four fur feet

A Story of the Paw Saga by Perri Lightfoot

And he walked around the world on his four fur feet, and never made a sound... - Margaret Wise Brown

-変身 (HENSHIN)-

For his simple heart might not resist the sacred influences, which, from the stilly twilight of the place, and from the gray old trunks that high in heaven mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound of the invisible breath that swayed at once all their green tops, stole over him. – William Cullen Bryant

The most intriguing and miraculous – and indeed, possibly the most dangerous! - of all the Evolution Stones would be (if only I could produce a specimen! Is the word of an Oxford man so little regarded?) the "Transmutation" Stones. It is said in the old myths that they are the size and weight of a common pidgey's egg, and in hue they are rumoured to be a stark white, with swirls of colour reminiscent of mother-of-pearl. Like any other Stone, touching the artefact is said to unleash its power - but unlike any other stone, its use requires tactile contact between both a brute creature - and a member of own race! (What proof have I, they shall interject? Great cry and little wool; they shall say! I've heard their words. I know to speak to these men is to kick against the bricks...) Men, I've no proof but the stories - the stories that have long whispered to the hearts of nations both near and far. Marco Polo wrote about them, and so too the great alchemists; intrigued by rumours of their power. The myths are consistent, fellows, spreading unchanged through time and location, with little local variation that normally evolves in truly fanciful stories, or those with only the faintest grain of truth beneath. The Stones exist, men! (Proclaim this proudly! Perhaps this time, they shall believe I speak true! My reputation – my reputation!) – and so too their terrible curse! – Richard Locke, text and scribbled margin notes for the introduction to a speech read at a dinner for the Plinian Society, 1827

:=:=:=:=:=

She-Who-Races-the-Wind cowered against the back of her drey with her teeth bared, the long fur on her tail fluffed like the bristles of a dusting brush. The heavy scent of a predator surrounded her from all sides, penetrating the snarled bolus nest of leaves and twigs in which she lived, and choking her mind with an instinctive dread. Her brood of pichu writhed and squirmed against her legs in a mewling mess of eggshell shards and dried leaf dust, their large, silky black ears folded tightly against their skulls. Squeaking obliviously, they pulled themselves towards their mother's belly with tiny claws, nothing more complex than a desire for food and warmth consuming their minds.

Gleaming, gray-white claws pushed through the mass of the drey wall and tore down, and a small, sharp muzzle worked its way into the pikachu's home. Swift jerked her tail over her back with an angry chatter, the fur along her spine rising, and she protectively hunched her body further over her nursing pichu. While she instinctively recognized that the slightest stray spark could set her entire home ablaze, her body still pulsed anxiously with power, her cheeks glowing an eerie blue in the murky darkness of the nest.

"Sneee!"

Swift stumbled backwards in momentary panic, her hind paws entangled about tiny bodies, as the entire front side of the drey suddenly crumpled before her like a deflating balloon; a flash of savage red eyes, shining with a gleam of tortured hunger, briefly meeting her gaze. The shadowy silhouette of a muzzle twitched, and stiff whiskers bristled at the heady odor of milk and squalling helplessness – the scent of easy prey. Pinning her ears back, the pikachu watched as the monster before her tensed its paws.

"Pik pik pikaaaa!"

With a vicious snarl, She-Who-Races-the-Wind leapt over her offspring and landed roughly on three feet, her own small claws flashing as she swiped her free forepaw towards the black shape of her antagonist. The sneasel, quick to retaliate, slashed at her muzzle with his bladelike talons, knocking her face to the right and exposing a stretch of nape. With a sharp squeak of fear Swift attempted to jump backwards, but the sneasel moved faster, easily catching her neck between his jaws, and pinning her down as his four savage claws gouged into her sides.

The pikachu had observed enough battles during her time in the wild to know what would happen next - the predator would attack until she was dead or badly incapacitated, and then kill and eat her brood at his leisure. Twisting her neck as far as she could, trying to ignore her terrible pain, Swift snatched up the nearest of her pichu by its haunch; the tiny creature instantly going limp and still. Pushing her hind paws against what remained of the drey's bottom surface, she lowered her tail and propelled herself forcefully upwards and away from the sneasel with a Quick Attack, the monster's claws and teeth rending her flesh as it struggled to retain its hold. Powerful instincts burned within her body to protect the rest of her clutch, but the side of her that operated on logic knew that the choice was either to save one pichu, or to lose every last kitten along with her own life. With so many helpless morsels left behind in the nest, Swift knew that the sneasel wouldn't bother to give pursuit.

