighing him down, Sen carefully and slowly helped the man progress down the tree trunk, until, at last, both of them exhausted, they reached the ground. Bryson collapsed, panting heavily, while Sen gratefully dropped his backpack as Celsius rushed over to welcome them back to terra firma with excited chirps.

        “Thanks,” Bryson panted, “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along.”

        “What were you doing in a tree, anyway?” Sen asked. “There was a storm last night, wind, rain, even lightning. Halfway up a bloody big tree isn’t the place I’d choose to be in weather like that.”

        Bryson looked confused. “I ... I don’t remember,” he said, half to himself, wondering at his own inability to account for his actions. He looked at Sen as though he might have some answer. “I have no idea why I was in that tree, most of last night is a complete blank to me.”

        “What about your clothes?” Sen said, nodding towards Bryson’s mud- stained shirtfront. “And your backpack? How’d you get in such a mess? Did you fall or something?”

        Again, Bryson seemed almost angry at that he was drawing a blank. “I have no recollection of that,” he said. “I suppose I must have.”

        “So, what were you doing out here in the first place?” Sen asked.

        “Oh, I’m a hiker,” Bryson replied. “I live in Lammergeyer Peak, not too far from here. I like to go for walks in the hills and forests sometimes, it’s very relaxing. Helps me get rid of my stress.” He grinned sheepishly. “First time I’ve woken up in a tree, though, I must say.”

        Sen laughed. “Well, it’ll make an interesting story to tell, at least.”

        Bryson smiled, then noticed Celsius standing in front of him, apparently for the first time. He suddenly looked a bit embarrassed, and glanced sharply at Sen.

        “What about you?” he asked. He nodded towards the Torchic. “You a Pokémon trainer?”

        “Yup,” Sen said with pride, “I’m a Pokémon trainer.” He just about managed to stifle an inane giggle, so good did those words sound to his ears. “This is my Pokémon, Celsius, and we’re on our way to Lammergeyer Peak to challenge our first Gym,” he added.

        “Chic,” Celsius chipped in helpfully.

        Something seemed to have changed in Bryson’s demeanour, but Sen was at a lost to pinpoint its exact nature. “Nice,” he said, giving Celsius a small wave.

        “So, are you feeling okay now?” Sen asked.

        “Oh yes, much better, thanks,” Bryson said, heaving himself to his feat and wiping dirt away from the seat of his trousers. “Really, thanks a lot for your help.”

        Perhaps it was his recent heroics, or the peculiarity of Bryson’s predicament, or simply his sense of pre-Gym buoyancy, but Sen was feeling unusually gregarious, and felt he could use a travelling companion, since they were both probably heading in the same direction.

        “You must be hungry,” Sen said. “I’ve got some food in the tent, not much, just the bare essentials, but if you’re into canned tuna and dry biscuits...” he raised his eyebrows in invitation.

        “Actually,” Bryson said, “I am hungry, but I won’t take your food. Here,” he said, reaching for his backpack and hefting it over, “I’ve got some food in here that’s MUCH nicer than canned tuna and dry biscuits.” He began rifling through the bag’s contents, before producing some white triangles wrapped in cling-film which he presented to Sen with a smile.

        “How d’you feel about peanut butter?” Bryson asked.

        Sen’s grin was answer enough.

~4~

Victory was almost hers. It usually was.

        Here, in a dark part of the forest, visibility was poor. But for someone with her tracking skills, honed for many years in such an environment, that was no problem. She’d followed her quarry persistently over quite some distance, always overcoming the attempts it had made to throw her off course. Eventually, she’d caught up with her prey, and now it was a fight to the finish.

        “Axo, use Tackle!” Celeste cried.

        “Woop!” the Pokémon responded obediently, and flung itself headfirst at the Shroomish before it. There was a mighty thunk as the small mushroom Pokémon was knocked backwards off its feet.

        Celeste’s Wooper staggered back from the blow wearing a dazed expression. It wobbled slightly, before falling onto its back, its eyes closed. It began to snore lightly.

        Crap, Celeste thought, forgot about Shroomish’s spores. There’s a FullHeal wasted. It served her right for trying to show off; she should have respected the type disadvantage and not used her Water/Ground Pokémon against a Grass-type opponent. This had restricted her to using physical attacks, which exposed Axo to Shroomish’s debilitating spores. She recalled the Pokémon, and as the Shroomish got back to its feet she sent out another.

        “Go, Scarab!” she called as the ball opened and in a burst of white light her Nincada appeared. The mole cricket would fare much better against Shroomish than her Wooper had, but, as she had been caught much more recently and was necessarily much less experienced in battle, Celeste was always still reluctant to rely on her too much.

        “Scarab, Fury Swipes!” Celeste ordered. The little bug Pokémon was slow, but from the way she brandished her digging claws the Shroomish was still reluctant to come within range.

        Having no other option, it tackled Scarab, hard. She recovered well from the blow, landing three swipes of her claws on the Shroomish in quick succession, sending it reeling backwards.

