"Josh, did you pack already?"

"I did, Mom!"

"Did you pack a pair of warm underwear like I told you to?"

"Yeah, Mom! Geez!"

"When did you say Jen was coming?"

"Two o'clock, Mom!"

"What? Didn't I tell you to ask her to show up before Aunt Elinor arrives, not at the same time?"

There was no further response from upstairs. Myra watched quietly from the stairs as her mother entered the hallway downstairs, her hair in disarray and hands covered by blue rubber gloves still dripping with soapy water.

"Josh, did you hear me?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"Go put the wet clothes in the dryer instead of playing your game. We're on a schedule here."

There was a sigh, and soon Josh emerged from his room, his dark bangs hanging over his eyes. "Fine."

Their mother looked on as Josh stalked into the laundry room, her gloved hands on her hips. Only as she was about to return into the kitchen did she finally spot Myra sitting on the stairs, arms around her knees.

"For heaven's sake, Myra, are you still moping? Like I said, Amazing Ranger Randy is going on tape. You don't have to watch every single episode the second it airs."

Myra stared stubbornly at the tips of her feet. Mom didn't get it.

Her mother climbed up the stairs until she was standing two stairs beneath her. "Is something else wrong?"

Myra nodded. "I wanna go too."

Her mother sighed. "You know you can't. You'll just have to wait."

Myra bit her lip. She did know, of course. No-one was supposed to go on their journey until the year they turned ten. "Can't I at least get a pokémon already?"

"Not until you're ten."

"But it's not fair!"

"I wouldn't let Josh have one until now. Would it be fair towards him if after years of telling him he was too young to have one I instantly turned around and let you to have one the very same day he does? Besides, I don't have any pokémon to give to you, and Aunt Elinor only said she'd bring pokémon for Josh and Jen."

Myra pouted. Like she really cared. It wasn't her fault Josh was older than her, after all. Why would it be anything away from him if she too got something?

Her mother sighed again. "Myra, I'm not saying this to be cruel. Taking care of pokémon is very hard. If you can show yourself to be responsible enough to take care of one, I might consider it."

"I am responsible!" Myra protested. "And I'd do just fine if you let me go!"

"There is a reason why you must be ten years old before participating. It's not safe for younger children, and you know it."

"Oh, because the moment I turn ten it's suddenly safe even though it wasn't a week earlier?" Myra asked darkly.

"None of that lip, young lady. The rules are the rules, and you are still years away from leaving home."

Myra let out a despondent sigh. She knew that, too, but it didn't mean it made her feel any better.

"That's just how things are, Myra. All younger siblings go through this. I felt sad too when Aunt Elinor left home." Her mother sat down next to her on the stairs and pulled her into a hug. She smelled of dish soap and lavender. "I know you're going to miss them both, but they'll be back before you know it, and Josh promised he'll call home every chance he gets."

"Mmhm." Myra closed her eyes.

"And if you really want a pokémon before you turn ten, I'll consider getting you one for your eighth birthday."

"Uh huh?" Myra didn't feel very excited. There was still over a year to go before she turned eight.

Her mother ruffled her hair. "Yes, provided you can prove yourself to be responsible enough." She stood up and returned downstairs. "Come help me with the dishes once you feel better."

Myra buried her face in her knees. She didn't want to help with the stupid dishes, and she really, really didn't want to stay home and wait for years until she could follow in her brother's footsteps. It didn't help that everyone had been dropping oblique hints about how Aunt Elinor, her mother's older sister and some kind of a rich entrepreneur (Myra had never quite grasped what she did for a living), hadn't promised to just get Josh and his friend starter pokémon as presents, but really special ones, too. Myra didn't know the specifics, but her imagination alone was more than enough to make her seethe with jealousy.

Her mother had gotten something right, though: as much as the others getting pokémon when she didn't irked her, even worse was the fact that Josh was leaving home, not to return until next spring. Even if they didn't always get along, he was still Myra's big brother and having to live without him was going to hurt. Who would teach her to play video games now? Who would show her how to do multiplication? Who would she fight with?