As piercing cries and the sharp snap of shattering bones began to echo through the foliage behind her, Swift whimpered and pinned her ears back, allowing her self-preservation instincts to override her mind without protest. Mechanically, with no consciousness underlying her behavior, she leapt for a lower branch; her plumy tail, held stiff and parallel to the ground, acting as a parachute to slow her fall. From this lower limb she swiftly scurried to the tree's trunk, reaching the ground in a few moments and from there traveling deeper into the forest with long, bounding strides.

She ran right into a snare trap.

The thin loop of steel cut deeply into Swift's throat, instantly crushing her windpipe. Her jaws went slack and she accidentally released her pichu, the kitten tumbling slightly before coming to rest in a tussock of hakonechloa, not far from its captured mother. With a strained, gasping cry, the pikachu lunged forwards; claws scrabbling against the dirt in a single-minded desperation to try and escape from this strange new predator and reclaim her child. Her tail spasmodically jerked behind her as her repeated efforts only caused the pressure about her neck to increase, and her eyes rolled, foamy spittle dribbling down the corners of her mouth.

"Chu…!"

Darkness danced along the corners of She-Who-Races-the-Wind's vision, her mind and her instincts struggling to retain coherence. A strangled squeak, a final desperate gasp – and the world faded, dissipating into inky black nothingness as she passed out.

The pichu gradually grew still as morning slipped into afternoon, its last faint whimpers lost amid the rustle of the overhanging leaves.

:=:=:=:=:=

"Your type is not welcome here, sonny."

The old man wearily regarded the Trainer standing before him, folding his gnarled hands atop his cluttered desk with careful deliberation. His thin, snow-white hair drooped in limp wisps about his temples, framing his ancient, furrowed visage as he tilted his head upwards to meet the teenager's gaze. "This section of Mt. Silver is the Locke Reserve. Aokigahara."

The boy opposite the desk nodded without recognition towards either name, the brim of his hat dipping slightly over his tanned face. What does he mean, my type? Brushing a brief surge of temper aside, he kept his tone as friendly and open as he could manage; trying to display the same civility with which he would prefer the warden to treat him. "I'm sorry for intruding, but I promise that I have a good –"

"You know nothing of this place, then. Not even the most cursory research?" The man's dismissive interruption halted the Trainer in mid-sentence, and the boy mumbled a negative with embarrassment. "I take it that you're the impulsive type, then. You'd rather learn by doing, would you? In that case, all that you really need to know is that this is a restricted area. My private property, in fact. This isn't a Safari Zone where you can capture things willy-nilly!"

"But I'm not here to catch anything!" The black-haired boy pleaded more sharply than he had intended, the pikachu on his shoulder chattering anxiously. "Well...not anything that's supposed to live here."

The warden sighed after a long pause, his heavy wrinkles growing more pronounced as he slouched forward to better examine the child before him. "There's already more than enough poachers sneaking in to catch the pokémon that 'aren't supposed to be here.' You'd know that, if you'd actually bothered to read something. What makes you any different, aside from asking my permission?"

"I just want to save the sneasel." His voice calm once more, the Trainer tucked a hand into his pocket and glanced down at the old man, who slowly blinked his rheumy eyes with feigned ignorance. "That's all!"

The man shook his head tiredly at the word save, his chair squeaking in protest as he resumed his reclined position. "A sneasel, you say. The last that I heard of sneasel, one was causing trouble over at the Ho-Oh Shrine, interfering with your type's insufferably nobleTrainer traditions. A normal Trainer would be furious at them – and you are a normal, albeit stupid, Trainer, are you not? Such a species certainly cannot be worth your time, sonny. Besides, what even makes you think that you would find it here? You'd do well to just turn around and –"

"This sneasel's different!" Ash knelt to rest his free hand against the edge of the desk, Pikachu shifting his paws to remain balanced on his friend's shoulder. "I heard a Trainer brag about abandoning him here. A tamesneasel! He probably doesn't know anything about how to survive!"