        Celeste, seeing her opportunity, brandished an empty Pokéball and tossed it at the Shroomish. It hit, opened, and sucked the Pokémon inside.

        The ball wobbled and shook for a few tense moments as the Shroomish gave one final test to the trainer’s abilities. If the Pokémon’s strength had been sufficiently used up in the battle, it would submit to the capture and accept the trainer as worthy of owning it.

        Finally, the ball was still.

        “Yes!” Celeste cried, pumping the air. She reached down and picked up her Nincada, cuddling Scarab close and not caring how much dirt the Pokémon’s mucky exoskeleton got on her clothes. “Well done, Scarab!” she said. The Pokémon was silent, but waggled its antennae in a fairly pleased manner.

        She picked up the ball containing her new Pokémon and held it up to the light for her and Scarab to behold. “What’ll we call him?” she asked the Nincada. “How about ... hmmm.... Bellamy? That’s a nice name, huh? Yeah,” she said with conviction, holding the ball out before her, “Come on out, Bellamy!” The ball opened in her hand and the Shroomish materialised before her on the ground, looking slightly exhausted after its battle but nonetheless rather pleased.

        Celeste placed Scarab on the ground to introduce them. “Bellamy, this is Scarab,” she said. “You two play nice while I get you a pick-me- up, and a FullHeal for Axo.”

        As Celeste rooted around in her backpack the two Pokémon looked at each other. “Mish,” Bellamy said. Scarab responded with a friendly antenna-waggle.

        Having tracked the Shroomish all day, she was beginning to wonder whether it actually wanted to be caught. It was of course possible to force Pokémon into a Pokéball, especially smaller, weaker Pokémon like Shroomish, but Celeste was not in that habit. Nonetheless, she wanted to be sure, so, when she eventually caught up with the Pokémon, she made her intentions perfectly clear. To her surprise, the Pokémon had accepted the battle, and in fact had thrown itself into the fray with a palpable sense of enjoyment. It evidently liked battling. Just the sort of Pokémon Celeste wanted on her team.

        Why, then, had it spent so long avoiding her?

        Perhaps, she thought as she finally found a FullHeal and potion, it hadn’t been avoiding her, but another creature that was following a similar path? Pokémon, like most animals, were sensitive to the presence of predators, especially larger ones. The thought was not an especially pleasing one – the last thing Celeste wanted to do was to run into an angry Ursaring, or something equally unpleasant.

        She squirted the Shroomish with the potion spray, a temporary energy- boost not unlike the effect caffeine had on humans, which would tide him over until he could have a more satisfying rest at a Pokémon Centre. Bellamy closed his eyes and made murmurs of approval, evidently enjoying the sensation. Celeste grinned; it was not surprising that the Shroomish wanted to join forces with her. People could wax lyrical about freedom and romanticise wild Pokémon’s existences all they wanted, but the fact was, life in the wild was hard. Constantly fending for yourself, trying to avoid predators – that took its toll on wild Pokémon. The woods were not the verdant and peaceful Eden which some people imagined. That was why Celeste made a point of capturing promising wild Pokémon, and giving them the opportunity – if they desired – to be healthy, well cared for and loved creatures, trained in the science of Pokémon battling.

        Given the choice, she knew which life she’d pick.

        As Bellamy enjoyed his first experience of being a trainer’s Pokémon, Celeste produced Axo’s Pokéball and once again released the slumbering Wooper. She applied one of the FullHeal wipes to his face and chest. Not unlike a moist toilette, these wondrous pieces of technology would clear away the debilitating spores that were causing Axo’s current condition, and then the healing lotion would seep into his skin, refreshing him. She wiped him down and sat back, waiting for the lotion to work its wonders.

        It was as she sat back that Celeste suddenly noticed how quiet the forest had become.

        She’d been walking in the woods all day, after disembarking the bus out of Peregrine City the previous night. The City had begun to lose its charms, as had the many new trainers she’d at first been eager to meet and battle. One, in particular, had caused Celeste an unusual amount of irritation – Sen, that arrogant rich kid who couldn’t even control his own Torchic. After meeting him, Celeste was anxious to leave the City and its people far behind, and be out in the woods again, just her and her Pokémon. If she was honest, she was also slightly disappointed in herself at being defeated by Sen’s Torchic, even if the trainer himself had had no part in the victory. She had underestimated him, true, but the Torchic had been a strong and determined Pokémon – exactly the kind of Pokémon Celeste would have liked for herself. It was a shame the thing had ended up with such an unsuitable trainer. She hoped, when Sen decided he didn’t want to be a Pokémon trainer after all and returned home to his mummy and daddy, that the Torchic at least would be passed on to another trainer who would let it fulfil its potential.

        Still, in all her time in the woods, she’d been able to hear something. Birds twittering, animals crashing through the undergrowth to get out of her way, and on one occasion a pair of Spearow viciously and vociferously defending their nest from a marauding Murkrow. Now, all was deathly silent. Even the wind seemed stilled.

        This, coupled with her thoughts about why the Shroomish had taken so long to find, suggested only one thing to Celeste: a Pokémon in the area. A big one.