She was still sulking when the back door was slammed open loudly and someone traipsed across the living room and into the kitchen. The kitchen door was slammed open. Myra blinked. There was only one person that wasn't a family member who used the back door instead of the main entrance: Jen, Josh's best friend since before Myra had been born, and their next-door neighbour.

Her deduction was proven correct when Jen's strident, bouncy voice rang from the kitchen.

"Hi, Ms. S! Thanks for having me over."

"You're quite welcome, Jen. Aunt Elinor specifically requested that you be here."

"Yeah. Still, thanks. Mom sends her regards."

"That's very kind of her. It's a shame she couldn't be here today."

"Yeah, well. I'm used to it by now, honestly. She told me to ask for some photos of me if you're planning on taking them of Josh."

Myra's mother chuckled. "I'll be sure to snap some extra pictures just for her. If you're looking for Josh, he's upstairs sorting out the laundry. Ask him if remembered to pack the spare compass."

"Okay, sure!"

Myra looked up just in time to see Jen stumble to the staircase, her short blue hair smothered by a baseball cap, her trademark red neckerchief loosely hanging around her neck. She frowned as she noticed Myra. "Oh. 'Sup, Myra? Everything okay?"

Myra avoided her eyes.

Jen took a few tentative steps on the staircase, still staring at Myra. "Seriously, are you okay? Why are you sitting here?"

"I'm fine," Myra mumbled.

Jen stared at her for a while longer before shrugging. "If you say so. Hey, Josh!" And so she climbed up past Myra and disappeared into the laundry room.

Myra let her chin sink further down. Losing Josh was bad enough on its own. But losing Jen – the big sister she always wanted but never had – at the same time? That made it even worse. Who would now look out for her at school playgrounds, or indulge her and play house with her? She had never been good at making friends, and the kids at school already had their circles. Who could she turn towards now, when her two closest friends were leaving?

The doorbell rang.

"Myra, get the door!"

"Get it yourself," Myra muttered, so quietly her mother couldn't hear her.

Another ring. "Myra!"

Myra sighed and slouched towards the door. Why did Mom have to wash the dishes at this hour, anyway?

As soon as she undid the lock, the door burst open, and a strange woman walked over the porch, full of energy and smiling brightly. Myra quickly backed away, staring.

"Greetings from the Sevii Islands!" the stranger bellowed into the house. She then spotted Myra and lowered her voice. "Oh, you must be little Myra. Do you remember me? I'm your Aunt Elinor."

Myra shook her head, still staring. Surely she couldn't have forgotten meeting this curious person standing in front of her, no matter how young she had been. It wasn't just her clothes, although they certainly played a part: Aunt Elinor wore a green velvet top hat, along with a matching waistcoat and breeches, as well as mismatched orange and peach-coloured socks. It wasn't just the hair, either, although her lopsided orange frizz was no doubt memorable. No, the weirdest part of her was her eyes, as mismatched as her socks: one was an animated green, the other pitch black. Myra wasn't sure if they really looked like that or if she wore contacts, but the effect was unnerving all the same.

Aunt Elinor didn't look too miffed about her confession. "Oh well, you were so tiny when I last saw you it's no wonder you can't. This is for you, dearie." She dropped the heavy leather suitcase she had been carrying and gave Myra a tiny green parcel from the pocket of her breeches. Then she sailed past her into the kitchen. "Alice, darling! I have returned!"

Myra looked on as her aunt and mother exchanged greetings. Then, as their conversation drifted into general discussion about relatives that held no interest to her, she focused on the parcel. It was too small and light to contain anything that interesting, but a present was still a present. Without further hesitation, she ripped it open to discover a blue plastic whistle with an orange string for wearing it around her neck, decorated with a mudkip decal. She examined it with little interest, then hung it around her neck and gave it a tentative blow.

A shrill, piercing sound filled the entire house. Myra quickly stopped blowing and clutched her now throbbing ears. Her mother and Aunt Elinor burst into the scene.

"What was that racket? Myra, was it you?"

"Oh, I am dreadfully sorry, Myra," Aunt Elinor said with a smile. "I should have warned you in advance, but I didn't want to ruin the surprise." She leaned in closer. "That, my dear, is an alarm whistle. Only blow in it when you need help, and you're guaranteed to receive."