"Nature is cruel. If this sneasel is determined to survive, he'll quickly learn to trust his instincts. If he's not, another will eat him. That's how it is in the reserve." The old man coughed as he sat up again; a rasping, phlegmy sound that made Pikachu flinch in surprise. "I imagine that this was a Silver Conference Trainer that you overheard, and that they surely must have had a reason for their behavior. I may not respect Trainers, but I know that the truly skilled ones - which they must have been, to get as far as the Silver Conference - don't keep dead weight on their teams." Ash opened his mouth to protest, but the warden swiftly resumed his harangue, tapping one long, bony finger against the desk to emphasize his points. "As your ignorance is so painful, I'll grant you this. Silver Conference Trainers often abandon pokémon here when they don't live up to the vigorous demands of League battles. I've been picking up empty pokéballs and apricorns from around the perimeter fence for a good sixty years now - rejecting the weak in favor of the strong is just the way Trainers like you operate. Of what significance is an underperforming sneasel to you? What makes it worth intruding on my private property and wasting my time? My obligation is to protect this land from poacher filth and suicidal twits the best that my old body can, and yours should be winning more Badges, or whatever such piffle your idiotic type trifle yourselves with."

Calming Pikachu with a gentle scratch behind the ears, Ash looked the warden straight in the eye from his kneeling stance, his gaze dedicated and intense. "I don't care who the original Trainer was, or why they did it. Weak or strong, no pokémon deserves to be abandoned to a slow death like that! He hasn't done anything wrong - I have to save him!"

The warden held the teenager's stare for several tense minutes, before finally ducking his head with an air of mock acquiescence - a ghost of a smile upon his lips, and an unreadable emotion reflected in his wizened eyes. "If this is truly how you wish for things to be, idiot Trainer…very well. Go and retrieve this precious sneasel."

Ash blinked, momentarily taken aback by the man's unexpectedly swift change of heart. While he hadn't doubted for a moment that the warden would eventually come around to his way of thinking, nothing in the elder's forceful demeanor and obvious hatred of humanity – particularly where Trainers were concerned – had indicated that shifting his opinion would be this easy. "...Really? You'll let me in?"

The warden chuckled gently, leaning back in his chair once more with a practiced yawn. "I am clearly no match against the strength of your impulsive, hot-blooded will. Who am I to tell you what you can and cannot do? I'm merely an old man, sonny, and you're a strapping young Trainer in his prime." Taking off his bifocals, the warden carefully wiped the lens with a tissue, keeping his head turned towards his work as he spoke. "I wouldn't spend a lot of time in the reserve if I were you, however, so find the sneasel quickly. The Rangers have been and gone for the season, and don't expect me to help if you run into trouble, either. The gate locks from both sides, and there's no phone service for miles. If you choose to enter, you'll simply have to find your own way back out again. It shan't be any trouble if you're as clever as you think you are. And..."

"And what?" Ash leaned back on his heels in frustration, hearing the words but not pausing to consider the true severity of them. Every minute he allowed the man to further belittle him was another minute that the sneasel was left to suffer.

"Well, son, there are plenty of things in this wide world of ours, beyond what most of us can know and perceive. There are very good reasons behind why my family has struggled for decades to keep the worst examples of human detritus – particularly Trainers – out of this forest. And if you must be a fool for this sneasel, Mr. No-Research, just remember to watch your step…as you never know what you might discover underfoot. Aokigahara is quite willing to divulge its secrets, and to those with the right kind of soul…I give it my blessing to do so." The warden stood slowly and reached for a key on the wall without another word, and Ash kept his distance; maintaining it even as he followed the man outside to the gate. He didn't like to think badly of people unless they gave him a reason to, but the warden's misanthropic attitude and bizarre statements had had not left a warm impression. It was too late to back out now, but even if he were to be given the opportunity, he wouldn't have taken it. No matter how insane the man who owned this forest might be, and no matter its real or imagined dangers, the sneasel needed rescue; and only a truly terrible Trainer – or truly terrible person – would give up on him.

:=:=:=:=:=

"Poachers!"

The pikachu lay prone where she had been snared, with her legs sprawled uselessly against the ground and her tail limp and bedraggled behind her. Foamy spittle, tinged a dusky pink, glistened on her slack-jawed muzzle; small bubbles forming and popping along her whiskers as she struggled to inhale. Her mutilated sides, while partially caked with a thick, rusty-red crust of cruor, still gleamed crimson in places with fresh blood, which had also pooled and collected amid the leaves and pine needles on which she lay. Although she still clung tenaciously to life, Ash was able to immediately discern the seriousness of her situation – quick-use field medication would be of no use here. With injuries as terrible as those that she possessed, there would be little hope for the pikachu's survival unless he acted quickly.