        A dangerous one.

        Axo, revived from the effects of Bellamy’s spores, sat up and noticed the calm too. Scarab’s antenna had ceased their usual amiable dance, and Bellamy looked rather anxious.

        “It’s okay,” Celeste whispered to him, getting quietly up off the ground, “I know. We’re going.”

        She returned the three Pokémon to their balls and hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders, trying to be as silent as possible.

        She heard a light crash to her left, and spun her head in that direction. Something had just blown its cover. And from the noise it had made, it was large. Celeste faced the direction of the noise, looking into the shadows between two trees and trying to make out the shape there. She couldn’t be sure if she was seeing anything, or if her eyes were simply playing tricks on her, but she definitely thought there was a presence. And it was watching her.

        “Whoever, or whatever, you are,” Celeste said, trying to keep her voice neutral, neither intimidated nor intimidating, “I just want to tell you that I’m not looking to cause any disturbance to you or your children, or your home, nor am I a threat.” She paused. She reached down, felt for one of the Pokéballs on the belt around her waist, and brought it up to what she thought would be full view for whatever was between the trees. “But I wouldn’t mess with me, either,” she said.

        Silence. Then – a crashing sound, something was definitely moving. Celeste followed the sound as it moved in a semi-circle around her, always staying just out of sight.

        Then, the crashing sound began to grow more distant. It sounded farther and farther away. Eventually, it could not be heard at all.

        After some time, Celeste began to hear tentative birdsong.

        She heaved a sigh of relief, and only then realised how tense she’d been. A pulse was beating fast in her neck, and sweat soaked the small of her back.

        She decided to continue on, before whatever it was came back. As she walked briskly, she began to whistle a cheerful tune, her good mood once again restored.

        The whistle died on her lips as something caught her eye on the ground before her.

        Celeste scrambled forward and bent down to her knees. She stared at the mark on the ground, unable to believe her eyes. Excitement coursed through her body like electricity.

        Before her eyes was a footprint. A very distinctive footprint. Only one creature made a print like that, and Celeste knew what it was. What it had to be.

        As she progressed further through the woods, she did not whistle. Her pace was slowed, and her eyes were peeled, taking in every bent grass blade and disturbed twig.

        The hunt, once again, was on.

~5~

Sen hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he’d taken the first tentative bite of the sandwich. Suddenly he seemed ravenous, and had eaten three of them before he even realised it. He’d never been much of a fan of peanut butter, but with just two days of surviving on sad little tins of food that were easy to carry and horrible to eat, he discovered his taste was becoming less fussy.

        Celsius, having exhausted the local supply of the small red berries he’d been eating, sat at Sen’s feet and pecked curiously at the piece of sandwich Sen tore off and threw to him. He seemed still to be rather wary of Bryson, always watching closely every time the large hiker reached into his backpack for another sandwich.

        Their impromptu lunch finished, Sen began fiddling around with his Pokédex, whose functions he had yet to fully master.

        “Nice machine,” Bryson said, indicating the dex with a nod of his head.

        “Yeah,” Sen murmured, “bloody complicated, though. I still haven’t figured it all out.” He sighed in frustration. “I’m trying to find Torchic’s entry, see if it says anything about why he’s eating so many of those berries.”

        “Here, let me see,” Bryson said. He took the device from Sen’s hand and began manipulating it expertly, flicking through menus at a speed Sen could not follow. For a hiker, Sen thought, this guy sure knows a lot about Pokédexes. Eventually he found Torchic’s entry, and presented it to Sen with a small smirk.

        “Thanks,” Sen said, still slightly perplexed.

        “You can use it to tell your Torchic’s gender, too,” Bryson said. He paused. “Although, some people prefer not to know. D’you want to know?”

        “Yeah, go ahead,” Sen said, once again helplessly handing over the device to Bryson. This time, however, the hiker simply pointed it at Celsius and held it there for a few seconds before giving it back to Sen.

        A small blue Mars sign was flashing in the left hand corner of the screen by the photo accompanying Torchic’s entry. “Male,” Sen said.

        Bryson nodded. “Starter Pokémon usually are,” he said. “They can control the gender ratio of a clutch of eggs by controlling which temperature they’re incubated at. Just like with crocodiles. Since most young trainers are males, they figure they’ll want male starters, so they breed more of those.” He shook his head derisively. “Marketing,” he said with disapproval.

        Sen was busy reading the entry for Torchic, scanning the chapters on care and behaviour for any clues about why Celsius was binging on those red berries.

        “... Torchic are certainly the most affectionate of starter Pokémon,” the dex read. “During the first few months of a wild Torchic’s birth, they have not yet mastered their fire-breathing abilities, and are therefore defenceless against predators. They stick close to their parents and siblings, forming close familial bonds that last a lifetime. It is this sense of loyalty that makes Torchic a popular starter Pokémon, for they show the same degree of affection for their human trainers. They can, however, become jealous of other humans and Pokémon interacting with the trainer. A Torchic that is not taught early on that its trainer’s attention will be divided between it and at last five other Pokémon can have problems further down the line when...”