When Myra stared at her, her smile widened. "Ah, but what was I thinking?" She slapped her forehead in an exaggerated way. "This wasn't the real present I was supposed to give you." She vanished into the front hall.

Myra's mother followed after her. "Present? Elinor, I told you you didn't have to. Especially not since—"

"Nonsense!" Auntie Elinor returned with a much bigger parcel. "How could I lavish gifts on the older children and leave my youngest darling niece unpampered? Here you are." And she pushed the present into Myra's hands.

Mother sighed. "What do you say, Myra?"

"Thank you," Myra muttered.

"My pleasure, my dear. Go ahead and open it."

It was a box of chocolates. Myra perked up.

"Oh, Elinor, you really shouldn't have...you can have one before lunch, Myra, but that's it," said her mother as soon as she saw what it was.

Myra didn't have to be told twice. All the chocolates looked the same, so she just picked one at random and popped it in her mouth.

Two seconds later she contemplated whether it would be too rude to spit it out and scream. It tasted awful, likeboiled cabbage or dishwater – nothing like proper chocolate.

Aunt Elinor saw the look on Myra's and raised her hand to her cheek. "Oh dear. You were unlucky, weren't you? Just spit it into your hand."

Myra did so as soon as her mother turned her gaze away.

"I'm terribly sorry, really," said Aunt Elinor. "It appears that I have neglected to mention another critical detail." Her eyes sparkled. "These chocolates are a bit special."

Myra's stomach turned. "Do they all taste like that?"

"Oh no, not at all. Most of them are made of the finest milk chocolate known to mankind, smooth as a velvet carpet." She paused, as if to gauge Myra's reaction. "However, there are a couple of...hmm, more savoury pieces mixed in, indistinguishable by shape or appearance. Every piece is a gamble, you see. Fun, isn't it? It is a shame that you were so unlucky on your first bite; most of them are quite safe to eat."

Myra looked away and didn't respond. She wasn't sure she liked Aunt Elinor all that much.

Her mother didn't say anything, but she walked to Myra and stroked her hair. "Would you like to meet the older kids now, Elinor?"

Aunt Elinor clapped her hands together. "Oh, please call them here! I'm dying to meet the little angels again!"

"Josh! Jen!"

There was a rumble upstairs, and the duo of trainers-to-be burst into the scene with much the same energy as Aunt Elinor had shown when she had entered the house, Josh half a step behind Jen, his long, dark fringe partially obscuring his eyes.

"Joshua!" Aunt Elinor threw her arms around Josh and gave him a bear hug. "How you have grown! I can still remember how teeny-tiny you were when I used to change your diapers!"

Josh flushed crimson, and Jen laughed.

"And you, my dear," Aunt Elinor turned towards Jen and pinched her cheek. "I'm glad to see you're as energetic as ever. Just don't go and fill my best shoes with jelly this time around, you hear? Although if you do…" She winked. "I prefer pecha jelly over oran jelly."

Jen's cheeks coloured and muttered something that sounded like "Sorry."

"All water under the bridge, my dear, water under the bridge." Aunt Elinor's eyes were twinkling again. "It gave me a wonderful story to tell to my associates at dinner parties, after all." She patted Jen's cheek and turned towards Myra's mother. "Is the charming young gentleman known as Stuart still upstairs?"

"Stu?" asked Jen, frowning. "He moved away two years ago."

Myra's mother covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh no. I did tell you over the phone, didn't I?"

Aunt Elinor tapped her cheek with one of her long fingers. "The fact must have escaped my mind. It is of no concern– I'll simply return the pokémon left over once I return home."

Josh and Jen both perked up at the mention of 'pokémon.' Even Myra felt her interest in the conversation growing.

"Ah, yes, pokémon." Aunt Elinor beamed at everyone in the room. "Why delay the moment any further? Just a moment, dears." She once again returned to the front hall, this time bringing her suitcase back with her.

"Make way, make way," she said cheerfully, placing the suitcase on the kitchen table. Carefully, she undid the number lock – so carefully, in fact, that Myra had time to take note of the correct combination. Then, with great flourish, she opened the suitcase wide. Everyone, even Myra's mother, leaned in closer for a better look.

