PROLOGUE: THE WHEEL OF LIFE

The night was solid black. Stars, frequently prominent and occasionally as dim as embers, were absent. The moon was hidden, as if clothed by a vast cloak of black fabric. Yet despite this eeriness it was pleasant for midsummer, as there was a cool air which hinted the end of a long drought.

Herbivorous pokémon were drawn to the change in temperature, although maintained their reservations due to the austere night. Their senses were adapted for the day, as were their spirits akin to the sun. If present, humans may have chuckled at the irony of the situation -- the sun, the nurturer for these beasts, was also which scorched and parched their food sources. Yet the pokémon understood the gamble between life and death, having never once witnessed the blessings of technology.

At present, the ecosystem had been altered by nomadic stantler in search of vegetation. They were flatland creatures, lacking adaptations necessary for survival in the woods, and as such were vigilant. Most escaped their caution through sleep, while others signaled for their offspring to stay close. Nevertheless, one creature violated the norms. A stantler fawn, born two months prior, ravished the forest wind bristling through his coat. It was a new sensation to awaken his already endless curiosities. He yearned for more, despite warnings from his mother, like a child shrieks to her parent as they drive past a rainbow of carnival lights. It was a thrilling, and in that lied danger.

He was brisk on his legs, far more agile than the other younglings in the herd. Never once had he slipped from mud or been grazed by rocks. Thus, he felt all threats could be eluded; his mother was simply too cautious in his opinion.

The doe was aware of her fawn's naivety. She cast him an obstinate gesture, but his spirit was just as forceful. Body language demanded that she be the victor in this conflict. Unfortunately for her, this was her first offspring and she had yet to master her rearing skills. She would not win.

Then he did something far too childish.

He bolted from her, from his herd, into the perpetual shadows. Only the flicker of his tail signified his location, until that too ceased when the animal reached unmarked territory. There was a shroud of ancient trees above nearly impenetrable webs of leaves, vines and thorns, enough to bewilder any deer.

The stantler was not alone. He had recklessly entered a game with mayhem, blood, carnage. In those dark hours, the forest was possessed by the mightyena… and they were hungry. From a half mile in the distance, the alpha wolf lifted his nose to the air. He detected the faintest of scents -- maple and ash, fungi, carrion, bodily waste, and the intoxicating colognes of prey.

It was frequent for the mightyena pack to gorge upon little species. They almost settled with five nidorans until the alpha identified a pungent odor -- the fawn, a challenge awarding tender flesh.

They would kill the young creature, simple as that. Yet first it was essential to stay hidden from the deer's keen hearing. A female advised a surefire tactic: Have a couple wolves obscure themselves at the base of the hills, while one provoke anxiety in the stantler with a sudden approach. The stantler would then bound in the direction of the other wolves, get chased, and be overtaken by their stamina.

In the meantime, the deer had abandoned his carefree nature, and now his only focus was returning home. The forest, once a fertile haven, had became one of shadows and labyrinths. He sauntered cautiously, mystified by the foreign array of smells and sounds. It was an investigation for something familiar… anything, to reunite him with his warm mother's side.

He knew something was very wrong. He froze in mid-movement, a front leg postured high.

The assigned wolf edged closer, still out of his sight.

In a chapter displaying the brutality of nature, the wind ceased as if to watch the oncoming slaughter as a bystander.

Then the ghoul of silver-black appeared; the wolf. She lunged at victim with a flash of white teeth to piece the dark.

The stantler gazed at the phantom, his eyes two static pools. They found their reflections in the another, into an atmosphere of primordial ritual. It was a realization of predator versus prey, the balance of life and death. An act of mercy was inevitable in the conflict, all for the survival of the fittest. Her heated breath trailed down his neck… his heart faltered…

It was as if a rift formed to stop time and disintegrate space.

Tension simmered between them.