        Blah, blah, blah! Sen thought. Get to the point!

        But the dex merely waffled on in a similar manner about Torchic’s behaviour patterns and distribution in the wild, none of it appearing very useful to his current situation. He switched the Pokédex off in disgust and looked over at Bryson curiously.

        “Say,” Sen said, “are you sure you’re just a hiker?”

        Bryson started, and couldn’t appear to look him in the eye.

        “Because you seem to know an awful lot about Pokémon for someone who’s just a hiker,” Sen pressed on.

        “My dad was a trainer,” Bryson said. “He... uh... used to talk about Pokémon training a lot. That’s all.”

        Sen was about to continue, when Bryson suddenly held up his hand, silencing him.

        “Hey,” he whispered, “did you hear that?”

        Sen listened for a moment. “Hear what?” he hissed back.

        Bryson waved his hand sharply again, listening. He got up off the boulder he had been sitting on and walked towards the edge of the woods, all the while cocking his ear.

        “I thought I heard something,” he whispered. “In the trees. A branch cracking.”

        “I don’t hear anything,” Sen hissed, slightly louder.

        “Exactly!” Bryson said, turning around and waving his arms. “The birds, the animals, everything! It’s all stopped! I can’t hear a thing!”

        Sen listened a moment and discovered he was right. The woods were utterly silent. The ambient sounds of birds twittering had gone unnoticed by him – until they stopped.

        “What do you suppose it-” Sen began, and that’s when he saw something emerge from the woods behind Bryson.

        Sen leapt to his feet, eyes wide, as Bryson caught his expression and spun around on his heel to see what emerged from the woods. Celsius stood between Sen and the emerging figure, crying “Chic!” aggressively and evidently ready to do battle.

        He was expecting a grumpy Ursaring, a rabid Linoone, even the dreaded Houndoom from Peregrine City – but he was not expecting this.

        What emerged from the trees as infinitely worse than any of those things.

        “Oh, great,” Sen said when he saw the figure standing before him.

        “Hello, Sen,” Celeste replied, smiling thinly.

        Bryson looked between Celeste and Sen, and somehow sensed that the tension had not fully one out of the situation.

        “You two know each other?” he asked.

~6~

Whoever this girl was – it WAS a girl, wasn’t it? – Bryson was relieved for the distraction. Sen had come uncomfortably close to getting the truth out of him for a moment there, but a fortuitous intervention by this other trainer had saved the day. For now, at least. He felt like such a coward. Why hadn’t he just told Sen the truth from the start? Now he would look completely ridiculous when it did come out, as it surely must.

        Must it, though? There was always the chance Sen didn’t have to find out at all; and that, therefore, the people of Lammergeyer Peak wouldn’t find out either. He clung onto that hope fiercely.

        There was a frost-laden silence between the two trainers as they stared at each other for a while. It was eventually broken by Celeste.

        “So,” she said, “you made it this far. I have to say I’m surprised.”

        “Why?” Sen responded. “I beat you last time, didn’t I? Don’t tell me you have a rival complex – I’m not going to have to listen to you crow about how wonderful you are every time I beat you in battle, am I?”

        Bryson saw Celeste’s left eye twitch violently, and her hands balled into fists by her sides. He thought Sen should probably shut his mouth.

        “You didn’t beat me last time,” she said evenly through gritted teeth. “Your Pokémon beat mine, yeah, but you had no part in it. It wasn’t listening to you. And I let you off on a type advantage,” she added.

        She looked down at Celsius, who was standing protectively in front of Sen and glaring at her. She raised her eyebrows. “Although it looks like he’s listening to you now. More’s the pity for him.”

        Sen opened his mouth to respond, but Bryson interjected himself between the two trainers before it descended to the level of hair-pulling. He offered Celeste his hand. “Hi!” he said cheerily, “I’m Bryson, pleased to meet you. Care to join us for a bit of lunch?”

        Celeste looked at Bryson in confusion as he vigorously shook her hand. Her attention had previously been focused on Sen, and she was only now noticing his existence. “Um, no thanks,” she said.

        “Ah, come on!” Bryson said. “I have peanut butter sandwiches, oh, and some chocolate! Hang on, just let me look.” He smiled brightly and hustled over to his backpack.

        He began rummaging through its contents, sure he had some sandwiches left over. He heard snatches of their conversation continuing behind him.

        Celeste: “How many Pokémon ya caught?”

        A pause. Sen, grudgingly: “One.”

        Celeste laughed. “What is it?”

        A bigger pause. Sen, even more grudgingly: “A Kakuna.”

        Celeste’s laugh sounded a lot less forced this time. “Oh, that’s priceless,” she said.

        “Oh yeah?” Sen retorted angrily, “How many have you caught?”

        “Three,” Celeste responded immediately. “As well as the Wooper you saw, I just caught a Shroomish. I have a Nincada, and a-”

        “Found them, guys!” Bryson called, waving a block of clingfilm- wrapped sandwiches over his head. He emerged from the recesses of his backpack grinning.