Inside, nested safety within velvet wrappings, sat three pristine new pokéballs. They practically gleamed even in the dim kitchen.

"Here they are, my dears," Aunt Elinor said proudly, bowing with a flourish. "Your brand new starters. Do you wish to know which pokémon await you?"

Josh and Jen looked at each other, then nodded eagerly.

"This sweetheart here," Aunt Elinor began, pointing at the rightmost ball, "is a darling little bulbasaur. This one," she continued, indicating the ball in the centre, "is an energetic little squirtle. And the last one," she said, gesturing towards the leftmost ball, "is a happy little charmander just dying to have a trainer."

She paused. "Or was the charmander the one on the right? I can no longer remember."

Josh and Jen exchanged another brief glance. Myra was confused. The three pokémon offered weren't that common, but many kids nowadays left on their journey with either a bulbasaur, squirtle, or charmander. So many, in fact, that it was a little strange that Aunt Elinor was making such a big number about these starters. Then again, she seemed to make a big number about everything.

Aunt Elinor beamed at them. "However, before you take one, you must swear on two things: that you will take very good care of these pokémon, and that you won't summon them until after you have left and your home has vanished into the horizon."

Everyone frowned, Myra included.

"Why is that?" Jen asked.

"I'll explain after you swear."

After some hesitation, both Josh and Jen placed their hands on their chests. "I swear," they said in unison.

"Good. Do remember to keep that promise– it is very important." Aunt Elinor's mismatched eyes gleamed. "And trust me when I say I will know if you've broken it."

Myra shivered. It wasn't just her, either: Josh looked distinctly alarmed, and even Jen's smile had faded. Only her mother was unfazed. She shook her head gently, a faint smile on her face, and gave Myra's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm joking, of course," Aunt Elinor added, when no-one in the room spoke for several moments. "Now that you've promised to play by my rules, I can tell you the secret of these pokémon." She beckoned the kids closer, and pretended to whisper while still speaking loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. "You see, one of these little dears is a little different from its peers. Don't be alarmed," she added when she saw the look on their faces. "The pokémon in question isn't any worse than any of the others of its kind. The only difference is that it has slightly differently colouration..."

Josh's eyes widened. "One of them is a shiny?"

"That how it's usually put, yes."

Jen's eyes lit up, and so did Josh's. Myra felt a pang of envy in her chest. Shiny Pokémon weren't any stronger or more skilful than regular pokémon, but their unique appearance – combined with their notorious rarity – made them revered by trainers and laypersons alike.

Even her mother was impressed. "How on earth did you manage to find one, Elinor?"

Elinor smirked. "I do have my connections, Alice, dear. Of course, only one of these three is a shiny one, but I can assure you that the other two are fine starters in their own right. It's a lottery in which every ticket wins." She moved away from the suitcase. "Now, who wants to go first?"

There was a long silence, during which the two future trainers intently gauged the pokéballs and each other. Finally, Jen stepped forward. "Well, if you don't mind, I'll take this one." She picked up the pokéball which presumably contained a charmander.

Josh swallowed. "Fine by me." He inched towards the table. "I guess I'll have this one, then." He chose the squirtle.

Myra looked somberly at the last remaining pokéball. Did the bulbasaur know it hadn't been picked? How miserable it must have felt, being the only one not chosen. Would it be stored onto a PC, or would Aunt Elinor take it back where she had gotten it from? It just didn't seem fair for the poor creature.

For the poor, possibly incredibly special little creature...

Satisfied, Aunt Elinor shut the suitcase. "Excellent. Now, I want you to remember what you promised."

Josh nodded. "Thank you."

"Yeah, thank you," said Jen. She turned towards Josh. "Got your stuff ready?"

"Yeah."

Myra looked on as Josh rushed to get his backpack from upstairs and Jen picked her own from the corner of the kitchen.

Myra's mother gave her a light push and nodded at Aunt Elinor. "Thank you, Elinor."

"My pleasure, my pleasure."