"How could anyone do this...why...!" Tears itching at the corners of his eyes, the boy knelt down to examine the wounded creature. The pikachu's ear twitched and she weakly attempted to bear her teeth, fresh blood dribbling down the side of her jaw and staining her cheek fur. Ash was not unfamiliar with poachers – individuals who trapped and captured pokémon for no other reasons than exploitation and profit, caring nothing for the feelings of those they pursued. Last month, he had visited a separate part of the mountain to confront them, and to reunite a baby larvitar with the mother they had callously separated it from. But this...this was a level of horrific brutality far beyond anything he had ever encountered before, in all his travels as a Trainer. The pikachu was an innocent wild animal, who had done nothing to deserve the level of suffering she now endured.

"The jerks!" Furiously, Ash wrenched the snare up out of the ground by its peg, gently removing the now-slack wire from about the pikachu's neck. "Don't worry, girl. You're safe now...I won't let those poachers get you." Feeling the moist tickle of tears along his cheeks, he touched his hand lightly to the pokémon's back, the feeble movement of her body as she breathed a slight pressure against his fingertips. "I can't understand why anyone would want to do something like this to you. But I promise...I'll help you!"

He reached into an inner pocket on his jacket, withdrawing a spare pokéball. Turning the object over in his palm, Ash depressed the central button with a finger, enlarging the device to its normal size. While catching pokémon that were gravely injured always carried the risk that shock from contact with the capture beam might itself cause death, getting her into a ball would mean instant transfer to Professor Oak's lab - far from the poachers, and into the care of someone who had the technology and the knowledge to possibly save her life. In his mind, there was no question - it was a gamble worth taking.

"Please don't be scared, girl." He spoke softly and soothingly to try and relax the creature, shifting his position slightly to move downwind, but still within the pikachu's fairly limited line of sight. The absence of his scent would be one less source of stress, while still allowing her to observe his actions would add an extra layer of reassurance to the pikachu's mind. Ambushing a wounded pokémon with a ball, especially a species with many predators, would only cause unnecessary terror. "This pokéball won't hurt you. And it'll send you to one of the nicest guys I know - he'll help you feel better. No poacher will ever be able to hurt you again!" He clutched his fingers tightly about the pokéball as he spoke, his eyes never wavering from those of the pikachu. The rodent watched him in turn, pinning her ears back slightly at the sound of his voice.

Encouraged that she didn't react with bared teeth or sparking cheeks, Ash shifted his grip on the ball to make it more visible, extending his arm slowly in the pikachu's direction. She remained entirely still, the only movement a slight ruffling of her fur and whiskers as a breeze swept through the undergrowth. She's calm. Now's my chance.

"Pokéball...go!"

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Ash gently tossed the ball underhand, the object traveling in a modest arc before landing with a bump against the pokémon's forepaw. He held his breath, waiting for the pokéball to spring up and release its capture beam, but nothing happened - the ball remained as still as the pikachu. They wouldn't sell me a dud ball, would they? Why isn't it working?

The warden's words echoed in the back of Ash's mind, and he clenched his fists with a quivering rage as he was forced to acknowledge the truth. This wasn't a wild pikachu at all – she was feral. She had been abandoned here, just like the sneasel, and her former Trainer hadn't even bothered to release her according to the proper protocol. Whoever this Trainer was, the pikachu was still registered as belonging to them – and no pokéball, no matter how strongly it was built, would be able to break through and capture her.

He approached the pokémon once more, crouching down to tenderly stroke along her striped back to help her feel more comfortable with his close presence. Even Damian wasn't this thoughtless! It was a barbaric, cruel, and irresponsible way to treat a pokémon that one no longer wanted, and, according to the warden, such actions were distressingly common. It was no wonder that the man hated Trainers if this was the only type of behavior he ever saw them exhibit - were there really so many people who thought of pokémon as objects? Toys that they could discard when they no longer wanted to play with them?

"I made a promise to you, girl." The pikachu twitched an ear tentatively in his direction, and at this first sign of something other than aggression or apathy in her demeanor, Ash couldn't help but give her a small smile in between his tears. "I...I'll save you, one way or another. So what if I can't catch you - I can carry you!"