        The grin suddenly froze on his face, and withered.

        Oh my God, he thought.

        There it was. Standing right before him. It had found him. It hadn’t been stalking around in the woods, it hadn’t crept up on them. It had just walked out of the trees and was now standing not ten feet away, in plain daylight. And it saw him.

        The events of the previous night came rushing back to him. The storm. He’d sought shelter. A cave. Dark. Something moving in there, waking up. It had chased him, chased him out into the rain, and pursued him for ages. His terror and panic had disorientated him, he’d gotten lost. The rain, the lightning, and all the while the sounds of it shambling through the woods behind him. Never giving up. Always there. He’d thought he’d lost it, and he’d stood in a clearing, desperately trying to ring for help on his cell phone, even though no help would be able to get to him, certainly not in such a storm. And then it had burst from the trees once more, uttering that horrible, horrible shrieking cry, chasing him, grabbing his backpack, ripping one of the straps off as it tried to get at him. He’d fallen, and somehow rolled, felt it grabbing for him. He’d reached a tree, and he remembered blind, blind adrenaline-fuelled panic as he scaled it, going as high as he could, hearing the creature’s frustrated cries growing ever more distant.

        He’d passed out in the tree, feeling safe.

        But now here it was. He wasn’t safe anymore.

        He heard Celeste and Sen continuing to argue behind him, oblivious to the apparition from his nightmares that had just walked back into his life.

        His eyes trawled up its obscenely-shaped body to its small, furious eyes.

        A smirk broke out on its face, and it waved its arms in predatorial excitement. It opened its mouth and uttered that same horrendous, blood- curdling battle cry that he would hear over and over in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

        “CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANSEEEEEEYYYYY!” it screamed.

~7~

The two trainers’ heads snapped in the direction of the Pokémon’s cry.

        Is that a CHANSEY? Sen’s thought in wonder. There was usually no mistaking the large, pink, egg-shaped Pokémon – yet somehow his mind refused to accept the creature standing before him. For one, Chansey were domestic Pokémon. You rarely saw them out wandering through the forests like any old Zigzagoon or Taillow. Chansey’s maternal, caring natures meant they were most often seen in Pokémon Centres working alongside the staff to help sick Pokémon get better. The only really ‘wild’ Chansey you saw were the ones roaming the Safari Zone.

        Secondly, this Chansey’s skin was not the customary light pink, but a much darker purple colour, like an overgrown Ribina berry.

        And finally, the Pokémon was almost six feet tall – much larger than the fairly short egg-shaped nurses Sen had seen wandering about Pokémon Centres on television.

        “Do you SEE that?” he asked Celeste.

        Celeste, staring raptly, didn’t hear him. Thoughts had simultaneously been running through her own head.

        I was right! she thought, remembering the characteristically long, digit-less footprint she’d seen in the woods. She hadn’t allowed herself to think that something as unlikely as a wild Chansey had been walking the forest – it had to belong to another trainer, or maybe the footprint had been that of another Pokémon which had been distorted. But now the Pokémon was standing before her, in the flesh, and not only was it a Chansey, but it was an unusually-coloured, unnaturally big specimen, too. How lucky was THAT?

        While Sen continued to gape, Celeste plucked a Pokéball from her waist and tossed it into the air.

        “Go, Dynamo!” she cried.

        The ball opened and a burst of white light materialised into Celeste’s Mareep. The Pokémon announced its presence with a baa, before looking down with distaste at the dirty ground touching her fleece. The Mareep’s unwillingness to expose herself to the elements meant Celeste had been unable to rely on her for her entire passage through the woods, but right now she needed her to battle.

        “Dynamo, Thunder Wave!” she ordered.

        The Mareep seemed to resign itself to getting dirty, before closing its eyes. Its fleece began to crackle, and small bursts of yellow electricity jumped across the soft wool.

        “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Sen protested. “Who says you get to capture it?!”

        “I do!” Celeste responded. “Dynamo, aim your Thunder Wave at that Chansey!”

        “No!” Sen said.

        The Mareep raised her head and was just about to unleash a paralysing wave of electricity when, from nowhere, Celsius barrelled head-first into her side. The Mareep cried out and lost her concentration, the Thunder Wave she had been building dissipated into the atmosphere as she was knocked aside and rolled over, eventually stopping dazed, dirty and annoyed.

        “Tor!” Celsius cried triumphantly, happy to have entered the fray.

        “SEN!” Celeste bellowed, turning angrily to him. “Get lost!”

        “No way!” Sen said. “That’s a rare Pokémon – rarer than any of its rare kind – and I want to capture it!”

        “Stop saying ‘rare’ and butt out!”

        “No!”

        “Yes!”

        “NO!”

        “RGH!” Celeste cried in frustration, and gave Sen a shove. He went sprawling onto his backside in the dirt.

        “I’m not going to FIGHT you, you moron,” Sen said, getting back to his feet and dusting off the seat of his trousers.

        “Why not?” Celeste demanded.

        “Because it’s wrong to hit girls!” Sen cried.