Myra's mother nodded again, then looked at Myra. "Come on, let's go get the camera."

"Okay, not bad. Josh, could you look at the camera for the next one, please?"

Another flash. Jen, one hand on her hip, her baseball cap slightly askew, and Josh, wearing his brand new flat cap and unable to keep his eyes off the pokéball glinting on his belt, stood next to one another by the entrance to Viridian Forest, cheeks flushed with pride.

"Good. Let's take one more for Jen's mother, alright?"

As her mother took a step forward for a better angle, Myra, standing slightly further away with Aunt Elinor, looked past her brother and friend and into the forest itself. She had been there countless times, but never by herself. Her mother said it was too risky without a pokémon of her own to protect her.

She still felt bitter as they waved goodbye to Josh and Jen, and the brand new trainers disappeared into the woods. Now the others got to go in, with their shiny new pokéballs and possibly shiny new starters, and she was stuck here waiting for another three years until she could go after them. It was just so unfair! Half the kids in her class already had their own pokémon, so why couldn't she have one, too? She wasn't any younger or less responsible than them.

That was when she made up her mind.

That afternoon, when her mother and Aunt Elinor were busy chatting in the living room, she packed her backpack, taking along her the second compass, her winter coat, a ham sandwich, a bottle of juice, a big notebook, and her favourite crayons. She readied her shorts and snuck into Josh's room to grab his old hat.

That evening, after her father had come home and they had all had dinner together, Myra told her mother she wasn't feeling too good and that she was going to bed early. Once back in her room, she wrote a note telling what she was going to do, then hid it under her pillow. She dressed in her most trainer-like clothes and waited.

Later that evening, long after the sun had set and everyone had turned in, she snuck back into the kitchen, shoes in hand. As she had hoped, Aunt Elinor had left her suitcase in there. Her hands shaking, she changed the tiny numbers to read 8-1-8, the code she had seen Aunt Elinor use earlier. Gulping, she carefully raised the lid and pulled out the final gleaming pokéball, then quickly escaped through the back door, leaving it open so that the click of the lock wouldn't alert the grown-ups.

It took all her willpower not to call out her brand new bulbasaur the moment she escaped the house, but she swallowed her excitement and headed towards the forest, hiding in the shadows whenever possible.

The pokéball was still in her hand, and the fact alone filled her with glee, although one mixed with dread. Wouldn't her parents come after her for sure? What if she was caught? Her mother would be so angry she'd never let her leave the house again. Besides, this was practically stealing, wasn't it? Even if Aunt Elinor could easily afford it, it didn't necessarily make it any more right. Would the police come after her?

And yet... it felt like it was meant to be. This special bulbasaur was supposed to be hers, just like Amazing Ranger Randy was supposed to win at the end of every episode. Perhaps it was destiny, or something like that, that allowed this to happen.

Her step lightened as she entered the forest, her head in clouds. She would be the youngest trainer ever to set out on a journey. No, why stop there – the youngest champion ever! With this shiny bulbasaur on her side, she could do it.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she stopped dead in her tracks and finally summoned the bulbasaur. After a brief flash of light, her first-ever pokémon appeared.

Myra's smile faded, excitement marred by disappointment. She had gotten a bulbasaur, like she had expected and hoped for. However, its colours were no different from any old bulbasaur she had seen before.

For a moment, Myra had to hold back tears. She had been so sure she gotten a special pokémon that the chance of getting a normal one hadn't even crossed her mind. One of the older kids must have gotten the really special one. It wasn't fair!

After a moment of two of sniffling and wallowing in self-pity, however, she shook her head and tried to calm down. She shouldn't be too greedy. The bulbasaur was still special, because it was hers and hers alone. Besides, it was looking at her expectantly. She couldn't be mean to such a cute creature.

"I'll call you...Flora." Myra crouched down on the grass to hug the newly named Flora. It (she, Myra reminded herself, she knew it had to be a she) tried to withdraw, but in the end allowed Myra to clutch her tightly against her chest. "We're going to be the best team ever."

Myra blinked away the remainder of unshed tears as she patted Flora. Even if her journey hadn't begun exactly the way she had expected it to, it would be a happy one. She'd make sure of that.