Taking his jacket off, Ash carefully wrapped it around the tiny animal, making sure to leave her muzzle exposed so she could still breathe. With the fabric obscuring her eyes she wouldn't have to see either him or the shifting landscape, and with it cocooning her body it would provide a layer of separation between the two of them - despite her promising sign of affection, she was still a mortally wounded pokémon, and he wanted to expose her to as little stress as possible. With a slow, careful movement he lifted her from the loamy soil and tucked her in closely against his chest, positioning her with her head resting over his heart. In too much pain to struggle or react, the pikachu made no protest as Ash began to run, the afternoon sun flickering through the maples.

:=:=:=:=:=

Curled, dead leaves, which blanketed the ground in a heavy carpet of browns and faded yellows, crunched and rustled under Ash's feet as he swept through the forest, the branches of saplings waveringly slightly in his wake. Larger trees – an array of enoki and irohamomiji, tochinoki and the occasional akamatsu – grew lofty and proud; the multifarious foliage casting an infinite variety of shadows, which flickered and danced amid evening's fading glow. Tall bamboo stalks brushed lightly against each other in the breeze, their pale, greenish-white sides glistening pallidly in the feeble sunlight. It was a gorgeous landscape, with an ancient stillness that seemed almost to be from another era, but its splendors were lost to Ash, who had only one thought on his mind.

He had no idea where he was.

Panting, Ash grasped a bamboo plant in one hand to steady himself; his hair, dampened with sweat, clinging to his neck and forehead. He had intended to travel back towards the warden's station to get help for the injured pikachu, and from there resume his search for the sneasel, but his anger, reckless determination, and unfamiliarity with the area had cumulated into the perfect set of circumstances to result in his current situation. What should I do now? The pikachu's counting on me!

Ash sank down to the loam and carefully lowered the bundle into his lap, drawing back a corner of his jacket to reveal the wounded rodent within. The small creature looked at him with a milky gaze; her dark brown eyes, dilated pupils unresponsive to the sudden exposure to light, pained and yet emotionless. Her breathing had grown shallow and infrequent, the whiskers about her muzzle barely ruffling as she exhaled. The cut around her neck from the snare had, like many of her wounds, dried into a congealed mass of rusty dried blood and matted fur, but along her sides the blood still trickled feebly, leaving crimson smears across the fabric of the coat.

"I won't break my promise...I'll get you out of here!" Eyes closed and body shaking, Ash wrapped the jacket once more about his helpless charge, more cognizant of the fact that her survival depended on his actions than ever. If she died, it wasn't just blood on the hands of those terrible poachers, and on those of the Trainer who had thrown her away like trash – it would be blood on his hands. Being lost was already a terrible enough position to be in, especially when little meaningful could be discerned about his surroundings, and he could afford no further precipitancy. The female pikachu needed him; and to save her, he had to go against his impulsive instincts. There had to be a smarter solution to his problem.

A strange glint flickered in the waning sunlight just beyond the bamboo, and Ash stood up slowly, brushing his hair back from his brow. What was that? Shifting the wounded pikachu slightly so that her head rested beneath his chin, the Trainer took a few tentative steps forward, keeping his movements light and fluid to avoid disturbing the leaves underfoot. With poachers known to frequent the area, it was a very real possibility that what he had spotted was a rifle's sight; cold, glittering glass aimed at...what? Pushing the brim of his hat down over his face, Ash then turned his attention to the male pikachu perched upon his shoulder, touching his fingers lightly to the animal's nose.

"If that's a poacher, we can't let him get away with it," he whispered, scratching Pikachu under the chin to try and ease their mutual apprehension. His Partner had been unusually still and silent ever since the discovery of the snare and its occupant, and he was certain that Pikachu's current emotional state was not far removed from that of his own. "If we don't do something to stop him, even more pokémon will suffer…what if he's going after Sneasel? Sneasel needs our help, too!" The little rodent twitched an ear in response, fluffing up the fur along his spine as the acrid scent of his best friend's fear hit his muzzle. "Chuk chuk...pikapi?"

Ash squared his shoulders resolutely, not letting his gaze waver from the faint flicker of light. "Duck down, Pikachu," he said softly, bending his knees slightly and letting his free hand rest against his calf. "If he shoots, I...I don't want you getting hurt. But be ready to use Thunderbolt on my orders." He closed his eyes; the scrabbling of Pikachu's claws against his shoulder and the weight of the wounded female, her body cradled tightly in his arm to protect her from possible gunfire, his only grounds on reality. It was now or never – any further hesitation would only give the poacher an increased opportunity to open fire, either on himself or a defenseless pokémon. Time to put some action behind your words.