        “That’s not going to stop me!” Celeste responded, and shoved him again. This time Sen caught hold of her sleeve and dragged her down with him, and they rolled in the dirt, scratching, kicking, biting and shouting obscenities as their two Pokémon looked on in disbelief.

        While this other drama played out, the large purple Chansey was advancing on a cowering Bryson.

        “Please,” he whimpered, holding the sandwiches before him like a shield, “please don’t hurt me!”

        The Chansey’s shadow swallowed him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the end.

        “Fag!” Celeste yelled behind him.

        “Hag!” Sen shouted back.

        Suddenly, Bryson felt the sun on his face again. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. The Chansey was gone. So were the sandwiches.

        He looked around. No sign of the purple menace.

        He collapsed onto his side on the ground, whimpering helplessly and offering his thanks to numerous deities as Celeste and Sen continued to roll around behind him.

        He’d escaped. Again.

~8~

Ten minutes later, his heart was back under control, and he was helping Sen apply a sticking plaster to a nasty scratch over his eyebrow.

        “Ow!” Sen cried, and swatted Bryson’s hand. “Be careful!”

        “Don’t be such a baby,” Celeste muttered. She pointed to the pair of diagonal red lines raked across her cheek. “Look what you did to me, and I’m not complaining. By the way, you fight like a girl.”

        “And you walk like a man,” Sen muttered.

        Bryson stood back and surveyed the combatants. Sen was looking over the streaks of muck and tears on his clothing with dismay, while Celeste flicked through his Pokédex. Celsius and Dynamo sat companionably side by side and watched their trainers with interest.

        “Hey, what d’you think you’re doing?” Sen demanded, noticing Celeste with his Pokédex.

        “I’m looking up Chansey’s entry,” Celeste responded.

        “It’s MY dex,” Sen said, “I should be the one to look it up!”

        Celeste didn’t even look up from the device’s screen. “Do you know how?” she politely enquired.

        Sen appeared flustered. “Just don’t break it,” he muttered, and went over to his tent.

        “Ah, here we go,” Celeste said after some moments. She read aloud from the dex’s entry. “Chansey. One of the few female-only Pokémon, Chansey reproduce by parenthegis...”

        “Parthenogenesis,” Sen took satisfaction in correcting.

        “Whatever,” Celeste said. “they are highly social animals, and suffer when not in contact with members of their own species. This, coupled with their innate sensitivity and caring natures, make them ideally suited to working alongside humans in Pokémon Centres.”

        Bryson scoffed. “Caring natures?” he asked. “You didn’t see the way that thing came at me last night. It was murderous, I tell you.”

        “Ah!” Celeste said, reading something on the screen, “I knew it!”

        “What?” Sen asked as he tried without success to collapse his tent.

        Celeste looked up, smirking. “Didn’t you notice anything unusual about that Chansey?” she asked.

        “Everything was unusual about it,” Sen said. “It was six feet tall and purple, for god’s sakes!”

        “I mean besides that,” Celeste said. She waited patiently, but Sen said nothing.

        “Something missing?” she prompted. “Like, an egg?”

        Sen slapped his forehead. “Dammit!” he said, and kicked the ground.

        Bryson hadn’t noticed it either until Celeste had brought it up. The Chansey’s ovipouch on the front of its belly had been completely empty. Of course, he might have noticed it had the Pokémon not been trying to kill him.

        “Like domestic chickens, Chansey bear eggs all year round,” Celeste resumed reading. “It is only at a certain time of the year, when conditions are right, that these eggs are fertile and will hatch into young Chansey. The rest of the year, they are used by Chansey as a food source for other injured animals. The eggs have a peculiar health-restorative property that works wonders on humans, animals and Pokémon, and Chansey will always freely give up their egg to another creature in need.

        “However, the quality of the eggs are indicative of the Chansey’s wellbeing. Without their highly specialised diets being adequately catered for in captivity by human carers, Chansey will produce bitter, foul- smelling and discoloured eggs, or, in extreme cases, no eggs at all. Stress, as well as diet, is also a cause of this.

        “That’s it!” Celeste said, jumping to her feet in excitement. “I was right!”

        “About what?” Sen asked in confusion.

        She continued enthusiastically, “Chansey are rare for a very important reason: they’re good at taking care of others, but terrible at taking care of themselves. In the wild, without humans to prepare food for them, they’re poor survivors. And that Chansey – mean-tempered and egg- less – is definitely a case of malnutrition if ever there was one.” She grinned. “That’s why I’m going to catch it and nurse it back to health.”

        She bent over and picked up her backpack as Sen came over, waving his arms in protest.

        “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Sen said. “You don’t just get automatic dibs on a rare Pokémon like that, you know! We both saw it at the same time.”

        Celeste looked at him with irritation. “I was tracking it long before we saw it, Sen.”

        “So you say,” Sen said.

        “And even so – how are you going to catch it? It’s evidently a strong Pokémon. Are you going to use your puny Torchic? Your Kakuna?”

