The short hike that went north from Catalain to Auora's Landing was one of the more popular routes for locals and visitors of the island. Walking up this well worn path in the hill country normally attracted tourists and adventurists seeking to explore the famous landmarks. As far as hills came, this one was particularly noteworthy, standing above its fellows in the surrounding area. The trail was well marked by simple wooden fences and signs that directed hikers throughout the less settled areas. The Landing's summit had been a common trip in the past, only recently barred due to dangerous attacks. Despite this, or perhaps in spite of the warnings of the local government, John couldn't be deterred from the now-weekly trip to a high point on the island. Trekking up in early morning only made the journey more difficult, but the past memories of scrapped knees and sudden falls made him all the more cautious. Feet stepped over large rocks, holes were avoided as he made his way from hill to hill.
The morning fog impeded the journey further, but the exertion made him warm despite the chill. Reaching the last part of the trail, he -not yet a man, certainly not a boy - put on a burst of speed, skirting dense grass where anything could be hiding. The dark twilight was giving way to dawn's rays, rosy and brilliant. Finally reaching the flat top, he could finally see all of his little world. The morning fog, still sitting in the low valleys, would soon disappear in the morning sun. He had always loved this time, when he alone (apart from the few early risers or night workers) would able to welcome the new day. Humming softly to himself, John sat on the dirt of the flat summit, waiting for the sun.
Emptiness reigned this little space. Rising fog gave way to pokémon that roamed the area during the morning hours. In the new light of the day, he could see a great deal. Wings fluttering here, calls and hoots randomly made, the island inhabitants were finally catching up to him. Soon, they might bother looking for a morning meal, yet he wasn't worried. While it was true that few braved the hill country during the dark hours, he had to be one of the only people to wander the area without any pokémon companions. Armed with only a thick walking stick seemed preposterous against creatures that could spew rocks and stir whirlwinds, yet it was always enough. Height and confidence were his weapons against the little ones that wouldn't bother to attack something larger than themselves. When some snarling rattata grew too aggressive or bold, kicks through firm boots worked just as well as any pokémon.
Without warning, an Oddish stumbled sleepily in front of him, tripping over the loose rocks and dirt. He chuckled as the little thing looked at him, head tilted to the side in curiosity. It smiled, murmuring as it plodded up to his leg and rubbed its head against the limb. Patting the leaves, the plant coord as the sun fully rose, bathing them in warmth. By now, his family would be up, breakfast would be cooking, and chores should be started. Running a free hand through dark hair, he murmured a goodbye to the Oddish, which seemed to reply in kind before walking into the grass. Downhill was always easier he thought, and soon he rose and made his way to the awakening town.
By the time he had reached the outskirts of the town, fishermen in sturdy boots and thick jackets were already loading boats and schooners along the docks, noisily loading supplies and eager to reach coastal waters. The sea breeze carried the gentle crashing of waves, shopkeepers along the cobblestone roads set up wares in windows and called out to their early rising neighbors. Weaving his way along old, paved roads to the western hills, John trudged up to a gorgeous house built sturdily on its own hill. Palm trees and pine trees alike dotted the yard, where piles of neatly stacked logs leaned against the house's side. Going through the gate, he worked his way into the kitchen. An older woman, beautiful with still golden hair despite her age, was working pans on the stove and managing to produce delicious breakfast smells.
"Good morning sweetie," mom said, pulling him in for a kiss. Smiling slightly, John hugged her and worked his way out of her embrace and placed a bag carefully on the table.
"Morning mom. Finally got you those strawberries you've been asking for, from the north hills," he explained.
"So that's why you were gone this morning. You know that it scares me when I look into your room at o-dark-thirty and you're gone? Try and go easy on your mother."
"Fresh strawberries only grow out there," he waved a hand airily, "and morning is as good a time to get them as ever."
"But dear," she started, "you know it isn't exactly safe to just go roam the hills by yourself-"
"I know, I know," John stopped her quickly. His mother could go off about how he was always wandering. "Believe me mom, I know. Ever since the Cleary's daughter was attacked on New Year's, I've been more careful. Luckily there hadn't been an attack since then, and that was almost half a year ago!"
His mother grimaced. Claire's attack had been one of the most notable pokémon incidents involving a non-trainer in the last decade. A gang of Spearow had attacked the local high school student's trek down from the north hills, where it was tradition to celebrate the New Year in the first light of the first day. While most had gotten away with out much harm, Claire had been scratched, pecked, and bruised to the point where she had to be flown off the island. The island only having one doctor and several nurses such as his mother, John knew that the memory of treating his school mate was never far from her mind.