Snapping his eyes back open, Ash leapt from his crouch and charged forward, the spot of light consuming the whole of his vision. Wet bamboo leaves slapped against his cheeks as he stampeded his way through the underbrush, twigs and thorns catching on his clothes for only an instant before the sheer force of his momentum pulled them away. Poacher! Do you know who I am? The boy swept aside a maple sapling that grew directly in his line of travel, bending the tree almost double with the force of his renewed rage and determination. I'm Ash Ketchum of Pallet Town, future Pokémon Master! And if you want to hurt any more pokémon, you're gonna have to go through -

me?

The Trainer stumbled to an undignified halt as he suddenly broke through the treeline, kneeling down into a half-squat to try and regain his center of balance. Of poachers, there were no sign – the flash of light, he acknowledged to himself with a sense of both foolishness and great relief, was nothing more than the setting sun reflecting off the pointed twist of a barbed wire fence; the small, gleaming spot the only area upon the barrier not discolored by a faded, dun-red patina of rust. Small shelf fungi grew in circling rows upon the crumbling fence posts, and bright green warabi, their thin, uppermost fronds curled in tight spirals along their stalks, twined their roots about the weather-beaten wood with a choking embrace. Sagging with age and wear, the dilapidated fence seemed almost pathetic to Ash amid the otherwise untamed wilderness, a somber reminder of a past lost to the never-ceasing march of time.

Running a finger gently along the wounded pikachu's muzzle, Ash hesitantly pulled his body into a standing position, allowing his vision to fully take in the strange new landscape that he now found himself in. The clearing was small and rimmed in by tall trees and undergrowth on all sides, and the spreading branches of the larger conifers above gave the illusion of a fractured, crazy-quilt ceiling - the dusky rose of the waning sunset colliding with craggy browns and sprays of earthy green. Long, unkempt blades of grass, their viridian hue shifting to a splotchy yellow-brown at the tips, covered the expanse of the ground like a shaggy carpet, broken only by clumps of bracken or the occasional stalk of hakobe. It was a quiet, understated tableau that felt almost ancient in its stillness – but it was what grew just beyond the fence that arrested Ash's attention the most.

A large tree, unlike any he had ever seen before, almost seemed to sprout from a massive, sloping pile of stones; which had been arranged in a cairn around and against its roots. Its pallid white trunk, the surface dotted by short, small streaks of gray and russet, stood out sharply against the green backdrop of the forest beyond; numerous paper-thin strips of bark dangling uselessly against its sides. That's strange...where did it come from? Stepping over the barbed wire lightly, the teen made his way to the mound of stones, carefully sitting down upon it with his back against the trunk of the peculiar tree. Although curious, it was an issue that he didn't feel particularly inclined to investigate, not when time was working against him. There were much more important concerns that needed to be addressed.

Carefully unfolding his jacket, Ash slowly lifted the limp pikachu from her cocoon; gently setting her down, with her muzzle pointed towards the comforting expanse of the forest, next to his side upon the cairn. "You needn't worry, girl. I'll only need my jacket back for just a second." The boy spoke softly as he stroked the little animal with one hand, vision shimmering with fresh tears as he observed her shallow, spasmodic breaths. "There aren't as many trees here, and there's a fence, too – we might finally be close enough to people to get a proper phone signal. I'll call and get help for you. I promise!" He felt about an inner jacket pocket with his free hand as he spoke, withdrawing a bulky, chrome-colored object from its fabric confines. Although the device's vivid pink interface frame had made him unwilling to strap it to his wrist or wear it about his neck in the manner a Pokégear was intended to be carried on one's person; he was glad, in retrospect, that Misty had insisted he bring it along with him as a precaution. Remember our first adventure at Mt. Silver, Ash? What if that happens again?

He closed his eyes, his fingers tightening about the watch-like device's round contours."I remember."He remembered the poachers; remembered the pain and rage burning in the eyes of the tyranitar that they had so viciously scarred and pursued, and the fear and mistrust in the mind of the larvitar they had separated from her. It was his memories that had evoked such visceral reactions to finding the wounded pikachu and the flash of light, heightening his naturally impulsive personality to the point of tunnel vision despite his best intentions. If only he had stopped to think, just for a moment!