        Sen’s face flushed with anger. “My Pokémon are-”

        “Even if you did catch it,” Celeste went on, more soothingly, “it’s a tough Pokémon to take care of. It’s sick. It needs help, nurturing back to health. Do you really think you’re capable of that?”

        “Of course I am!” Sen blurted.

        Celeste looked at him for a long moment.

        “Then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” she said, and began walking away. Dynamo trotted after her.

        “Just you wait!” Sen yelled. “I’ll find it, and capture it, and take care of it!”

        Celeste gave him a dismissive wave over her shoulder and continued walking without turning back. Soon she was out of sight.

        “That arrogant COW!” Sen spat bitterly. “We’ll show her, won’t we, Cel?”

        The Torchic chirruped in agreement.

        Sen reached for his Pokéballs and returned Celsius and Bombus to them. “Bryson,” he said, “are you coming with me?”

        The hiker was kneeling by his backpack. Two rounds of thick white bread were placed on a piece of cling film before him, and he was applying a layer of peanut butter with a knife from the jar beside him.

        “I don’t know,” Bryson said thoughtfully, licking a smear of peanut butter from his thumb, “Celeste has a point, Sen. She does seem best qualified to take care of it. Do you really know what you’re doing here?”

        Sen didn’t reply, because a thought had suddenly struck him. A revelation.

        He stared at the jar of peanut butter placed on a rock beside Bryson. He thought about how Bryson had told them the Chansey had ripped off his backpack. He thought about what had been in the backpack. He thought about how the Chansey had left them alone once it had gotten its hands on Bryson’s sandwiches.

        A grin broke out on Sen’s face.

        “Oh, Celeste,” he whispered to himself, and added in a delighted sing- song: “I-know-something-you-don’t-knowww!”

~9~

Tracking wasn’t difficult. She just followed the silence.

        Sen was an idiot. She had to capture this Pokémon, if only to protect it from him – not that she thought he was capable of the capture. Chansey were tough Pokémon, and although this one was malnourished and in poor physical condition, she didn’t doubt it would still be a formidable opponent. She had passed a few uprooted trees as she followed its trail, and she somehow doubted they had simply keeled over of their own accord.

        She was deeply excited. She loved all of her Pokémon, and was particularly proud of her ability to take any creature and raise it to be the best it could, but this was different. Axo, Scarab, Dynamo, Bellamy – they had all just been regular Pokémon, nothing especially strong or special about them, until Celeste had taken them on and they had become battling machines. She had unlocked their potential. Trainers who talked about capturing strong Pokémon were fools – strong Pokémon weren’t caught, they were trained.

        But this Chansey – such a magnificent beast was something else. Celeste was not one to be easily swayed by unusually-coloured Pokémon – they went down in battle just as easily as anything else, in her opinion – but she had to admit finding a rare, powerful AND unusually-coloured Pokémon sent a thrill through her body. This was the stuff of which legends were made. She wouldn’t just be Celeste, the Pokémon trainer anymore – she would be Celeste, the Pokémon trainer with that awesome purple Chansey.

        She thought she was catching up on the Pokémon now, and hid behind a tree. She peered around its trunk, and caught a glimpse of dark purple hide.

        “Yes,” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

        She observed the Pokémon stealthily. It was pulling at the block of sandwiches it had taken from Bryson, its digit-less, stubby forearms unable to unwrap them. It put them into its mouth and tugged, but, lacking teeth, this was equally futile. Celeste felt sorry for the Pokémon. Once it was hers, she would feed it properly, and this miserable existence would be but a distant memory.

        Steeling herself for battle, Celeste stepped out from behind the tree.

        “Hey,” she said, and instantly knew it was a mistake.

        The Chansey dropped the sandwiches and spun around to face her, eyes blazing. Evidently it thought Celeste had pursued it to take back its prize.

        Celeste held up her hands. “I’m not after those,” she said. “I’m a trainer, see?” She raised a Pokéball. “I thought you might want to-”

        “CHAAAAAAAAAAANSEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYY!” the Pokémon bellowed, and Celeste staggered back. At such close range, its Amazonian battle-cry was unbearable. Her ear-drums rang, and she felt the beginnings of a headache.

        “I just wanted to-” she began again, and that was when it attacked.

        Despite their formidable presence, Chansey were usually poor physical attackers, and most of those trained for battles used special attacks like Psychic, or Thunderbolt, or even Ice Beam. They were mostly built for that, or stalling with Toxic and using their own enormous bulk in conjunction with abilities like Rest and Softboiled to absorb attacks until the opponent was exhausted.

        Nobody seemed to have informed this Chansey of such limitations.

        The Pokémon launched itself off its feet at Celeste, and hit her full- force with its stomach. The Chansey looked like a large soft marshmallow, but its weight alone sent Celeste flying off her feet and sprawling onto her back in the dirt.

        Her head spun.

        Wow, she thought, I’ve been a trainer for so long, and now I finally understand what it’s like to be Body Slammed.

        The Chansey stood over her, as if deciding what to do. It decided to screech its name again, and the sound shook the walls of Celeste’s skull. She felt sick.

        So that’s what it’s like to experience Supersonic, she thought, clutching her temples.