"I promise I'll stay safe," John said. She clucked her tongue and shook her head, handing him a plate full of pancakes, washed strawberries, and sausages. Devouring it quickly, he went to go back to bed before his mother, blocking the exit, steered him out to the back yard with remarks about "no rest for the weary and foolish when work is to be done!"
The backyard was dominated by a large pool, lied with dark blue tiles blooming flowers. Sequoia trees formed a grove around the left side of the yard, while pebbled paths snaked their way around to the house's sides. To the right, a lawn of grass perfectly manicured and smoothed with particular care was lined with beds of flowers and bushes. Beyond the green fence was the valleys filled with houses. Rising up were the hills, where mist loved to linger and stray well into the day. Beyond that was the great mountain, the final barrier between the ocean and the island's largest town. Faced towards these mountains, hands dutifully trimming bushes with great pliers, was his father. Where his wife was blonde, short, and tan, the elder John was marked by brown hair almost red, pale skin dotted with freckles, and a wide frame that support the man's increasingly prominent girth.
John always found it curious that he was so alike and yet so different than his parents. While his father was wide John was thin, lacking the large hands and feet that seemed to belong to all the men of their family. Yet he could see something of himself in his father: dark hair that lacked the bronze tint, deep brown eyes that were prone to ferocity and warmth in equal measures. He possessed wide shoulders and a layer of thin muscle, just as his dad had in his youth. His darker skin and high cheekbones came from his mother's side. As much as he disliked it, John had neither the warmth nor commanding presence of his father, as well as the social aptitude of his mother. He was something of an enigma, equally likely to be social and alone on any given day. His mother joked that he had been a lost boy ever since he could learn to walk and explore.
Joining his father wordlessly, John scooped up fallen leaves and debris and shoved piles into trash cans. His father looked up from his clipping, a sheen of sweat covering his face.
"Heard you were out on the trails again," he began. While his mother worried, his father seemed to respect the need to explore, even if he himself no longer possessed the urge to travel.
"I was, got some good berries out in the wild fields. Ran into no trouble." Father beckoned towards another pile of leaves. "I'm happy to hear that you've gotten up earlier recently-after Catherine left, you would sleep in until nine or ten. I know it's Summer vacation, but that shouldn't mean you should miss all this." He grinned, waving the scissors towards the rest of the yard. "Surely you've missed helping to clean up this old place?" John chuckled, mockingly joking, "where would you be without one child at home, considering that the other half is abroad?" He finished up the rest of the leaf trimmings, talking to his father about the town below.
It was hours before the day's chores were completed: the pair worked throughout the yard, cleaning, trimming, and scrubbing until the place seemed new. Going inside, Mom joined them for a small lunch of sandwiches and juice. Between bites, the adults talked about the soon-to-arrive sister of Dad, who would be arriving this very afternoon. Finishing the meal, John made to rise and leave for his room.
"Son," his father called, "do you have a moment? We need to discuss my sister's visit for a bit." Pivoting, John made his way back into the modest family room, seating himself gently into an old rocking chair that belonged to a long dead grandmother.
"Sarah and Bruce will be staying with us for a few days. Thank you for cleaning up and helping out around the house," he began. Leaning forward, eyes twinkling, he continued.
"You've been doing a lot of good work around here. Picking up a job, looking after the neighbors, most of all helping out with that Cleary girl's recovery. It shows what a fine young man you've become." John said nothing, nodding his head and waiting for his father to continue. "A great help," his mother said, "for the family. Claire wouldn't have been nearly as positive in her healing if you weren't there for her." John smiled at this: Claire's face and body, marred my scratches and cuts, was an enormous blow to her self-esteem. He had only been glad to keep her mind off things with walks, stories, virtually anything to keep her occupied.
"Basically, your mother and I want to let you know that we're proud of you. We know that Catherine's absence-"
"Trip," John intervened, "she's abroad traveling. You let her go, remember? She left and I didn't." He glanced down at his hands, hiding his eyes and the frustration and sadness that lie in them. Absentmindedly, he began to pick his fingernails. His mother squeezed one of his hands with her own, smiling at him, somehow lifting his spirits as all good mothers should.
"Sweetheart, we just want what is best for you. You'll see that we really do care, in time. Just remember to clean up and be presentable for your aunt and uncle. It'll be a good time." The particular emphasis on good made him lift his head. "And why might this be a good time?" He said, stressing the good.
"You'll find out soon enough sweetie, soon enough."