The forest looked different in starlight from what Myra had expected, and definitely far more ominous. The trees cast long, dark shadows on the ground, and while a full moon illuminated the sky for the time being, there were dark clouds looming in the horizon. It was colder than Myra had expected, too: not cold enough for her to pull her bulky winter coat out of her backpack, but cold enough to make her shiver and wish for the morning sunlight. At least it wasn't eerily quiet, as the constant drone of insect pokémon ensured there was never a silent moment.

By now, Myra was no longer certain she was going in the right direction. She wasn't going backwards, that much she knew for sure, but the last sign pointing towards Pewter City had been quite a while ago

Avoiding tall grass didn't make travelling in the forest any easier, but she would have to manage. Not that she doubted Flora – surely she could beat any pokémon in these woods – but fighting now would slow her down. She wasn't sure of the time, but she wanted to take no risks with it anyway. She only had until the morning before her mother would notice she was gone, after all.

Right then, however, she couldn't bring herself to worry about it. Right then, walking in the woods at nighttime, she was feeling like Amazing Ranger Randy: brave and bold, a friend to all pokémon, heading off towards another adventure. Although Randy never kept her Bayleef in a pokéball. Heck, she didn't use pokéballs at all.

Myra paused to re-summon Flora. It appeared, blinking and yawning. Myra reached down to pat her head. If she was going to do this, she was going to do this right. She'd be a hero too, just like Randy, only she'd become a league champion instead of a ranger. And she too would let her pokémon walk free.

"Do you like the forest, Flora?" she asked gently. Flora looked at her for a while without a response. "I suppose you must, though. All plant pokémon like real plants– it said so on TV. And you're a little bit plant pokémon at least..."

She looked at the now-empty pokéball in her hand and hesitated. Even if she wasn't going to use pokéballs from now on, was it okay to destroy pokéballs already in use? She didn't know, and she would rather not risk hurting Flora by destroying the container she was tied to.

She patted Flora's head again. Her skin felt weird: it was kind of like wet rubber, only slightly more uneven and without the sliminess. It felt nice, anyhow.

"Who's the best bulbasaur?" she cooed. Flora pushed against her hand with her head and roared quietly. "Yup, you are! You are going to be the greatest..."

Her voice tapered out. Something large was moving behind a nearby bush.

Myra hesitated. What if it was a huge beedrill? Those things could be really dangerous, after all. Still, she would have to make sure. She slowly sneaked to the bush and peered through it to the other side.

What she saw was an enormous butterfree, its wingspan as long as her arms reach. It was flapping around in a circle, head cocked towards the sky.

Myra's heart skipped a beat. What luck! Butterfree usually shied away from humans. Not only that, but this butterfree was the most beautiful one she had ever seen. Perhaps all this really was meant to be, and she was now supposed to befriend the butterfree just like Randy had befriended her mareep. Now, how had those moves gone again?

She stepped through the bush and beckoned Flora to follow, then focused her full attention on the butterfree.

"Umm..." She opened her arms wide and slowly approached it. "Hi, butterfree! I wanna be your friend!"

The butterfree's beady red eyes immediately affixed on Myra. It froze in place.

"It's okay," Myra said confidently. "I'm not gonna hurt you or anything, I just want you to be my pokémon!" How did Randy do it again, the Dance of Friendship? First a step to the left, then a step to the right...

The butterfree's eyes followed her. It was flapping its wings much more slowly, like it was lost in thought.

Just then, Flora lunged forward and placed herself between Myra and the butterfree, growling at the latter.

"Flora!" yelled Myra. "Don't be mean to our new frie—"

Before she could finish her sentence, the butterfree lunged at Flora with ferocity she had never before associated with butterfrees, flapping its wings wildly and scattering some kind of green dust on her. Within an instant, Flora keeled over, fast asleep.

"H-hey!" Myra protested. Her stomach lurched. "There's no need to fight! We don't want to hurt you!"

The butterfree ignored her waving arms and slammed its body into the slumbering Flora with enough strength to knock her on her side.