        Her body ached, her head pounded, and she couldn’t find the energy to even reach for a Pokéball and attempt to defend herself. She lay back on the ground and waited for consciousness to depart, perhaps forever.

        She must have passed out, and entered some weird dream, because suddenly she could hear Sen’s voice.

        She pushed herself up on her elbow, and her swimming, blurring vision made out the large purple bulk of the Chansey looming over Sen. He was standing between her and the Pokémon. There was something in his hand, a small jar of something. The Pokémon was looking at him, listening to what he was saying. Celeste’s ears, still in shock from the Supersonic, couldn’t make out any of the words.

        Sen extended his hands towards the Pokémon and opened the jar before it. It leaned over the jar with what would have been its nose, had any physical presence of such an organ been visible. The Chansey’s expression changed to – what? Gratitude? Pleasure? A slightly lower grade of anger than it had been at before?

        Slowly, Sen put the jar down on the ground and moved over towards the large block of sandwiches. He unwrapped them, and held one up in his hand before the Chansey.

        He produced a Pokéball in his other hand.

        The Chansey didn’t hesitate. It jumped forward and Sen’s hand holding the sandwich disappeared inside its mouth. It chewed for a while over his hand, before its toothless mouth pulled back, leaving a slimy covering of saliva over Sen’s fingers.

        Celeste’s ears were still ringing, but she thought she heard Sen utter a joyous laugh.

        Sen raised the Pokéball and seemed to hold his head at a questioning angle. The Chansey looked at him, and he seemed to read something in its expression, for he tossed the ball at it. The ball hit, opened, and sucked the large purple Chansey inside.

        As the ball dropped to the ground and Sen bent over to pick it up, Celeste’s energy finally gave out and she collapsed onto her back again.

        What a crazy dream, she thought, and then she passed out for a long time.

~10~

It took them another day to get to Lammergeyer Peak.

        They mostly walked in silence, and for that Celeste was grateful. She tried to put as much distance as possible between herself and Sen. Ever since he had successfully captured the Chansey, his former icy demeanour had been replaced by a nauseating effusiveness that Celeste found hard to bear. She would simply have walked on and left them behind, but as they were all heading in the same direction it seemed a rather foolish thing to do. Besides, she didn’t want to appear a sore loser.

        She’d regained consciousness that day to find Bryson poking around inside her mouth with a handkerchief. Apparently, she’d vomited while unconscious – a sensation not uncommon for humans who experienced a point- blank range Supersonic. Sen had already been gloating over his new capture by that stage, whom he had released to introduce to his former Pokémon. The Torchic had looked with disdain, the Kakuna had retained its usual vacant expression, while the Chansey ignored them both and continued to stuff peanut butter sandwiches into its mouth.

        Celeste could’ve kicked herself. It was so obvious. For a Pokémon like Chansey, used to being cared for by people, the wild would be an awful place to live. They were extremely ill-equipped to prepare food for themselves. Something like Bryson’s peanut butter sandwiches – tasty, almost decadent, a savoury reminder of the delights of living with humans – would’ve been irresistible to a Chansey who had been stranded in the woods for so long.

        Which all begged the question – where had it come from? Celeste found she honestly didn’t care right now. She just felt sickened by the whole thing. Sen had actually managed to outwit her. The Chansey – whom he had finally christened “Gale” – had sworn its loyalty to him, at least for as long as he could supply peanut butter sandwiches.

        It doesn’t matter, Celeste thought as they finally neared the summit of Lammergeyer Peak, right here is the first Pokémon Gym. The first test. I’m ready for it, but somehow I don’t think Sen is.

        She suddenly stopped walking, realising Sen and Bryson had fallen behind. She looked over her shoulder.

        Sen was waiting for Bryson, who was standing reluctantly on the edge of the tiny town’s square. He was looking around nervously – Celeste had no idea why; it was late, and this tiny village up in the mountains had already shut down for the night.

        “What’re you waiting for?” Sen called out to the hiker. “C’mon, it’s late, I’m tired, we have to find a place to stay. I want to challenge the Gym Leader tomorrow.”

        Bryson seemed to squirm a bit at this.

        “What’s wrong?” Celeste asked.

        Bryson sighed heavily and approached them. He couldn’t seem to look them in the eye.

        “I really feel so embarrassed about this,” he said. “I know how pathetic it must look. I just ... in the circumstances we met, I didn’t feel I could tell you .... then I found out you’re both trainers, and I thought you’d find out anyway, so....”

        “So what?” Sen asked.

        Bryson raised his eyes and looked at them. Celeste thought she’d never seen anyone look so humiliated in her life.

        He pointed over their shoulder. Celeste and Sen both turned and followed the direction of his finger to a newsstand outside a small corner shop – its shutters were pulled and its light were out, but the street lamp alone illuminated the newspaper headline.

        “TOWN WELCOMES NEW GYM LEADER” the large print read. And below it, in an admittedly grainy picture, a jovial, jowly face was displayed. Bryson’s.

        “Bloody hell,” Sen said.