"I won't let any more bad things happen to you." The words stuck in his throat in an uncomfortable manner as he draped the bloodstained coat once more about the female pikachu, and it took a concentrated effort to force them out – words that had once been spoken so confidently even mere minutes ago; yet now, in the crushing atmosphere of the darkening clearing, they felt almost like a lie. Depressing a small button on the right side of the Pokégear to turn it on, Ash squinted his eyes down at the blurry screen, tilting the object towards what little light remained to try and read the display better. The Pokégear's welcoming clock screen slowly came into focus - a black background with tiny, barely readable cream-yellow display boxes, spelling out a message that was anything but encouraging.

18/06/01

MONDAY

20:06 NITE

Press any button to exit.

It's already so late! He jammed his thumb against the Pokégear's primary button to cycle through the different tab options, searching frantically for the phone amid Misty's customized interface. The slight hum of the device in his hands was a welcoming sound as he worked - a reassuring monotony tickling lightly along the edges of his perception; serving to mask the deep feelings of anger, frustration and shame that had been slowly venturing out from the distant corners of his mind. Such emotions were, for the most part, foreigners to his experience, demons that had no place interfering with one who had always been able to look at evil head on – and who had always been able to vanquish it. Criminals, poachers, and Rocket agents alike had all eventually faltered in the face of his spirit and determination; and success, it seemed, had always been virtually guaranteed him. Failure simply wasn't supposed to be an option…and he couldn't allow it to be.

"…way down low, don't you miss the Luck-"

DJ Reed's voice abruptly terminated in a crackle of static as the radio tab was switched to that of the phone, Ash gritting his teeth rebelliously as the inevitable registered in his consciousness – the small pylon icon in the Pokégear's upper right corner stood alone, without the barest hint of a bar to indicate any sort of signal that would serve as his salvation. No! That can't be right! Without even paying attention to who he was dialing, he selected the first of the listings and slammed his wrist against the main button, his heart thumping in tandem with the device's curt beeps.

…

…

…

You're out of the service area.

But I can't be! The pikachu…Sneasel…! His fingers flew along the buttons, attempting the nine other numbers even as his mind recognized the absolute pointlessness of it all. Deep down, Ash knew that the wounded pikachu was beyond rescue, and that she had been from the very moment he first encountered her. A wild animal that had any strength or will left to survive would have fought against his touch, his odor, his very presence – the pikachu's stillness and docility had been deeply disconcerting to his Trainer instincts, but his optimistic spirit simply refused to accept to any such notion that failure was possible. If she died, it was only because he didn't work hard enough to correct his earlier mistakes, mistakes that he never should have made in the first place. It was utter futility that was causing his tears, causing his pain – but he wouldn't - couldn't - accept such a thing.

Swallowing hard, he set down the Pokégear and picked up the stone nearest to him, clenching it tightly within his fist as he tried to focus his mind on what to do next. Maybe if I follow that fence, it'll lead me back to the warden's station. Couldn't hurt to try, could it? Anything is better than just sitting -

An odd warmth that tingled against his inner palm interrupted Ash's train of thought, and he slowly spread his fingers apart, looking down at the stone in his hand. It was small – only about the size of a pidgey's egg – and it wasn't a terrifically heavy object, but something about it completely captivated his attention; a suffocating, inexplicable influence that drove out even his concern for the pikachu and the lost sneasel. Its creamy-white surface was faintly mottled with pearlescent impurities, which sparkled with the promise of potential in the evening's fading glow. Why can't I stop looking at this?

"What a weird rock," Ash said softly, holding it up for Pikachu to see. The colors flashed and twirled like beautiful, formless dancers as the wan sunlight hit the stone more fully, casting refractions upon the pale bark of the paper birch. The pokémon turned to watch the swirling rainbow dash across the tree's surface, his ears pricked attentively and his eyes focused. "Still, it's..." The boy hesitated, turning his head away from his Partner as his shoulders slouched. "It's still just a rock. It's not important. There couldn't be a worst time to get distracted!" He rested his head on his free hand, trying to focus his gaze upon the pathetic rodent lying at his side, her nose poking out from under his jacket. "I...I just wish I could get my thoughts together for you, girl. I've already wasted so much time...I can't let some stupid rock get in my way!"