"Flora!" Myra gasped. "Stop it, please!" The butterfree charged again, this time creating a gust of wind with its furiously flapping wings, hitting Flora with them at full force. Myra wasn't sure whether she was imagining it or not, but Flora's breathing was growing very weak.

"No!" She ran in between the two pokémon, shielding Flora with her arms. "Leave her alone! Please, we don't want to fight!"

The butterfree once again paid little attention to her, so Myra to scooped Flora up into her arms, preparing to run. As she did so, she spotted in the corner of her eye a nest with two tiny eggs, hidden beneath a berryless bush. Did butterfrees lay their eggs in the spring?

The butterfree concentrated again. Panicked, Myra clutched Flora against her chest and scurried away, not caring where she went as long as it was away from the enraged butterfree and its unhatched children.

The relentless rain continued to ravage the forest, in a sudden storm as savage as it had been unexpected. All living creatures unfortunate enough to be outside that night had long since searched for cover, excluding all the water- and grass-type pokémon frolicking in the newly-formed puddles.

If one of these pokémon had roamed past one of the large spruces in Viridian Forest just then and pricked its ears, it would have heard an unfamiliar noise coming from beneath it.

Beneath the tree, soaked, exhausted, and curled up into a ball, lay Myra, clutching her bulbasaur desperately against her chest and crying her eyes out. She had remained there for the better part of an hour now, and showed no signs of stirring.

She held her head against Flora. The poor creature was shivering. Would it be better to put her back in her pokéball? But then, she'd be here all alone. And wasn't water supposed to be good for grass pokémon?

She suppressed her sobs. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She had never meant to lose her path. Poor Flora was never supposed to get hurt.

What was she supposed to do now? Could she do anything even if the rain abated? She was hopelessly lost, and wandering around in the woods for any longer would risk encountering more wild pokémon. If she went back, her parents would find her without a doubt and take Flora away from her. She wasn't even sure she could find the way back.

Flora's eyes were closed, but at least she was breathing steadily now. Myra inched her way closer to the tree's trunk to avoid more of the rain. She was wet and miserable, but at least the ground right by the trunk was dry.

Maybe she should just give up, for Flora's sake. It was her fault she had gotten hurt, and she didn't want her to suffer any longer. It wasn't Flora's fault she had turned out to be a lousy trainer, and as much as she hated to thought of being parted from her... maybe it would be for the better.

"Oh, Flora," she sobbed, hugging the sleeping bulbasaur. Flora didn't deserve to suffer like this. And to think that for a moment she had been disappointed she wasn't a shiny! Like it mattered. Flora was perfect just the way she was. And she owed it to her to do what was the best for her. "I'm so sorry, Flora. I'll take you back. I promise you'll be okay."

Flora opened her lustrous red eyes and glanced at Myra with curiosity.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. Just go back—" she petered out in surprise. Flora was licking her face with her tiny, rough tongue.

"Flora?"

Flora stopped licking and gave Myra's arm a gentle headbutt.

Again, Myra's eyes welled with tears. She tightened her grip of Flora and gave her a big hug. At that moment, nothing mattered. She was just happy to be there with Flora.

Then she remembered the bruises and scrapes covering Flora. She swallowed.

She knew what she had to do.

"I promise I'll keep you safe," she muttered. Flora couldn't possibly understand her, of course, but she seemed to be listening all the same. "Even if my parents ground me until I'm fourteen, even if I never get to see you again—" Her mouth felt dry. She was already faltering, even though she knew perfectly well what she had to do.

She steeled her will. She had to do the right thing, for Flora's sake.

"I'll beg them to let me keep you," she told Flora. "I'll beg them and I'll promise to always take perfect care for you. I'll fight for you. But if I can't keep you...I'll still make sure you get the best possible home elsewhere. Okay?"

Flora growled softly and snuggled closer to her master.

"I love you, Flora."

Myra sat up, still holding Flora. She fished out the mudkip whistle she still had dangling around her neck and pushed it to her lips. She covered Flora's head where she suspected her ears were with her hands and blew into it.

The piercing sound could be heard from miles away, even over the torrent of rain.

THE END

A/N: Edited as of 14/9/10, with the invaluable help of TJ Robinson.