Then, finally, the deer regained control of himself. He flagged his tail and bolted for the swamp. As that was unexpected, the wolves had to change strategy. They pursued with a greater velocity, as if unbound by gravity. Splashes of water ravaged air as the deer trespassed into the murky hell; he thought his lithe frame would offer protection against his killers. Then one step found a hole in the swamp floor and he fell. The impact struck his leg, rippling pain through his body. He thrashed, attempting to lift himself, but the sensation was impairing -- bones were broken.

Slime caked his body. Now his only focus was to keep his head above water; either the element or the wolves would be victorious in his death. He bellowed to the heavens, and the noise shattered the emptiness like a fist meeting glass.

A wolf charged through the water. There was no grace in his approach, nothing elegant like a water nymph, only the surging adrenaline of a starved thing. He pounced upon the fawn, gnashing the throat with fangs. The other dogs followed suit, digging claws into flesh to seize their victim. Water raised over him… his vision became clouded, ethereal…

The alpha pulled the deer's upper body above the surface, and oxygen swept over him to converge with the water in his lungs.

In those final notes of a one life's song, the wind returned as a mild breeze. His heart slowed. Then teeth met his windpipe, clenching the life-sustaining vessels…

His eyes fell upon something in the distance: A scarlet disk peering above the rows of trees. It was the guardian to break that damned night, the sun.

And then he saw nothing.

During the twilight hours of that day, a figure stepped forth from the darkness. His frayed leather sandals should have left prints in the dirt was he walked, yet were erased away by his cloak. He presented himself as an enigma; a silhouette in the starlight. One would say he looked frugal, yet something indicated aristocracy. Perhaps it was the garment adorned over his body, its dark colors profound as the new moon.

He resembled a shadow.

Earlier, within a cluster of bushes, he observed the mightyena end the stantler's life. They returned the carcass to land. The underside was torn open and almost instantly the scent of blood waved through the area. Murkrows spied from above, their own appetites yearning for nourishment.

A low growl rumbled from the alphas, enforcing their right to gorge first. The appetizing, nutrient-rich intestines were presented to the female from her mate as sign of affection. She nuzzled his ear, then they fed upon various organs. Soon the minor wolves were allowed their share as they devoured muscle tissue and remaining organs.

Afterward, some dogs played while others basked in the morning sun. It was in that moment where simplicity and tenderness were apparent -- they were not malicious, but tender. They later departed, allowing the remnants for scavengers.

Now the cloaked man stood above the deer remains, but he was not alone. There was something distracting him from his procedure: A solitary murkrow which still fed, blood dried on her beak. She seemed unruffled by the human with every attempt made to shoo her away, until an icy glare shot from him. With a squawk, she flew to a nearby maple to wait for another chance.

The man kneeled upon the russet soil. With a single motion, he swept away his hood to reveal a placid face. There was only fat and bones under his gaze, objects disregarded as grotesque by most. Yet to him, they symbolized pieces of a once complete being; one whose energy would now thrive on the astral plane. It was a reminder that the creature was not gone, only changed.

He made it a ritual to memorialize deceased pokémon. It was his art for the wheel of life. To him, something forgotten by most still burned strong: Death was not an ending, only an unavoidable outcome. The loss of the fawn was a tragedy from which a miracle could be formed, as its nutrients promised sustainability for the wolves and the earth.

Some energy hovered above the animal, lost and mystified. Although it was invisible, he still sensed it. His hands were set inches above the remains, and the energy radiated through the fingers until finding his heart.

He sat there in meditation as the world faded into silence.

The murkrow contemplated the opportunity to finish dinner, until the insight came to let the ritual be finished. She preened her feathers, trying to ignore the food within a short flight's distance.

Then the man stood. Before leaving, Gaelic escaped in his voice, "Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam."

May his soul be on God's side.

Not my writing, but for the sake of the story, I have the author's permission to upload onto my account. Thanks, Meriah! (I'm engaged to her IRL, so of course she'll let me do this XD) A good way to start a hopefully great fic.