He reached down to stroke the little female with a finger, the other four still wrapped tightly about the stone as if his life depended upon it. I'll follow this fence and get you out of here, even if I have to take this dumb rock with me! I'll make sure you live – I owe it to you. I promised you, and I don't break my promises!

The pikachu lifted her muzzle slightly, touching her nose gently to the stone in Ash's hand.

I won't let you die!

:=:=:=:=:=

Scarcely had the pikachu made contact with the stone when a bright, blinding glare suddenly filled the clearing, and Ash recoiled instinctively, the back of his head striking the side of the paper birch and sending a rattling shiver down his spine. The light, a dazzling white that shimmered and pulsed with faint swirls of mother-of-pearl, enveloped his body with a fierce, suffocating strength, squeezing the breath from his lungs even as he attempted a short, strangled cry. "Pikachu!" Chest heaving with effort, the Trainer blinked; stabbing prickles of brilliant color, which flickered in time with the warm pounding that throbbed along his skull, itching at the corners of his vision. Where was Pikachu? Where was the little female?He reached for the tree behind him in an effort to try and regain even a tenuous grip on reality, but his fingers clawed uselessly at the air, as if the world had ceased existing and only the intense, pulsing glow of the illumination was left. But the tree was just there! "Pikachu! Pikachu!"

His Partner made no reply; and, struggling to find his pokémon, the teen groped futilely against the sparkling expanse of the formless infinity, feeling as though he were swimming upstream. A spot in the ivory emptiness before him suddenly churned and shifted, taking the form of a female pikachu; rainbow colors, a chromatic cacophony infused with streaks of gold and silver and brilliant crystal-blue flares of electricity, dancing brilliantly across the surface of her glowing pelt. Is that you, girl? Tensing his muscles, Ash instantly pushed forward in a powerful lunge, fingers splayed and arms extended towards the vague outline of the pokémon. As his nails grazed against the radiant shape of her upturned muzzle, the asphyxiating pressure increased sharply in intensity; the light shining with an impossible brightness as it fully contracted about the two figures in its center. Entwining his fingers through the wounded female's fur as he swept her to his chest, Ash ducked his head and curled his body in an effort to protect her, even as the overwhelming force of the oppressive whiteness threatened to crush his very existence. Whatever it was that was happening, he couldn't let any further harm come to his charge.

The polychromatic flashes that lit up the pikachu's coat radiated outwards, painting over the mostly colorless landscape with blazing and brilliant new hues, that made it impossible to tell where the void ended and the animal began. The feeling of her body against Ash's front and the weight of her small form in his arms remained for only an instant longer before fading into a cold, ion-infused mist that tingled along his exposed skin; a clammy fog that invaded his pores and buffeted against his nose. No…! His pain-wracked body starved for oxygen, the Trainer couldn't help but inhale against the wishes of his mind, feeling the velvet smoothness of the colors vibrate and slide along his windpipe with each reflexive, instinctive breath. No…come back! You can't give up! He coughed, trying to force the slithery feeling from his throat; and his hands caught the air, desperately attempting to grasp any part of the wounded pokémon that might remain. You have to come back, girl!

Ash's thoughts froze as he suddenly became aware of a bizarre prickle, which started at his fingertips and raced down the surface of his skin like a rippling wave. The sensation was subtle at first, as delicate and deft as the trailing touch of a pidgey's feather, but it swiftly reached excruciating levels; as if every pore were rapidly being stabbed from underneath by a flurry of spark-tipped needles, that relentlessly tore at his flesh in a mad rush before finally breaking through to cloak his body in an unexpected warmth. Shivering with fear and confusion, the boy wrapped one arm about his chest, his nails – had they always been so sharp? – clutching his strangely baggy shirt as his head dipped with a strangled, ragged breath. This world...this weirdness...what was it? What was happening to him? My head…did I hit my head too hard?

Of course! None of this is real! The pikachu isn't really gone – all I have to do is wake up, and everything will be all right! I made a promise to help her and Sneasel...I have to win! I have to…

fight...

this...!

Ash suddenly felt the pressure lift as the world seemed to explode around him; the dizzying kaleidoscope of colors shattering into smaller and smaller fragments until nothing remained. His awkward fingers scratched clumsily at the empty air as he started to plummet into the black void left behind, a frightened voice that didn't sound like his own rending the air sharply before the darkness swallowed him…

"Pikachuuuuuuuu!"